Private The Wait

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Acier Moonbound​

Maslovar never slept. Traffic climbed the sides of buildings as easily as it crossed streets, speeders threading neon canyons while rain slicked the metal down to a dull shine. Lorn sat near the back of a narrow café wedged between a pawn broker and a shuttered transit office, the kind of place that survived on bad caf and worse decisions. The windows were fogged with steam and grime. No one looked twice at him. That was the point.

He wore the look of another worn traveler passing through Sith space. Stubble, cheap coat, a faint slump to his shoulders. In the Force, he folded himself inward until he was little more than a quiet ache, easy to miss, easier to ignore. It took effort. It always did. He had learned how to disappear a long time ago.

The caf in front of him had gone cold. He hadn't touched it. His attention stayed fixed on the door, on the reflections in the glass, on the slow rhythm of the crowd outside. Waiting had become familiar. It gave his mind too much room, but it was safer than moving blind.

Dathomir lingered in him. He hadn't heard from Acier since then. Lorn had told the kid he'd be there, no conditions, no pressure. Space to heal mattered. Silence could be healthy. He told himself that, even as days turned into weeks.

Then the message came. Encrypted, careful, sent from nowhere he recognized. Sith space. That alone narrowed the list down to one reckless name. Bastilla and Isla were safe at home. That left Acier, stubborn enough to wander this far and proud enough to pretend he was fine.

Lorn rubbed his thumb against the rim of the cup, grounding himself. If this was a trap, it was a clean one. He had followed the coordinates anyway. Loyalty had a way of pulling him forward, even when he knew better.

The door slid open. A gust of rain and city noise cut through the café. Lorn felt the shift before he saw anything, a faint disturbance brushing the edge of his awareness. His posture didn't change. He stayed still, patient, present.

Whatever had called him here, he was ready to meet it.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Desevro - Maslovar

Equipment:
Acolyte Robes| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace entered the café like someone who already knew where the exits were. He let the rain cling to his cloak. Let it sell the story. Another drifter pulled inward by the Academy's gravity, another aspirant passing through the lower districts where no one asked questions unless they were paid to.

In the Force, he compressed himself down to something unremarkable. Not absent. Never absent. Just… folded.

He didn't feel Lorn as he approached. Good. Less eyes, less risk on them. Ace crossed the café and took the seat opposite him without ceremony. He didn't greet him, every unnecessary word was a risk here, not because someone was listening... but because someone might start.

For a few seconds, he said nothing. He was deep enough with the Covenant now that silence didn't invite questions. On Desevro, quiet was competence. Sith here didn't normally ask why you kept to yourself, they just assumed you were honing something sharp enough to be worth something.

Everyone here believed themselves the axis of the world. Power first. Ego second. Everything else disposable. For Ace, that arrogance was cover.

His face was more worn than the last time Lorn had seen him. Not sick. Not hollow. Just… tightened. Eyes too alert, posture too measured, living to think a second ahead of the room at all times.

"Sorry to call you all the way out here. Desevro isn't watched like other Sith worlds." He said, careful. "People here assume everyone's chasing something. Keeps them focused on themselves... and not on us."

He let that hang, studying Lorn's reaction rather than filling the silence.

"I needed somewhere noisy enough that no one listens too closely." Ace added. "And dangerous enough that coincidence feels believable."

The city's hum pressed in around them. Industry, power, ambition layered thick enough to taste in the Force. Ace didn't flinch from it. That alone said more than he meant to.

"You been alright since Dathomir?" He asked, not to make small talk, but because before anything else - Lorn was still his friend.

Lorn Reingard ​