(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
"The Heel Left Behind"
Streets of Nar Shaddaa – Four Hours Later
Sommer Dai didn't speak a word when she left the Diamond Eight clubhouse.
Not to Jakob.
Not to the guards who opened the doors.
Not even to the young Twi'lek who offered her a ride back to the upper levels.
She just walked.
purse in hand. Heels over her shoulder. Streets buzzing around her — neon and heat and unspoken danger. Just like the old days.
She needed the noise.
To drown out the vision of what she'd seen behind Jakob's secret doors.
To process what it meant.
To figure out why it made her feel something worse than fear.
Hope.
And that scared her more than any blaster.
She moved through Nar Shaddaa's midnight arteries like a shadow:
Past street vendors yelling in Huttese.
Past dancers flickering in pink holos.
Past a broken swoop bike that reminded her of the one Jakob wrecked on her 18th.
And with every step, her mind drifted:
To Andrew, the one man who gave her stability and never said the words.
To Ghost, whose final promise still haunted her dreams.
To Zori Galea, whose velvet threats made Sommer question the very nature of power.
And to herself, the girl who used to sleep in alleys and now commanded empires.
For a moment — she was no queen, no legend, no owner of the Veil.
Just a woman walking barefoot through the city that raised her.
Streets of Nar Shaddaa – Four Hours Later
Sommer Dai didn't speak a word when she left the Diamond Eight clubhouse.
Not to Jakob.
Not to the guards who opened the doors.
Not even to the young Twi'lek who offered her a ride back to the upper levels.
She just walked.
purse in hand. Heels over her shoulder. Streets buzzing around her — neon and heat and unspoken danger. Just like the old days.
She needed the noise.
To drown out the vision of what she'd seen behind Jakob's secret doors.
To process what it meant.
To figure out why it made her feel something worse than fear.
Hope.
And that scared her more than any blaster.
She moved through Nar Shaddaa's midnight arteries like a shadow:
Past street vendors yelling in Huttese.
Past dancers flickering in pink holos.
Past a broken swoop bike that reminded her of the one Jakob wrecked on her 18th.
And with every step, her mind drifted:
To Andrew, the one man who gave her stability and never said the words.
To Ghost, whose final promise still haunted her dreams.
To Zori Galea, whose velvet threats made Sommer question the very nature of power.
And to herself, the girl who used to sleep in alleys and now commanded empires.
For a moment — she was no queen, no legend, no owner of the Veil.
Just a woman walking barefoot through the city that raised her.
