Private Where the Quiet Still Hurts

[Jayna Ismet-Thio]

Objective: Distract and be distracted
Location: Veradune
Outfit: -X-
Tags: Iandre Athlea

Veradune did not feel the same.

It wasn’t the skyline—still polished, still impossibly clean in that way worlds trying to prove themselves always were. It wasn’t the air either, though Jayna noticed how it lacked the edge of whatever distant world she and her father had last searched. No, it was something subtler. Something internal. The kind of shift that followed you back from a mission and refused to unpack.

Jayna Ismet-Thio moved through the corridors with a steadiness she didn’t quite feel. Her boots made soft, measured sounds against the polished floor, her posture disciplined—her father’s influence written in every line of her stance. But beneath it, her thoughts refused to settle. Every lead about her mother had frayed. Every answer had dissolved into something incomplete, something almost there. It lingered in her like a question that wouldn’t let itself be asked.

And then there was the other thing. The feeling. Familiar. Wrong. She exhaled slowly, forcing it down—not ignoring it, never that, but setting it aside the way she’d been taught. There were other things here. People. One person in particular.

Word traveled quickly on Veradune, especially when it concerned figures like Iandre Athlea. Jayna hadn’t just heard the name—she had met her, a handful of times. Brief moments, passing exchanges, tours of Aurora Station, enough to turn distant stories into something real. Each encounter had only sharpened the impression: quiet strength, precise control, the kind of presence that carried the weight of whatever Order she belonged to without ever seeming crushed beneath it. Enough, at least, to leave Jayna watching a little more closely whenever Ian was near.

Now she was here. And hurting. Jayna didn’t hesitate. She found her near one of the quieter terraces—one of those places designed for reflection, where the hum of the city softened into something almost distant. The kind of place people went when they didn’t want to be watched, even if they knew they might be.

Jayna slowed as she approached, giving just enough time for her presence to be noticed—no sudden movements, no intrusion. Just… arrival.

“Ian?” Her voice was gentle, careful in a way that didn’t feel forced. When their eyes met, Jayna didn’t offer words first. Instead, she closed the distance and stepped forward, arms wrapping around her in a warm, steady embrace. Not hesitant. Not fleeting. Grounded.

It wasn’t the kind of hug given out of obligation. It lingered just long enough to say you’re not alone in this before she eased back, hands resting briefly on Ian’s arms as if to anchor the moment. “I heard you were here,” Jayna said softly, her expression open, earnest. “I’m really glad you are.”

There was no attempt to fill the silence too quickly. No rush to fix something that couldn’t be fixed. Instead, she tilted her head just slightly, a faint, almost conspiratorial softness entering her tone.

“I don’t think I’m very good at the whole ‘wise comfort’ thing yet,” she admitted, a small breath of humor threading through the weight. “But I am good at distractions.” A pause. Not forced—inviting. “And honestly… I could use one too.”

For a moment, something flickered behind her composure. Not fully exposed, but not entirely hidden either. The quiet aftermath of her own mission. The absence of answers. The echo of something unresolved.

She didn’t press it further. Just stood there, present, steady, offering something simple but genuine.

“Walk? Spar? I finally got my lightsabers… Fly somewhere we’re not supposed to?” A faint, knowing smile tugged at her lips. “I’m flexible.”

 

[Iandre Athlea]

The terrace had been quiet before Jayna arrived, capturing the kind of stillness that settled naturally over Veradune's higher levels once the rush of daytime movement softened into evening calm. Below them, the city still glowed in clean lines of silver and gold, polished and orderly in ways Bastion had never managed to be, yet none of it truly reached Iandre in the way it once might have.

She had been standing near the edge of the terrace when Jayna approached, her hands loosely folded before her. Her dark hair was gathered back into a simple braid rather than her usual style, lacking the careful precision she normally maintained. Grief had not entirely diminished her composure, but it had visibly thinned it, and the deep exhaustion beneath her calm was becoming harder to hide from anyone observant enough to notice.

The moment the younger woman reached out and embraced her, something inside Iandre softened almost immediately. She was not broken or collapsed, but she was finally tired enough to stop pretending she needed no comfort at all. Her arms lifted after only the slightest hesitation to return the hug with a quiet, fierce sincerity, pouring out both gentleness and a profound gratitude born from spending too many days trying to survive entirely inside her own head.

"Thank you," she said softly once Jayna eased back enough to look at her again, the words carrying the immense weight of real, raw gratitude rather than mere ceremonial politeness.

At the heartfelt offer of a distraction, the faintest trace of life returned to her expression, subtle but entirely genuine.

"A distraction would be nice, Jayna," she admitted quietly.

Then, at the mention of flying somewhere they were not supposed to go, a small flicker of dry humor touched her eyes for the first time in days.

"At this point, even I do not know where we are not supposed to go anymore."

The remark was soft and almost absent-minded, though the faint humor inside it successfully helped loosen some of the suffocating heaviness lingering around her. She considered the options for a moment afterward, her gaze drifting briefly toward the distant skyline before returning to Jayna with a spark of renewed warmth.

"A walking spar?"

One brow lifted slightly as the ghost of an actual smile threatened at the corner of her mouth.

"Hm, how about we simply take a walk and see where it leads us. If we happen to find an open field somewhere along the way, then perhaps we can spar."

The suggestion sounded less like a formal plan and more like a quiet permission to simply exist somewhere outside of her grief for a little while. Her posture eased slightly as she turned away from the terrace edge, motioning gently for Jayna to walk alongside her.

"Though I should warn you," she added, a distinct thread of teasing warmth finally returning to her voice, "I was trained by someone who believed walking meditations counted as appropriate combat preparation, so there is a reasonable chance you are about to be ambushed by philosophy."

Jayna Ismet-Thio