Trouble Personified
By the time Vess reached Coruscant, she had nothing left but the clothes on her back, a half-corrupted terminal, and a single unmarked credit chit hidden in her boot.
She hadn’t slept in almost four days.
It started on Nar Shaddaa a job like any other. Quiet, precise, low-risk. Slice into an old relay node drifting on the edge of Hutt space. Pull whatever junk code hadn’t been corrupted by time and neglect. Sell it off to someone rich, stupid, or both.
Except the node wasn’t dead.
It was a decoy.
She was let in welcomed even. The locks gave too easily, the structure too clean. The second she connected, she felt it. Not just a pingback. A full trace.
By the time she severed the uplink, her location had been burned. She barely got out of the alley before the first team arrived armored, masked, no insignia. Not a word exchanged. Just weapons drawn and a kill order written in posture.
She ran.
Back alleys. Turbolift shafts. Maintenance tunnels slick with coolant and blood from someone else’s last mistake. She cycled IDs, rerouted her heat signature through three separate relay loops and they still followed.
They hit all her safehouses. One after another.
Her cache under Sector Twelve torched.
The clinic in the old docks raided.
The rented crawlspace wired to detonate on entry.
She tried to reach her contacts. Ghosts. Dead channels. Accounts drained or locked. Someone had poisoned her whole network in advance. They hadn’t just found her. They’d prepared for her.
Whatever she’d clipped off that relay it wasn’t corp data. It wasn’t something you flipped for credits.
It was a red line.
And she’d crossed it.
By the end of the third day, Vess was bleeding from a gash just below her ribs, half-limping, running on stims and spite. She stole a ship from a rundown merc garage small, ugly, barely enough fuel to make it out of orbit. But it got her clear.
And there was only one place left in the galaxy she could think to go.
Not because it was safe.
Not because she was welcome.
But because there was one person she believed wouldn’t turn her away.
Even when she said she wanted nothing to do with Jedi.
Even when she swore she’d keep her freedom.
She didn’t want to be controlled.
But she didn’t want to die.
She arrived on Coruscant under a false transponder that burned out the second she landed. Walked from the edge of the industrial sector to the Temple by foot. No food. No sleep. No security. Just raw will and the hum of a terminal pressed against her ribs like a second heartbeat.
By the time she reached the Temple gates, she looked like a half-dead runner from the underworld boots scuffed to the thread, coat bloodied at the waist, posture like her spine was the only thing still holding her together.
She said only one thing to the guards:
"I need to see

Vess turned and looked out over the city just before the skyline began to glow with morning light. The city below was waking. She wasn't. She hadn't slept. She didn't feel like she ever would again. That was it. No backups. No tools. No way out.
Just this.
Just here.
She didn't immediately turn when she heard footsteps behind her, bracing herself. If there was one person she didn't want to disappoint it was her. She didn't have the strength for pretense. When she finally spoke, her voice was thin. Quiet, as she turned, the young woman was near tears.
"I messed up."