Braze's eyes were having trouble focusing.
The lights of Club Allure smeared into soft halos at the edges of his vision, and when he looked back at Scherezade his pale jade green eyes made a small, unfocused stutter between her face and the glass on the table.
"What? I never… called you…" His voice came out thin and rough.
"Hey… I am independent and… and…"
The last word pitched up almost into a squeak of indignation before it died on his tongue. He frowned, annoyed at himself, and tried to pull his shoulders back into something that resembled dignity.
"I am here to… uhh…"
The thought slipped sideways. He took a breath and shook his head, reaching automatically for the glass of water. He lifted it, then stopped halfway, arm hovering as he stared through the clear liquid. The club's violet and cyan glow refracted in it, bending into strange streaks that did not quite line up with the rest of the room.
Something in his gut went cold.
He held the glass higher, studying the way the light moved through it, the way his own reflection shimmered in the surface. His mind felt slow, like wading through warm syrup, and keeping the pheromones out of his head was suddenly no longer simple discipline. It was a massive struggle.
By the time he understood that, his fingers were already shaking.
Braze set the glass down with a little too much care and reached for the medkit at his belt. The clasp refused to cooperate as his thumb slipped. The leather edge bit against his nail instead of opening. He cursed under his breath.
"Damn it."
The word came out a low growl as he fumbled at the latch again, hands not quite obeying the urgency in his thoughts.
Across the room, the Zeltron server had turned back toward their booth. Her smile faltered for the briefest instant when she saw him swaying and fighting with his belt. Then it smoothed back into something easy and professional.
She drifted over to a gap at the bar instead of directly to them, leaning in to murmur something to a broad-shouldered man in a dark jacket. The man did not look at her, only at the reflection in the mirrored back wall, where Braze and Scherezade were perfectly framed. The man's eyes narrowed slightly. His hand closed around his drink in a way that suggested he had just made a decision.
Braze did not see that part. He managed to pop the clasp and got the medkit half open before a wave of dizziness rolled up from his stomach to the back of his skull. The booth's flooring seemed to tilt underneath him.
"I was here to meet a contact," he murmured, the words slurring just enough to betray him as he tried to stand. The world shifted and he caught himself against the edge of the table, breath coming out in a sharp hiss.
He shut his eyes for a few long moments trying to get his grounding.
The music pressed in from every side, bass vibrating through his ribs. The pheromone haze wrapped warm fingers around his thoughts. There was something else riding with it now, something chemical and heavy that coiled in his veins in a way simple atmosphere should not. He refused to give it the last word.
Braze drew a slow, deliberate breath, dragging air in past the sweetness of the club. He lifted his awareness inward in a way that had nothing to do with the room at all, hunting for the steady thread he knew would be there. The Force met him in a quiet pull, distant at first, then stronger as he leaned into it.
He did not try to purge everything at once. That was too much, too fast, and he did not have the clarity for it. Instead he reached for a smaller thing: a narrow space of focus around himself and the booth. A pocket of calm where the fog thinned and the worst of the warmth could not quite sink in. He felt the shift like the cool edge of a tide licking at his thoughts.
When he opened his eyes again the room was still too bright and too loud, but Scherezade was sharper again. Edged and real in a way nothing else in Club Allure felt.
"If you let me…" His voice was quieter now.
"I can make it a little easier to breathe. Just a little. Enough to think."
He pushed that same thread outward, offering her a steadying pressure, a small countercurrent against the haze that tried to tug at both of them. She could accept it or shove it away on instinct. Either one would tell him exactly how bad her night had already been. He swallowed, jaw tightening as he fought to think.
"I did not call you here," he said, forcing the words to line up.
"The message I got was about a missing shipment, nothing to do with you. Someone used a throwaway handle, promised information if I met them in person. It felt off, but not enough to ignore."
His fingers closed around the edge of the open medkit...
"If Valor sent you…" His eyes flicked up to meet hers, a flicker of worry breaking through the controlled calm.
"Then even he thought something was wrong. Valor has been playing with my access for weeks. He called it practice.... If he saw any of those attempts and decided to drag you in…"
He did not finish that sentence as movement at the edge of his vision pulled his attention away. The broad-shouldered man from the bar peeled away from his stool, setting his untouched drink aside. Two others rose from different parts of the room at almost the same moment. One from a shadowed corner booth, another from the glow of a gaming table.
They did not look at each other, but their path through the crowd traced an invisible triangle that led straight toward Braze and Scherezade.
The Zeltron server passed near their table again, smile turned up, tray balanced effortlessly on one hand. As she glided by, her free fingers brushed the tabletop with what looked like an idle, flirtatious tap.
Braze felt the tiniest vibration through the wood. But he knew it was really a signal.
He did not reach for the glass this time. He let his hand slide instead toward the inside of his jacket, closing around the cool metal of his saber hilt under the fabric. He did not draw it yet. It would light the entire room and end any chance of subtlety.
"Do you see them," he asked softly, keeping his eyes on the middle distance, as if he were just another patron people watching.
"The ones who are not actually enjoying the club at all."
One of the approaching men paused near their booth, pretending to watch the dancers on the central platform providing entertainment along with the singer. His coat shifted just enough to show the outline of a holstered weapon under it.
The other two were closing the gaps to cut off the exits. One leaned casually against the end of their row, blocking the most direct path to the main floor. The third took up a position a few tables away, line of sight clear, posture relaxed in the way only professionals managed before things went
very wrong.
Braze's grip on his saber tightened.
"Whoever set this up does not want a conversation," he said in a low, steady tone, all trace of earlier confusion burned away by the familiar shape of danger.
"They wanted us isolated in the same place, at the same time, with the lights low and the exits crowded."
He shifted his weight, bracing his feet under the table to counter the lingering dizziness.
"I am glad Valor sent you," he added, eyes still scanning, voice soft enough that it was meant only for her.
"I will be very annoyed with him later, but I am glad you are here now."
The nearest man finally turned toward their booth, expression bland in a way that set Braze's teeth on edge.
