“Patrol of what? Everyone’s packing up to leave, and you said yourself that you kept getting called back to dock.” “Two on foot, inbound from base camp- likely looking for you, since they can’t raise you on comms.” They both swear and spring apart she closes her eyes with a frustrated huff, processing the input from the sensor. “And I haven’t exploded yet- bad intel all around.”Ĭrack- another broken branch, closer this time, and the perimeter sensor between the camp and the War Table shrills a steady chime into her earpiece until she lifts her hand to silence it. “Isn’t this how you say goodbye-” she arches her back as he slips a hand beneath her waistband- “in the Republic? I knew that cultural briefing didn’t sound right-” What are we-” The rest of the words are lost against her mouth. “We’ll probably never see each other again. “You know this is crazy, right?” Theron murmurs in her ear. Two beats later they’re back against the wall, fumbling at buttons and buckles and harnesses (she makes a mental note to find whoever designed his belt buckle and commit slow, painful murder), teeth and nails grazing sharp along exposed skin. “Guilt, on the other hand… in any case,” her fingertips rise and fall, ever so slightly, in time with his heartbeat, “if you wanted me on my knees, you could have asked.” "We don’t do shame in the Empire.” She grins. “And they said chivalry was dead in the Republic,” she says as he pulls her to her feet, momentum carrying her forward until she catches herself against his chest. One eyebrow raised, he glances back and down over his shoulder- and blushes, taking a quick step away from her and turning to offer her a hand up. “I’m rather enjoying the scenery, myself.” “A walk, hm?” Theron’s still too close for her to move away from the wall she nudges her knee into the back of his calf. “Kept getting called to the ship, but we don’t launch for an hour- figured I’d let them think I’m taking a walk.” “Didn’t they? I turned my implant off, so I’ll take your word for it.” He shrugs. I don’t see anything, and the perimeter sensors didn’t sound.” “I’m perfectly serious.” She shifts, still pressed tight into the corner. Force, even she would have marked him as a mole, and she’s seen him interact with Satele enough to know that they aren’t exactly close.
He does have a point, though she hates to admit it- he’d be marked as a mole from day one. “No one would believe me, anyway- the Grand Master’s son turned traitor? Be serious.” “Pretty sure, sorry.” Theron swats at her absently, still looking out into the distance.
“You’re sure I can’t convince you to defect?” You’ve got good instincts.” She peers around his hip, seeing nothing but leaves rustling in the hot wind, and prods lightly at his flank with one fingertip for good measure. He exhales and refastens the retention strap, mumbling under his breath. “Theron,” she hisses and reaches forward, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, pushing down before he draws. He’s in front of her before she can rise, one hand reflexively moving toward his blaster, eyes scanning the treeline.
After a split second’s pause, Theron grabs her around the waist and pulls her off her feet, away from the edge of the wall she lands in a crouch in the one still-standing corner of the ruin and drops to one knee. In the distance a sharp snap echoes through the jungle, a broken branch or a rifle shot they both freeze, statue-still. Her back holster pushes uncomfortably against her spine. So instead of readying her ship for departure, she’s pressed between Theron Shan and a crumbling shard of a stone ruin near the War Table, his hands buried in her hair, mouth hot against her neck and his jacket half-off. She knows better.īut if one’s going to be damned, Cipher Nine supposes, one might as well do it thoroughly. It should have been a farewell kiss and a clean break battlefield flings are always messy, especially one based on a truce that expires in an hour.
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