She rose and entered the small master bedroom where her husband was attempting to rest.

Leia was still curled beside him, reading one of her favorite stories from a data pad. Firmus was awake, but still flushed and far too bright eyed. Sola didn’t like how pale the rest of his skin was, and he seemed as though he was part of the mattress, his body limp and drained.

“Mom,” Leia said, and even at seven, she knew how to share a silent, concerned look.

“Leia…is doing a marvelous job…reading,” Firmus managed, doing his best to muster a smile for his daughter.

“Naturally,” Sola agreed, smiling at their girl. “Leia, could you give Dad and I a moment?”

Leia pouted as she slid from the mattress.

“You know I can feel when you’re scared,” she said, a frown wrinkling her pixie face.

Sola sighed internally. “Yes, honey, I am aware that I have Force sensitive children. Doesn’t mean you get to be in all the adult conversations.”

And she didn’t need the Force to see that her daughter was terrified of losing her father and this was evident in her temper.

The girl was strong past reasoning.

Three days they’d had her. Three days as she endured and screamed and suffered.

At last, Tarkin had summoned him and ordered that Vader personally interrogate the Rebel chit.

Vader hated Tarkin with the power of Mustafar’s lava flows, but Palpatine had ordered that he work with the Grand Moff on this Force damned vanity project.

Already, he’d had to chase down the stolen plans for Tarkin only to be thwarted by this very girl. So the sooner he could get the information from her, the sooner he could return to the Devastator and continue work on his own plans for the galaxy.

He entered her cell and she struggled into a sitting position.

So small.

So defiant.

But she looked much the worse for wear—-her hair straggling from its elegant coils and her robes stained with sweat, blood, and dirt.

“It is high time, Princess,” he informed her, while she glared at him. “For you to give us the stolen plans. And I am here to discuss that.”

Anakin wished, not for the first time, that Ahsoka could have been here. He wondered if she knew about this illness—if she had encountered anything like it.

But she and Rex were somewhere at Mon Mothma’s request, and anyway, Anakin was still figuring out a way forward with his former padawan.

Luke groaned again, turning restlessly and trying to kick off the blanket covering him.

“No!” he cried. “Father! Father… please …!”

It was a terrible echo of his pleading when the Emperor had turned his dark wrath upon the young Jedi.

“I’m here, Luke,” Anakin told him, laying a prosthetic hand over his son’s heart and placing the cold gel pack on his brow once again. He decided to risk a Force connection. It had helped Luke settle when Leia had done so.

He cut the connection and Piett pulled up to the emergency station platform, vaulting over the side of the speeder and running to Max’s side as personnel began to run out.

“What happened?” asked the lead nurse, scanner out and running over Veers’ head wound.

“Hit in the head with a rock,” Piett informed him, trying to keep his tone clinical. “It was thrown from about six feet away. He was able to keep his feet and make it to the speeder with my help.”

The man nodded as the grav sled was prepped and the others prepared to lift the General.

“And his name?”

“General Maximilian Veers.”

Piett jogged alongside the team as they began to move.

“Are you his next of kin?”

“No,” he answered as the doors hissed open to admit them to the warmer air of the hospital. “His wife. Myra Veers—she works here.”

Firmus fought and snarled like a wild animal, but he could not buck off three of them. They bound him fast with leather cords and hauled him to his feet, keeping a firm grip on either side.

He felt marginal relief when Veers was dragged into his line of sight.

The General was still alive then.

He had also been bound with leather straps and they had added the indignity of a collar around his neck—no doubt enjoying what they saw as a reverse for the Roman in the hands of these Decleangli.

They laughed and joked in their lilting language. Then the man who was unmistakably their chief walked right up to Veers and spat in his face.

Firmus swore at him then, using his own language, and this earned him their focus.

“Oho,” the Chief said in the common tongue. “A traitor to the Island then. This will be all the more enjoyable.”

And with that he backhanded Piett.

He was well aware all eyes were on him as he approached the looming form standing at the viewport.

“My Lord.”

He waited for that inscrutable helmet tilt that told him Vader was listening.

“General Veers reports that while there are signs that a Rebel base might have been here, he feels it is unlikely that they will return.”

There was a long beat.

Then the datapad flew from his hands to crumple in mid air and drop into the Pit.

Piett felt the collective flinch of the entire bridge, but he refused to do so himself. In the past, Vader had at least appreciated, if not respected, spine in his officers. So he stood straight and waited.

At length, they arrived, and the familiar elegant lines of the Jade’s Fire came into Luke’s view.

He slewed into Mara as she helped him off the speeder and she snorted.

“Bit off more than we could chew, didn’t we, Skywalker?” she asked dryly, as they made their slow way up the landing ramp.

“Got…what I came for,” he panted.

“Where’s the demon droid accomplice?” she asked, easing him to her medbunk. Her ship was much better equipped to treat injuries than his faithful X-Wing and he was grateful.

“With…Leia,” he groaned as Mara pulled out a scanner to run over him. “Couldn’t…risk him going…rogue on this one.”

She cocked her head a little in the way that he loved and Max thought once more—for the millionth time—that she would have been a magnificent politician.

It wasn’t as pleasant, of course, when she directed her skills at him, but then—

He’d married her partly because she would push back and wrangle over things with him.

“Why haven’t you freed him yet?” asked his wife—getting right to the heart of the issue. “He has saved your life. Slaves have been freed for much less.

Veers ate a piece of meat to give himself time to answer.

“My Mom would destroy these clowns in five minutes if she were here,” Zev continued.

“Do you think they’re looking for you?” Luke asked, grabbing one of their water bottles and offering it to Piett.

When the man couldn’t hold it steady, her brother surprised her by carefully helping him drink.

“I know they are,” Zev replied confidently.

“They will be,” Piett agreed huskily. “I have heard enough about Myra Veers to know that I might almost pity these smugglers. But then, anyone who takes children deserves to burn in nine hells.”

It was also apparent he’d been badly beaten. There was bruising on his jaw and his mouth was cut, dried blood crusted on his chin and under his nose.

The man moaned again, moving his head feebly.

“We should help him,” Zev said firmly.

Both sets of eyes trained on him with laser focus.

“Why?” asked Leia. “Look at him. Maybe he’s done something really bad. That’s why they did this.”

Zev snorted. “Because he’s an Imperial officer he must have done something bad? Really? You have poodu for brains?”

“Hey!” Luke was right before him, hands on his hips. “Don’t talk to my sister that way! We KNOW they’ve done awful things…!”

“My Dad’s an Imperial officer and he’s the best man I know!” Zev snapped back.

The twins gaped. Was it really so hard to believe?

“He loves my Mom and me, his crew think he’s the best, and I miss him…!” he paused, voice cracking.

Did Dad know now? Had Mom told him that Zev had been taken? Was he coming for Zev?

The blades illuminated his scarred face in ways that made him look like a Sith demon.

Appropriate given his past.

He motioned his free hand and she stumbled back with the strength of his Force shove.

Sweat coated her body and her muscles burned.

How long had they been at this?

She’d lost track of time, but it was possible it had been an hour already and he showed no sign of weakness. No weariness or pain.

YOU WILL KILL DARTH VADER.

She screamed in rage—both at the voice in her head and at the man before her.