1

VICIOUS

"Plenty of humans were monstrous, and plenty of monsters knew how to play at being human."

— V.E. Schwab, Vicious

ZOYA WAS IN the middle of deliberating a potential attack when she saw him.

She was distracted, at least at first. Lothal's trade sector, at least from the vantage point atop one of the many buildings housing a host of vendor's stalls, was bustling and alive despite the massive ship hanging overhead. A frigid breeze gripped the multicolored awnings and items from every corner of the galaxy—or, more truthfully, the corners that made vendors the most money—in a tight-fisted grip and spread goosebumps along the arms of the raven-haired girl lying stomach-down against the stucco roof that she had come to recognize as identical to the others lining the streets.

Zoya shivered with the sudden chill and raised her scanner, ignoring the way the wind bit at her cheeks. Lothal was by no means a beautiful planet—though there was something to be seen in the sloping yellow fields circling the Capital City—and today, with the perpetually grey sky and unforgiving sun bearing down on her, Zoya didn't particularly care to do any sightseeing. Everything here reminded her too much of Inusagi.

The main market square was crawling with stormtroopers and smelled like rotting produce and watching eyes. Though her crew never stayed in one place for very long, Zoya would have been able to feel Lothal from across the galaxy; it was like a living thing, its heartbeat strongest here in the city where justice was elusive and secrets came packaged with murder.

The fields the planet was famous for, rich with nutrients and farm-weather soil, covered the massive expanse of land not far behind her, though stepping outside of city lines was like stepping into another world. Only the farmers the Empire had come to Lothal to enslave could survive out there. Zoya was glad she would only be here for a few hours.

Replaying the plan in her mind, she set the scanner down, frowning. Hera had assured her on the Ghost that Vizago's information was good over and over, but something worry-filled and anxious gnawed at her stomach. There was a lot that could go wrong in just a few minutes.

"Kriff, Six, lighten up. I can feel your worry from here."

Zoya startled at the familiar voice of Sabine Wren in her ear. Two years older and twice as knowledgeable, Sabine was the artist of the group and, evidently, the most perceptive—not that Zoya would ever tell her that. All swirling patterns and colorful designs, Sabine was almost reminiscent of the festivals that used to be held when Zoya was little: with her painted beskar armor and orange-and-blue hair, Sabine would have made a good district representative in the dances. She might even have been a star of one of the holomovies Hera sometimes referenced, beautiful and untouchable.

Zoya could see Sabine standing in the doorway of the building across the market, her Mandalorian armor a beacon in the crowd. With a foot against the wall and her helmet turned away from prying eyes, Zoya could imagine Sabine to be a regular bystander. But that wasn't possible. Her heritage screamed outlier—she could have been in regular clothes and it would still be obvious. There was a lilt to her movements, a grace that Zoya had never been able to replicate. She'd been trained before joining the crew, Sabine told her once, and Zoya had never questioned it. People like her didn't pass in places like Lothal. They stood out.

"Six? Zoya?" Sabine repeated, sounding slightly concerned. "You there?"

Shaking out of her stupor, Zoya raised a finger to her comm. "Sorry, sorry. And yeah. I'm just tired."

"And worried! Don't forget worried."

Zoya rolled her eyes. "That too. I just don't like it here."

"What, the sights of the great Imperial stronghold here on the lovely planet of Lothal don't interest you? I think they're remarkable," Sabine said.

"I don't exactly consider that scum-infested stinkhole remarkable—"

"Knock it off, you two," Hera interrupted. "We've got a job to do, remember?"

Zoya pictured the green-skinned Twi'lek's irritated face in her mind. Hera might not have been much older than Sabine—sometimes it was easy to forget that she had lost just as much as the rest of the crew—but she was already more motherly than all of them combined. (Kanan was always complaining about it, but secretly Zoya knew he liked being told what to do.)

"Sorry, Hera," Sabine said, not sounding sorry at all. "Just trying to pass the time."

"Then pass it by paying attention. The signal's supposed to come soon."

"Alright, alright, I am! It's not my fault that Kanan's running late ..."

Their bickering faded out as Zoya peered below her. The citizens of Lothal were clueless as to what's about to transpire, and Zoya would prefer to keep it that way; Zeb might not mind roughing up anyone who could blow their cover, but she hated it. Hurting the people she was supposed to be saving felt wrong.

Overhead, a pair of TIEs passed by and Zoya rolled to the side, blending into the shadows of the roof. It was a long shot that anyone would even see her, but she felt better knowing that every base had been covered. Now, if Kanan could just give the signal ...

"Your identification. Now."

Gingerly, Zoya extracted herself from her hiding spot and looks down. A pair of goonish Imperial officers were harassing one of the vendors, though from the looks of it he wasn't a vendor at all—just someone trying to pay for the food on their plate. Lothal was full of them, and it was all the Empire's fault.

Red clouded her vision for a moment and Zoya exhaled, counting to ten in her head. There was no use starting a fight she wouldn't win. What good could she do for these people if she got caught?

Zoya winced as the vendor held the basket close to his chest, face tightening. Please don't say anything. "I'm just trying to sell a couple of jogans here!"

There it is. Tensing, Zoya waited as the Imperials shot each other unimpressed looks. Something unsaid passed between them—secret and devious and not at all good for Zoya's temper. "All trade must be registered with the Empire," the second officer finally replied, looking smug. He was smaller than his partner, gangly from days likely spent in the Academy offices. He wasn't built for a fight. She could take him if she wanted.

His friend Zoya was worried about—big and mean-looking, with arms the size of the jogan basket in the vendor's hands. The kind of person who would rough up an innocent person for fun. With some relief, Zoya noted he was busy sizing up the square, ignoring the conflict unfolding in front of him.

"I remember what it was like before your ships showed up," the vendor growled. "Before you Imperials ruined Lothal like the rest of the galaxy."

The square quieted instantly. The shoppers perusing the stalls around them paused uncertainly, like they wanted to help but aren't sure how to do so without catching the officers' attention. Zoya's stomach dropped into her chest and she prayed that they would go easy on him, that at worst he'd have to pay some kind of fine. The others were counting on her, she knew this; she shouldn't endanger them for some random citizen's sake.

But the urge to do something, to help, drowned everything else out, a tidal wave in her path. Panic froze her in place. They'll kill him for what he's said.

The thin Imperial whipped out his comlink. "This is LRC-01. I'm bringing in a citizen under a charge of treason."

Zoya didn't hear the response, but the vendor paled as two of the troopers grabbed his arms and hauled him from the ground. "You can't do this," he pleaded. The officer looked away coldly.

His partner picked up the basket of jogans easily, reaching inside to pick one up. "Oh, yeah? Well, who's gonna stop us?" He shot a warning look at the citizens still watching the performance. "You? You?" They scattered, and he laughed.

Zoya's hands were shaking with the effort not to jump down there and slap the basket out of his hand. It took all of her willpower not to jump down and slap the jogan out of his hand. Her blood boiled with rage—at the Empire, at the vendor, at the citizens for doing nothing. How could they allow this to happen? How could anyone watch this? At least she was here to help; could any of them say the same? Zoya could show go down there, she could—

She was saved from acting on her impulse when a new figure appeared between the Imperials. "Hey, mister, a spare jogan?" he asked, palms faced up, and Zoya paused.

It was a kid by the looks of it, about as old as her, with a head of massive blue-black hair and an orange and brown jacket. His vivid blue eyes were downcast but bright—like he was playing some kind of game with everyone around him, waiting to see if they'd notice. As he approached the Imperials turned, then looked away in unison. Just another misplaced, their faces seemed to say. Zoya's lip curled in disgust.

The larger officer towered over him. "Move along, Loth-rat," he said sharply.

The kid, reading the situation, backed up. "Sorry, sorry. Not looking for trouble." He spun as if to bow, but as he moved, he took something with him, hands flying past the officer's belt.

Zoya blinked as he walked away, the commlink in hand, flipping it once, twice. The two officers didn't even bat an eye, returning to their conversation with the troopers next to them.

Safely tucked behind the stall's wooden beams, he leaned in, blue hair rustling with the sudden wind, and affected a mocking rendition of the officer's accent. "All officers to the main square! This is a code red emergency."

As if a switch had been flipped, the two officers stopped what they were doing to frown at the comm. "It's your lucky day, Lothal scum," the officer said, and gestures to the troopers holding the vendor from before. "You two, come with us." They dropped their prisoner and trailed their superior obediently, leaving the vendor to pick himself up off the ground.

Zoya watched them disappear into the alley, running in the direction of the receiver. The kid, still speaking into the commlink, slipped back into the crowd, heading in the direction of the jogan vendor. "Stay on alert! Repeat, this is a code red."

Finally finished with his performance, the kid bent down next to the basket. His triumphant eyes betrayed the cool look on his face; Zoya had spent enough time with Zeb to know hubris when she saw it.

"Thank you," the vendor said gratefully, holding out a jogan.

"No," the kid replied, taking it from his hand, "thank you." Then he grabbed a second from the basket. And a third.

Definitely a scavenger, Zoya thought.

"Wait—wait! What are you doing?" The vendor looked between the disappearing jogans and the kid hoarding them disbelievingly.

"You and me both, buddy," Zoya muttered.

"Hey," the scavenger chided. "A kid's gotta eat." Then he saluted the vendor and scampered up one of the awnings, heading towards the roof.

When she was sure he'd gone, Zoya made her way along the same route, leaping from roof to roof easily. Sabine taught her how to fall safely the first year she joined the group, but up here with nothing but the flat ground in front of her, Zoya felt more sure of herself than she would with any safety nets. The frustration of the Imperial interaction began to ebb away. This was something she knew how to do.

Careful not to let him see her, Zoya watched the Imperials argue over the miscommunication, still unaware that they'd been played for fools. Next to them, a cluster of black crates attached to the Imperial speeders gleamed in the sunlight. The signal.

Zoya dragged her attention from the Imperial to the alleyway beneath her. Kanan had shown her this same spot on the holomap hours before. She knew where to look.

So where was he?

She was close to giving up when she spotted him: dark hair pulled back in a thick tail at the nape of his neck, startlingly blue-green eyes fringed with black lashes. Usually, they sparked with mischief, but now, they were deadly serious. Zoya only saw him like that when something was really bothering him, and even then, he was good at hiding his emotions. Interest made her lean forward.

He was searching for something on the roofs. Zoya could tell by the shift in his stance, ever-so-slight, the way his gaze was focused on the spot where—

Zoya faltered. The kid from the market was flattened against the roof, dark eyes nervously flicking towards the edge. He had seen Kanan's commlink. And for some reason, Kanan wasn't doing anything about it. Her eyes narrowed.

Then the moment passed, and Kanan nodded to Zoya as if the kid had never been there at all.

Looking like just another citizen on market day, he passed Zeb, then Sabine, tapping his holster with every step. On my command. Zoya slipped from her place on the roof and landed silently on the street below.

For a single, peaceful moment, the market was filled with the sounds of innocent shoppers going about their day. Sabine's gloved hand flicked toward her belt. Zeb tensed, purple legs coiling as if to jump forward. Kanan rounded the corner, fading from view. The Imperials returned to their conversation.

Then Sabine tossed an explosive onto one of the Imperial speeders and everything happened at once.

The speeder exploded with an ear-popping BOOM, shaking the stalls and knocking down the displays. One of the officers whirled on the shell-shocked troopers. "Get those crates out of here! Keep them secure at all costs!" The engines roared to life and the speeders took off, bringing the window of opportunity with them.

Zeb and Sabine disappeared in her peripheral as the crowd stampeded towards safety. Zoya cursed and raced after the speeders, passing the bewildered Imperials and skidding around the corner. Any second now, Kanan ...

The speeders shot towards the exit, gearing up to turn. They're going to make it, Zoya thought in a panic. Before they could pass, though, a brown landspeeder pulled up in front of them, blocking their path. The speeders crashed to a halt.

Kanan grinned, sea-colored eyes finding Zoya. "How's it going?"

Without waiting for an answer, he swung his legs over the hood, roundhousing the first stormtrooper in the face and shooting the second in the shoulder. Zoya grabbed one of the troopers from behind and swept a leg underneath him, just in time for Kanan to level his blaster and fire.

He pocketed it as Zoya stood up, surveying the three unconscious troopers around them. "Took you long enough," she said sourly. "What were you waiting for, someone to hold your hand? Maybe Hera?"

"Shut it," he warned, tan face reddening. "I say something one time—"

More stormtroopers appeared at the opposite end of the alley, cutting Kanan off before he could make any more of his weak excuses. He ducked to the side and Zoya pulled out the blaster she nicked off the fallen trooper, pointing it towards them.

"You know, wasn't this supposed to be an easy job?" she yelled over the sound of blaster fire. "I thought Vizago said there would be a single squadron, tops!"

"Should you ever listen to what Vizago says?" he shouted back.

Zoya fired at one of the white-armored troopers. "Fair point."

Right on cue, Zeb—a hulking, muscular blur of purple and white, blinding at first—sprung up behind the growing crowd of troopers, picking one up and throwing him at the others with the force of the speeders themselves. In seconds, all four were left groaning on the ground. One clutched his head and sank back against the speeder with a groan.

Zoya dropped the blaster and Kanan smirked, victorious.

He was still smiling as the kid from the market landed on the speeder out of nowhere and gunned the engine. Kanan moved as if in slow motion, hand going to his blaster instead of the speeder.

"Thanks for doing the heavy lifting," the little Loth-rat said cheerfully, and Zoya realized what was happening too late. She lunged forward as he piloted the speeder in reverse, dodging Zeb's fist easily. More troopers arrived behind him, just in time to see the mess Kanan and Zeb left in their wake.

"Now what?" Zeb shouted.

"After that kid!"

"On it," Zoya yelled. Ducking past the stormtroopers shoved against the wall, Zoya wrapped her hand around the crate's handle as he turned, narrowly avoiding the officer's hands. The speeder jolted with the collision and Zoya tightened her grip, grimacing.

"Hey!" the kid shouted, trying to shake her off.

Zoya ignored him. "Those crates you've got there are ours! Who do you think you are?"

"Ezra," he said defensively. "Who are you?"

Before she could answer, Zoya caught sight of Sabine standing above them. She held out a hand and Sabine vaulted over the rooftop, catching hold of it.

Sabine hauled herself onto the trailing crates, undeterred as they bobbed violently. "Pretty gutsy move, kid!" He paled as she raised her blaster, glancing at Zoya. "You got this?"

"I'll be fine. He's harmless," Zoya replied.

The kid glared at her. "I am not!"

Sabine shrugged and blasted the connection between the trailing cargo. "Your choice." She gave the kid a momentary inspection and Zoya knew her well enough to see the smile under her helmet. "If the big guy catches you, he'll end you. Good luck!"

Free of the weight of the second crate, the speeder raced forward. A group of stormtroopers turned towards the commotion, raising their guns to meet the speeders shooting toward them.

Then the familiar sound of blaster fire cut through the drone of the speeders. Zoya and the kid looked back in unison to see Kanan lower his blaster, motioning for her to get a move on. Right. The crates.

The kid blinked. "Who are you guys?"

"Oh, you know"—Zoya ducked as one of the holosigns lining the streets nearly hits her—"just your run-of-the-mill citizens—hey, look out!"

The kid saw the market in front of them and jerked the controls upward, sending both him and Zoya flying over the pedestrians below. Stomach tumbling violently, they broke out onto the main highway, skidding with the sudden change in terrain. He cast a nervous look back at her. "You're all crazy!"

"Eyes on the road," Zoya snapped. "Do you want to get us both killed?"

"You, maybe!"

"Very funny!"

He opened his mouth to reply when the pair of Imperial speeders following them landed a hit on the crate. The speeder shuddered, skimming the ground. Black smoke erupted from the damage in thick, billowing fumes. Zoya covered her mouth to avoid coughing.

The kid's hands moved furiously, pressing the buttons the way Zoya had once seen Zeb stamp out a fire in the nosegun. "That's never good!"

Zoya glared at him. "You're just realizing this now?"

"Hey, I'm not the one who—AH!" The controls spun as the speeder groaned under their combined weight. The kid wrenched the handle to one side—but instead of steadying them, it sent them flying over the freeway boundary.

Zoya clutched at the sides of the speeder, trying not to vomit. On the bright side, the crate was no longer leaking smoke. On the downside, they were driving straight into oncoming traffic.

"Zoya!" Kanan shouted. He'd managed to catch up to them on the other side of the narrow boundary and was holding out his arms. "Jump, now!"

"Are you crazy?" the kid shrieked. "You'll get flattened!"

Zoya ignored him and crouched low, preparing herself. Zeb trailed Kanan's speeder, gesturing for her to get a move on.

"You're insane," the kid decided. "You're all insane!"

"Possibly," Zoya agreed, and pushed off the crate as hard as she could.

For a terrifying second, she was sent spiraling into free-fall, catapulted towards Kanan with no real trajectory. Then gravity and something else—some decisive and greedy, forcing her to hold on—took hold and she twisted, landing stomach-first on the crates. Zoya rolled over and wheezed, gasping for breath.

Kanan looked concerned, but his main focus was still on the kid. "You okay?"

"Just perfect," Zoya managed, still doubled over. Her lungs felt like the air had been sucked out of them and she could barely breathe, but she managed to look up as Kanan signaled Zeb.

He pointed to Zeb's speeder, releasing his crates behind him. "Get on!"

Knowing better than to ask questions, Zoya reached for the speeder gliding next to them and pulled herself onto it. The moment she gained a foothold, Kanan rocketed forward, jetting over the barrier, and followed the kid.

Zeb slowed to a stop, attaching Kanan's crates to his own. "If Kanan catches that kid, I'm gonna end him."

"I'm sure," Zoya said drily. She inspected the crates, then the already-receding silhouette of Kanan's speeder against the wheat-colored landscape. "I just hope he doesn't screw us over."

They'd just managed to attach all four when Hera pulled up beside them, green-and-grey patterned lekkus vibrant against the fields behind her. "I have a feeling Kanan's going to need some help," she ground out, voice dangerously even. "Anyone care to explain what, exactly, went wrong?"

✶

It took Kanan's assurance that they'd gotten the cargo to assuage Hera's growing annoyance, and even then, Zoya still wasn't completely sure she was not angry. She somehow kept her cool when Kanan called for backup, but Zoya could tell after two years of living with her that Hera wanted to know what had gone wrong. She was the Ghost's resident mom, and Zoya would rather not anger her so early in the morning. It was a miracle that her demon droid, Chopper, wasn't in the hull berating them now.

When both Kanan and the kid—Ezra, Zoya remembered—are safely on board, Kanan whirled on him with a disapproving look. Hera had picked them up in the fields with a single TIE on their trail. Now there were four behind them, and it was all the hid's fault. Sabine crossed her arms, annoyed to have been brought into this situation.

The kid didn't notice, however, eyes fixed on the crates full of blasters. "Whoa! Do you have any idea what these are worth on the black market?"

"I do, actually," Kanan retorted irritably.

Ezra reached for one and admired it, greedily examining every side. Zoya was almost inclined to let him have it, he seemed so in awe.

He'd probably just sell it to some Imperial goon, she reminded herself. The urge to slap it out of his hand nearly won. He doesn't actually want to help.

Zeb snatched the blaster from Ezra's hand. "Don't get any ideas."

He frowned. "They're mine."

Gripping the sides of the crate, Zeb flashed him a glare that could rival the Emperor. When he wanted to be, Zeb could be scary. "If you hadn't gotten in our way ..."

Chest puffing, Ezra leaned forward. "Too bad. I got to them first."

Before a fight could break out between them, Kanan pushed them apart. "It's not who's first. It's who's last." Ezra looked aggrieved, but Kanan didn't seem to care as he turned to Zeb. "Keep an eye on our friend here." Then he disappeared up the stairs.

The ship jolted as Hera piloted it into a nosedive. Ezra hopped onto one of the crates to keep himself from falling sideways. When the Ghost was level again, he raised his hands defensively. "Look, I was just doing the same thing you were! Stealing to survive."

Zeb looked ready to burst into flames. "You have no idea what we were doing. You don't know us."

"And I don't want to! I just want off this burner."

"Oh, wow," Zoya snapped. "Kanan saved your sorry hide out there on the plains, the least you could do is be grateful!"

"I could toss him out," Zeb suggested helpfully. Ezra looks unconvinced, but both Sabine and Zoya knew he was completely serious. Grinning evilly, Zeb added, "While in flight."

Ezra gaped at him, stumbling back into the wall as the Ghost shook violently. Zoya caught the wall to steady herself. Thrown off-balance, Zeb crashed into Ezra, crushing him under his body.

Ezra gasped, arms flailing at his sides. "Get off. I—can't—breathe!"

Zeb scoffed. "I'm not that heavy in this gravity."

Ezra crawled out from under him, face slightly green. "Not the weight. The smell."

"Okay, hold on," Zoya started, but Zeb brushed past her.

"You don't like the air quality in here, eh?" he asked, voice dangerously low. "Fine! I'll give you your own room." With that, he tossed Ezra into the closet and shut the door.

Zoya stared at him. "Zeb!"

He frowned. "What?"

"You can't just lock him up! What if he reports us?"

"So?"

Zoya looked towards Sabine helplessly. "Don't tell me you agree with him."

Sabine snickered. "I'm sorry. You have to admit that was kind of funny."

Zeb turned to them, looking nervous. "I don't smell bad, do I?"

"Only a smidge," Sabine replied neutrally. She sounded like she was trying not to laugh.

"Why, you little—"

Zoya threw up her hands. "Why do I even try with you two?"

The ship spun as Kanan's voice cut in over the speakers, drowning Zeb's response out. "Guys, where's the kid?"

"Calm down, chief," Zeb fired back, leaning toward the door controls nonchalantly. "He's in ..."

The door slid open, but there was no one inside. Instead, the vent was cracked open, the screws loose. Zeb's face turned sheepish. "Uh ... here?"

Sabine crossed her arms. Zoya cursed under her breath. "Zeb," Kanan said dangerously, "where is he?"

Zeb cast Zoya an embarrassed look. "Well, he is still in the ship."

Above them, the ship's interior groaned as what could only be Ezra—unbound and out of his holding place—squeezed through it. "Oh, he's in the ship, alright," Sabine observed, craning her kneck to look up at the shaking vents.

Zoya pointed an accusing finger at Zeb. "I can't believe you just let him get away like that. Who knows what he's going to do if we don't catch him now!"

"Hey," he growled. "I didn't know he was that small. What do you want me to do about it?"

"Maybe next time you can avoid letting your Coruscant-sized ego interfere with the job at hand," Zoya retorted. "He'll run his mouth to the authorities and then this whole thing gets blown wide open!"

Sabine shook her head, pushing Zoya back lightly. "Whatever the case, he's out, and there's nothing we can do. If we want to talk about the most pressing matter, Hera needs us at the nosegun. We can argue after we get out of here, okay?"

"Fine," Zoya muttered, at the same time Zeb made a decidedly inhuman sound. She flashed him a smile that was more a baring of teeth than anything, turning to the door. "But Zeb has kitchen duty if this kid screws us over."

✶

Despite Sabine's talent for picking off TIEs on the move, Zoya hated moments like these: when Hera, Kanan, and Sabine were doing all the work and she was relegated to the sidelines, having to watch as they took down fighter after fighter. Zoya had never been much of a shot in the air; her real talent lay in espionage—the spaces patrols didn't search, the quiet footfalls and hushed voices of Imperial officers when they thought no one could hear them. She was at her best in the dark, alone but certain, for once in her life knowing what she was good at. Up here in the air, she was the one stuck behind the others.

By the time they made it to the ladder, Kanan was shouting something unintelligible from above them, Hera calling back from the cockpit. Sabine's hands fidgeted uncontrollably as if prepping themselves for the controls. It wasn't until she saw the kid in the seat—her seat—that Sabine lost it.

With her left hand already reaching for the controls, Sabine grabbed a fistful of his jacket in her hands and yanked Ezra from his seat. Too slow to react, he lurched forward, just barely missing the wall.

Now helmet-less, Sabine gave him a scathing once-over, decided he wasn't worth her time, and threw herself into the pilot's seat in time to see two more TIE fighters scream past them.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up," Zoya grumbled, coming up behind the two as Sabine fired off two shots that jostled the seat.

He returned her dirty look, clearly more interested in making a move on Sabine than dealing with the repercussions of his actions earlier. "My name's Ezra," he said smoothly, stepping in front of her. "What's yours?"

Sabine clenched her jaw. Zeb, having finally reached the nosegun, picked him up by the collar of his shirt and scowled. "My name's Zeb, you Loth-rat."

Ezra's brown skin turned two shades paler. Hera's voice saved him from responding. "Calculations complete, but we need an opening!"

"Found one!" Sabine blasted the final TIE in front of them. Before more reinforcements could stop them, the Ghost flew through the charred remains and jumped to hyperspace.

The entire room seemed to exhale a singular sigh of relief, Ezra included. Zoya nearly forgot about the stowaway standing next to her. She almost missed the shuffling of his feet against the floor, the cautious spring to his step.

Then she remembered what was happening.

Slowly, they all turned to look at him. Zeb cracked his knuckles. Zoya narrowed her eyes.

Ezra smiled weakly, holding up his hands in surrender. "Guys, come on! Let's talk about this!"

He bolted for the hallway.

This time, Ezra wasn't so lucky. Before he could even reach for the vents, Zeb grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him off toward the cockpit, a devilish smile on his face. "Vengeance," he sighed, and tugged Ezra around the corner.

Sabine hopped down from the turret. "Should we feel bad?"

Zoya trailed after her. "He did almost ruin the entire mission and get us caught ..."

"Water under the bridge?"

"Still deciding." Zoya dodged Sabine's arm before it could wrap around her shoulders. "Things could have gone better."

"Isn't that what we always say?" Sabine let her hand drop. "I think he might be interesting."

"Will he still be interesting when he burns the ship down and gets us all sent to the spice mines?"

Sabine bumped their shoulders together. "So you're just gonna ignore the fact that he's probably your age? I didn't think you could be so cold, Hasan."

"I'm not," Zoya protested, but they had reached the cockpit already.

Kanan appeared beside Zoya, a slip of shadow in the glaring light. He slanted her a questioning look. "What's going on?"

Zoya waved a dismissive hand at the door. "The kid may or may not be getting pummeled by Zeb as we speak."

He winced. "That bad?"

Sabine leaned over and pressed the console button. "It could be going better." Zoya scoffed at her recycled use of words and Sabine slanted her a smug look that said, Sabine, 1. Zoya, 0 clear as day.

The door slid open. Ezra leaned against the frame, oblivious to their presence while Zeb stared him down from one of the chairs. "So just drop me and my blasters outside Capital City—"

Sabine brushed past him, Zoya trailing behind her. Zoya found her seat and leaned back to watch the show unfold. "They're not your blasters," Sabine said.

"And we're not going back to Capital City," Kanan added. "The job's not done."

Ezra wrinkled his nose, sitting up in his seat. "If the job's not done, where are we going?"

✶

Tarkintown, from a distance, glittered like a constellation against the midnight plains. On this side of the planet, plant life rarely survived past conception and the hard-packed soil was less than comforting. A place of unwanted citizens in the eyes of the Empire and starving children, Tarkintown made Zoya angry just by looking at it: a ring of dilapidated huts and makeshift homes, it was rarely featured in Imperial propaganda and conveniently ignored by the senate representatives that conversed weekly on Coruscant. Though it held a lot of good, Zoya's heart sank every time they passed another kid without a home.

Once, when she was little, Zoya's mother got it in her head that proper education would be good for her unruly, storytelling daughter.

You're so much like your father, she'd say, and for years, those words elicited a smile from a usually stoic Reva. Most of the time, she said them fondly. But then, after a while, they began to turn bitter and dark as the uniforms of the troopers that patrolled the Academy during the routine lockdown drills the school hosted every month.

(After a while, they started to become a curse.)

While she was there, Zoya spent most of her time reading up on the story of the Empire's rise to power and mission to spread "order" across the galaxy. She didn't care much for the bits of Imperial encouragement sprinkled in the pages—if enough time passed, save began to sound synonymous with occupy—but the underlying story drew her attention. In between the Imperial's words, she could find the true history, not the altered one.

She recalled what little she knew of Lothal now as she pushed her crate of food towards the main square: the Empire began their invasion of Lothal early on in their quest to unify the galaxy. The Emperor's reign was over everyone, but his favorite admiral, Grand Moff Tarkin, took over a small portion of it. The Outer Rim's new governor zeroed in on Lothal immediately, no doubt for its oil-rich underground and agricultural bonuses, and it didn't take much to send a few troops there to investigate.

In the stories she read, the locals quickly agreed that a place in the senate and protection from the dangerous pirate practices taking place so far out. Zoya wondered if that was truly the case, or if those pirates were just an excuse to make their extended home there.

Tarkintown was one of those left behind. Capital City got an Academy, money, status. Those unlucky enough to be far from any protection that might have been offered? They got this.

Ezra's gaze was trained on the alley, his eyes tinged with sorrow. "Lived on Lothal my whole life. Never been here."

Sabine sent a pebble skidding across the sandy ground. "The Imperials don't advertise it."

"Locals call it Tarkintown," Zeb said.

"Named for Grand Moff Tarkin, Governor of the Outer Rim. He kicked these folks off their farms when the Empire wanted their land." Sabine's face twisted with visible disgust.

Zoya inclined her head toward the Imperial flyers still smeared against some of the buildings. "No one could do anything about it without getting arrested. And you know what happens after that."

"Yeah," Ezra said, looking away. His eyes were unreadable. "I do."

They set up in the center of the square, close to the ramshackle houses and homes in disrepair. The barren path beneath them, likely once an extension of the yellow-gold sea that stopped at the town's edge, was littered with old propaganda posters and flyers advertising the Imperial rule.

While Zeb called out to the villagers, jogan fruit in hand, Zoya stooped low to pick one up, careful not to rip the waterlogged edges. Zoya had learned paper—the real kind, not the hologram reports she was used to seeing displayed on the Ghost's console—was a rare commodity, and the Empire had monopolized its distribution early on in its reign. Art that had already been regulated and sanctioned by Imperial rule was now so scarce and rare that most people in the galaxy didn't even know it existed.

Sabine, who had once dabbled in something she'd called watercolor art, had given up other mediums in favor of the paint in her cans: it was far easier to come by, and less difficult to explain away. Her father loved to paint. It was one of the many things Zoya had idolized about him. She'd been lacking in the skill required to do it herself, but he had been amazing. Mai, too.

Zoya's brow furrowed and she let the paper fall. That old feeling of claustrophobia crept up on her, holding her in a chokehold despite the open air around them. Don't think about it. Don't think about them. Don't—

A lump rose in her throat, thick and hard to swallow. Zoya tasted the metal tang of blood in her mouth, felt the sharp pain of her lip tearing as she bit into it. Her nails dug into her hand, hard and fast enough to draw blood. Anxiety pricked at Zoya's thoughts, the way it always did when she thought about Lux.

"Six," Sabine said gently. Her hand was on Zoya's shoulder, and her eyes were filled with alarm. "You okay?"

Zoya inhaled sharply and nodded, her bearings coming back to her. She shrugged Sabine's hand away, hiding her bloody hand behind her back. "I, um—I'm fine. Sorry."

Sabine frowned. "You didn't do anything wrong. Are you—" Then her gaze flicked past Zoya and she stiffened, hand falling to her holster. "Hey, where's the kid?"

Zoya turned. The crate next to her was empty, and so was the space where Ezra had been. She reached for her blaster but stopped herself. He couldn't have just left—there was nowhere for him to go. And there was only one place where he would find something worth keeping.

"He went back to the ship," Zoya realized.

Zeb, who had finished distributing his own jogans, planted his feet beside Sabine and growled. "I swear, if he goes into my room, it's over for him."

"It's not your room I'm worried about," Zoya retorted.

Sabine's brows cinched. "He wouldn't."

Her gaze swiveled towards the hills as a string of angry beeping that sounded disturbingly like Chopper came from the Ghost's opened ramp. She could see Kanan and Hera's shadows receding into it.

Zoya winced. "I think he just did."

✶

By the time they got to the ship, Ezra had already been caught. Zoya was uninterested in the details, but Kanan seemed particularly grouchy as he called the rest of the group into the common room. The holochess table Zoya sometimes used to play with Zeb was powered down, and in the yellow light things felt unusually dark. There was always something going on in here, yet during missions it was silent. Zoya hated it.

Zoya looked up as Sabine entered the room. She was alone, surprisingly—Zoya had expected Ezra to come with her, if not just for the sake of pissing Zeb off. But as the door shut behind her and Sabine flopped down next to Zoya, he didn't appear. Weird.

Kanan's voice jolted Zoya to attention. He stood near Hera with his arms crossed, clothes slightly scuffed from the day's adventures. "We have a new mission. Vizago acquired the flight plan for an Imperial transport ship full of Wookie prisoners," he said. His voice was rough and unrefined, like the starting of an engine. In a way, that was how Kanan was: since she'd known him, he'd never quite settled. He was less of a matchstick than the box itself, waiting to catch fire.

"Most of these Wookies were soldiers for the Old Republic," Hera added, and Zoya sat up straighter. She'd only heard about the old world and its history through stories, and even then, she was not sure which ones were true. To see a group of people who had seen and fought during those times—her breath caught.

Zeb glared at the floor. "I owe those hairy beasts. They saved some of my people."

Hera's face softened. "Mine too."

"If we're going to save them, we've got a tight window," said Kanan. "They've been taken to an unknown slave labor camp. If we don't intercept this ship, we'll never find them. Now, I have a plan, but—"

A thud echoed inside the closet. Zoya stood, sighing, as Kanan opened the door to reveal Ezra, already shielding his head with his hands. He smiled, sheepish, and lunged for the vent, but Zeb had caught on. Faster than Ezra could scramble away, Zeb pulled him out and tossed him onto the floor.

"I ordered Chopper to keep watch!" Zeb spat. Chopper waved his mechanical tools like arms, beeping aggressively. Zoya wasn't sure what he said, but Zeb slammed his fist into his hand, growling. "Can we please get rid of him?"

Sabine blocked his path. Ezra gave her a hopeful look. "No. We can't. The kid knows too much."

Ezra frowned. Hera helped him up. "We don't have time to take him home anyway. We need to move now. I'll keep an eye on him," she declared, daring them to argue.

"I wasn't the one in charge," Zoya muttered. "Don't look at me."

Zeb hissed. "It's Chopper's fault, not mine!"

"Is this a recurring theme with you now?"

Kanan pushed past them, cutting Zeb's response off. "Quit it, guys. Zeb's on in less than a minute as one of the Wookie slaves, and it had better be convincing or you can say goodbye to the Wookies."

"Yeah, yeah," Zeb scowled as Zoya and Sabine snickered into their hands. "Laugh it off. Meanwhile, I'm doing all the heavy lifting."

"Oh, please," Zoya said, as the ship lurched into the docking bay. Outside, the vast expanse of space glittered like the jewels her mother used to pin in her ears. "Like you're doing anything other than dreaming about pummeling the kid in that big head of yours." She jumped up and mussed the dark purple tufts around his ears. "So smart."

He whirled, eyes flashing. "Come back here! You think you can get away with that so easily? I'm big and scary and I could eat you for breakfast if I wanted."

Zoya danced out of his reach, laughing. "Ah, but don't you see? I'm bigger and scarier, and much more powerful."

"No," Zeb protested. "I'm—"

"A rare breed of Wookie," Kanan finished for him, casting a warning look towards Zoya, who grinned and saluted. He let out an exasperated sigh. "No more games, Zoya. It's time to go. We have a show to put on, remember?" He clipped the holocuffs onto Zeb's wrist as footsteps sounded outside.

"This has never worked," Zeb said under his breath. "Just watch."

Zoya jumped into place just in time. The door opened and two stormtroopers, clad in white and clearly annoyed, peered at Zeb inquisitively. "That thing's not a Wookie," one of them observed.

Kanan leaned against the doorframe, pretending to be unbothered. "Haven't you ever seen a rare hairless Wookie before?"

Zoya nodded vigorously as Zeb let out a terrible Wookie impression. "They're so popular on Naboo."

The stormtroopers stared at Zeb, then at each other. They looked unconvinced.

"Oh, forget it," Zeb said. Zoya ducked as he broke out of the cuffs and sent both troopers to the ground with a single hit. They crashed to the floor, knocked out cold. "Told you they wouldn't buy it."

Sabine raised her pistols. "You didn't exactly give 'em a chance to buy it."

He scratched the back of his neck dreamily. "Ah, there's just something about the feel of their helmets on my fists ..."

Zoya pulled out her blaster as Kanan turned to them. "Okay, you know the plan. Move out."

They fanned out—Kanan, and Zeb going one way and Sabine, Zoya, and Chopper going the other. Kanan tasked them with disrupting the gravity system—but that was Sabine's area of expertise, not Zoya's. Making sure no one got in the way while she made the Imperial's own tech work in their favor? That was something Zoya knew how to do.

Chopper let out a string of whirring noises as Sabine went to work on the console. "Chopper, stop grumbling and work on that gravity generator."

Zoya dared a glance down the hallway. "It's so empty. Do you think something is wrong?"

"I hope not," said Sabine, without looking up. "It won't matter, anyway. I've got the backup ready ... Now."

She pressed a button and all the weight in the room was suddenly rendered weightless. Though she'd been in similar positions before, Zoya never got used to the feeling that she got from floating. It was as if her entire body had become lighter than a feather, drifting in the wind. Sabine reveled in it, though. "Artificial gravity is down for two minutes," Sabine announced triumphantly.

"Nice work," Zoya said, and took the explosives from her bag, placing them across the console. "There. That should be enough. Now, let's get out here, shall we?"

Sabine took hold of Chopper's metal leg. "I thought you'd never ask."

They sped toward the rendezvous point, Zoya's heart beating loud in her ears. The doubt settling in her chest made her jittery—two minutes wasn't enough time to get out before those explosives detonated. It might not even be enough time for them to get to the ship, even before they had to detach from the airlock. She could only hope that things went right for once and they made it in time.

Then again, things almost never went their way. Why would they start now?

Chopper slowed to a stop when they got to the docking point. Zoya let go of Chopper, floating to the side as Sabine raised the gravity activator in her hand. Zoya shut her eyes. "Five, four ... Get ready. Two, one ..."

The gravity turned back on at once, and Zoya dropped onto the balls of her feet. "That went better than expected."

Kanan rounded the corner, flanked by Zeb and Ezra, and Sabine sighed. "You had to jinx it." She turned towards Kanan and the others. "Where are the Wookies?"

"No Wookies," he said through gritted teeth. "Sabine, man the nosegun! Chop, tell Hera to take off! Zoya, get up there and tell her what's going on."

"Uh ... right," Sabine stammered, and sprinted towards the airlock door.

Zoya followed. "So," she yelled, dodging the sleeping stormtroopers Zeb knocked out minutes earlier, "does someone want to share what the kid is doing here? I thought he was supposed to stay behind!"

"Long story," Kanan shouted back. "Imperials. Trap. There were no Wookies!"

The door opened in front of them and Zoya ran for the ladder leading to the cockpit. "I'm beginning to realize that!"

The airlock slid shut behind her, Zeb's heavy footfalls close behind. Zoya didn't hear Ezra or his bickering, but there was no time to think about it. She shoved past the door and nodded to Hera. "Go, go, go!"

"Already on it," Hera replied. She flicked a switch, hands tightening around the controls. Zoya stumbled, feeling the whole ship shudder as it pulled away from the Imperial transport. Hera grinned. "There! Airlock shut. We're out of here!" The Ghost began to pull away from the transport.

Zoya exhaled a sigh of relief. They'd done it. They'd made it out.

So why did she have the terrible feeling they'd made a mistake?

author's note this took me so LONG I'M SO SORRY 😳 I recently started winter break so i had been hoping that i would have more time to write but i procrastinated the entire time and now have only nine days left. look away 🥴 however, on a more serious note, what did everyone think of this chapter?? i'm not sure how i did with the whole "building relationships" aspect of the story, so please share ur thoughts!! all the support for this story has been really lovely so thank u all for that!! i'm going to try to get the second chapter out soon 👁 so be on the lookout for that ‼️ ANYWAY shutting up now but please vote/comment if u haven't already, it means the absolute world to me 💓💓