3

AIR IN MY LUNGS

"You're falling now. You're swimming. This is not harmless. You are not breathing."

— Richard Siken, Crush

ON MORE THAN one occasion, Sabine had dragged Zoya into one of her diabolical schemes and nearly gotten them both killed. Once, after losing a bet during a game of Sabacc, she'd taunted Zoya into infiltrating one of the imperial strongholds on Lothal—just an officer's compound, with little more to offer in the way of reward than reports of construction expanding out into the fields and drafts of political statements for the higher-ups who couldn't be bothered to do it themselves—while Sabine would sneak around the back into the barracks and steal the helmet of one of the troopers as the bet required.

"A single helmet?" Sabine had asked, incredulous.

"A single helmet," Zeb affirmed, eyes glinting mischievously.

Sabine looked at Zoya, who shrugged. "Shouldn't be too hard."

What neither Zoya nor Sabine had counted on was the Imperial inspection taking place that night, those very same higher-ups coming down to the lower ranks to make sure that the well-oiled machine they could have cared less about running wasn't in shambles. It had been less than a year since Inusagi, and Zoya was still learning to be quiet and slip out of reach when someone grabbed for her. She was still learning how to stay light on her toes, not flat-footed, how to melt into the shadows of the room rather than run and hide.

Later, Zoya supposed that was what got her caught—that chink in the armor that she'd begun building around herself, that missing piece that had turned out to be quite crucial to what she'd been planning to do.

Only an idiot walked into enemy territory without training. Which, obviously, Zoya had. So what did that make her?

She'd heard the door opening down the hallway, hands frozen on the keyboard that she'd managed to hack into, and ducked under the table barely seconds before the door slid open and clipped footsteps echoed through the chamber.

Zoya and Sabine had not prepared for the scenario where the Imperials found them out; they'd been too busy giggling at the way Zeb flopped around in his (slightly) tipsy sleep, at the way Kanan had been mooning over the way Hera looked in the dress she kept in the back of her closet for special occasions, at the twinkling stars and clueless officers who had no idea that two teenage girls with a bad habit of taking on risks they couldn't understand planned to steal a single trooper's helmet from their barracks. They hadn't known—hadn't cared—what might happen if their little expedition ("Adventure!" Sabine kept saying, repeating it like a mantra the closer to the camp they got) if something went wrong.

That was why Zoya had not worn much more than a tunic and pants, and the small boots Hera had purchased a week after her addition to the team because Zoya's old ones were speckled with blood. (Hera didn't know that the blood was not hers—that she had only kept them on because her apartment had been raided and any clothes she might have changed into had been stolen—and Zoya was grateful that she didn't ask.)

That was why, in the dark hours of early morning, she had not even considered the notion that the Imperial's lights might flicker on and the shining black boots she'd pulled on before leaving might be a dead giveaway that she was there. And by the time she heard the officer's own pause in front of her, saw the slight bend in his knees as he lowered himself to eye level, it was too late.

Zoya's scream had been drowned by the Imperial's hand clamping over her mouth. He'd dragged her out from under the table, careful not to let anyone know of his discovery, one hand silencing her and the other holding a fistful of her hair. There was a blaster in his belt, and she knew without having to ask that he could draw it at a moment's notice.

Zoya was smart enough not to call for help when he withdrew his hand and sat back, watching her. For a moment, she had almost thought he was going to let her go. He hadn't noticed the chip folded in her right hand.

Almost reflexively, she glanced at it, the barest tilt of her head in the dimly lit office room. He caught the tic, eyes narrowing. Fast as the loth-cats that liked to snatch food out of her hands before she fed them, he had a hand around her wrist and the driver in his fingers, turning it over curiously.

He said nothing. Zoya's breathing was ragged from fear, the only sound in the two-small space.

Then he struck.

Zoya spat blood as his fist collided her jaw, sending a wave of pain up the side of her face. She barely had time to stumble back before he lunged again, this time not with his hands but his leg, the hard-soled boot slamming against the soft skin of her stomach. This time, Zoya cried out, coughing with enough force to throw up. He was already at her side, a hand on her throat to pin her to the ground. She couldn't breathe. Her lungs were screaming.

The officer watched her struggle to stand, to rise, to get up off the ground. His face was painfully blank, devoid of any emotion, and when she doubled over, pressing her fists into the ground so she wouldn't completely lose her balance.

He bent down, strong hand holding her face in place with just enough firmness to let her know that if she tried to pull away he'd break it himself. He tilted her chin up so that she was looking directly in his eyes, and frowned.

"Where'd a loth-rat like you learn to download a hard drive?" he'd asked.

With a start, she realized he thought she was one of the children who roamed the streets unsupervised, the family-less kids the Empire had cast out and forgotten. Zoya was almost surprised—she wasn't usually mistaken for someone without a home, not with the way Hera insisted on dressing everyone—then realized that her clothes were dirt from her playing with Sabine outside earlier. The two of them had stumbled over themselves and—giddy with laughter and more than a little bit of the beverage Zeb had been drinking—fallen onto the coarse dirt.

Sabine's knees had gotten scraped and Zoya's shirt was torn. To the naked eye, she looked like she belonged in the alleys with the others. She had never been more grateful for anything in that moment because something told her the Imperial wouldn't hesitate to shoot her.

"I found it," Zoya rasped out, holding her bruised stomach. "It looked interesting."

He smiled a little at that, turning the hard drive over in his hands as if imagining he was somewhere else. "It looked interesting." She winced at his blithe tone, but he only looked her over thoughtfully. "You're far from home, then?"

"I don't have a home," she lied. It was only partly true.

He pulled his hand away from her jaw. Zoya felt hot tears of relief prickle her eyes and she slumped back, unable to stand up. The officer stepped back, pocketing the drive in his uniform to return to his desk later. (Or, once he'd finished with her.)

He smiled at her, small and dangerous and surprisingly sharp for a man who seemed to take up so little space. Fear crept up on her, far more frightening than the blood on her mouth and body, than the bruises covering her neck and stomach. He was going to kill her. She had never been more sure of anything.

The officer leaned down and Zoya squirmed. "Coming here tonight was a mistake."

Zoya could never quite remember what happened next. Sabine told her later that she blacked out and was only semi-conscious for the events that followed, but what she remembered went something like this: his boot high above her, crashing down, breaking something in her chest. Her vision blurring at the edges, satisfaction in his eyes this time because she was screaming now, and crying too. The door sliding open, Sabine not bothering to ask questions before her twin blasters were out and golden light sent Zoya tumbling into oblivion.

Sabine said that she'd heard Zoya's screaming and realized what was going on when the officers arrived with their superiors. Zoya didn't know the details of how she'd gotten up to the room on the top floor of the complex, how she'd beaten the door's lock—Sabine had shrugged and explained that she did her best work when one of her friends was dead or dying, and Zoya had laughed because afterward it seemed laughable that they'd managed to ruin their plan in such a short amount of time.

Hera always took over at this point, but rather than joking the way Sabine did, that ring of fear rimmed her eyes. Sabine had staggered back to the Ghost with Zoya slung over her shoulders, exhausted from sprinting out of there after she'd shot the highest-ranking officer on site. ("Figures that's who Zoya managed to piss off, out of all of them," she'd snorted.) Hera and Kanan had been standing on the ramp, keeping watch while Zeb went out to look for their suddenly missing crew members when they saw Sabine's knees give out.

Zeb didn't like to talk about it, which Hera said was because he felt responsible. Zoya had never thought to blame him for something that had so clearly been her fault, but she understood the feeling. He'd been insistent on taking care of her while her broken ribs healed, and Zoya had teased him mercilessly the entire time. She wasn't sure he'd ever forgotten it, because he didn't dare Sabine and Zoya to do anything like that anymore.

When she was finally able to get out of bed without feeling like she had been stabbed in the chest, Zoya went straight to Kanan and asked him to train her.

"Train you to do what?" he'd asked, and her heart swelled a little at the thought that he hadn't said no, despite her not even being 13 yet.

"To never get caught," Zoya replied firmly, with all the surety of someone who had just gotten the life kicked out of her. "To never let that happen again."

"Everyone gets caught at some point."

Zoya frowned. "I want to be good enough not to."

She expected him to refuse, or at least tell her to wait until she was older. Instead, Kanan nodded slowly. "We'll start as soon as Hera won't yell at me for taking you down. I don't need her on my case for breaking your other ribs."

"Or I'll take you down," she retorted, elbowing him. "Broken ribs or not." He rolled his eyes at that and she protested all the way down to the cockpit, where the rest of the group was waiting for them.

"You're looking cheerful," Hera had noted.

Zoya beamed for what felt like the first time in weeks. "I'm going to learn to beat Kanan in a fight. He's going to teach me himself."

The look on her face that followed was dark and also slightly threatening, which meant Kanan had to explain that I know, I'm going to be careful about it, and no, Hera, I'm not going to break another one of her ribs, and yes, Hera, we're going to wait until she heals for the rest of the day. Kanan had turned to Zoya, mock-angry, and she'd started laughing, disappearing around the corner before he could reprimand her for ratting him out. Sabine, who had been quiet since the Incident, started talking to her again, and Zoya finally felt like things were returning to normal.

Zoya never did end up taking Kanan down, although she tried multiple times (a few by surprising him, which she thought would work but didn't—she had no idea why until she saw the disassembled lightsaber on his belt and realized who he was).

She did, however, learn to fight, as promised. After that, a little of the fear that had followed her since that night ebbed away, steady as the tide. She would never let herself get caught defenseless like that again. She would never be the weak one.

Zoya never went back to the Imperial compound. Sometimes—when she was feeling brave or brash or angry and in need of some kind of reminder of the phantom pain that still lingered—she'd step out onto the ramp and look for it from wherever the Ghost had landed, but never for longer than a minute. Never long enough to remember the details of what had happened that night that she and Sabine has been stupid enough to walk straight into enemy territory thinking they wouldn't get caught.

She could still feel his hand on her throat.

✶

Crowded in the window seat of the galactic transport ship, Zoya pulled her knees to her chest and tried not to look like she was waiting for something.

She got a glimpse of herself in the mirror and inwardly cringed. While Kanan and Hera would never let any of them starve, her cheeks looked unusually hollow, and the bags under her eyes—products of the previous night she'd spent scouring the holonet for information on Inusagi, which was growing like a weed in her life—were more prevalent than ever. She looked too much like her mother: they'd shared the same celestial nose, dark eyes that eclipsed Lothal's night skies, and ink-black hair that fell around Zoya's face in a thick sheet. Sometimes Zoya wished she looked like her father, whoever he was; it would make life far less painful.

(Lux, with his ivory skin, grey eyes, and cool, muted brown hair, did not count in that regard. Zoya couldn't have looked like him if she'd tried.)

She was ripped from her thoughts as the Garel-bound ship, weighed down with too-many years of life and thick with the traffic that always came with the morning passages offworld, swayed with the heavy winds outside. The poorly-assembled captain droid, aptly old-fashioned for its vehicle counterpart, buzzed about the cockpit, muttering to itself about ensuring "Imperial safety first" and "late passengers disrupting the schedule". Zoya hadn't thought a droid could be so pressed about any of those things, but this one seemed to take his job with the seriousness of a high-ranking officer—he had even mastered the uptight voice they turned on anyone who might be a threat.

In truth, the ship felt less like a transport that would be carrying Lothal's minister to a series of important negotiations and more like a refugee ship carting stowaways off the planet (which, in a way, it was). Zoya was surprised it was still standing, if the peeling paint job on the walls and grimy windows were any indication. Imperial life—at least, the life that their target, comfortably seated in first class, lived—had always seemed like the picture of luxury, not the other way around.

Zoya's, at least, had been something of a paradise for a while, when eyes were off her and her sister was away on some off-world trip for school. Life had almost been tolerable those times.

Then again, she hadn't been in contact with Imperial faculty for years, so perhaps her information was slightly outdated.

Since she'd boarded with Ezra earlier, Zoya had been unable to quiet the steady thrum of her mind, anticipation and worry buzzing through her veins. The others didn't seem to be doing much better: she could feel Kanan's foot bouncing against the ground in the seat behind her, and though he was sitting closer to the aisle and therefore the focus of any watching eyes, Ezra was already beginning to do the same. Sabine and Zeb on the other hand, farther up in the other row, looked perfectly tranquil, but that might have been because they had to be for the job's sake—an imperial student being anything other than perfect wouldn't convince Tua.

Hera and Kanan had cut a deal with Vizago to get some unknown equipment off the Imperial's hands a while back, but at the time it hadn't quite been at the top of their list of priorities. That position belonged to Ezra and his no-good schemes drawing Imperial eyes. But now, with the food supply dwindling and fuel running low (and Ezra subdued with the promise of Jedi training), they'd agreed—well, Kanan and Hera had agreed—they needed the money, even if they had to travel down some unsavory avenues to get it.

"This way, Mr. Wabo," an airy, superior-sounding voice called. Zoya looked up to see Minister Tua and the emissary from Garel enter the transport, the former looking slightly rankled from the condition of the ship. "We have seats in the front."

Zoya nudged Ezra, who nodded minutely. He'd gotten pretty good at understanding her without outright conversation. Zeb, who had been watching them, turned to look at them now. Ezra inclined his head towards Tua just enough for Zeb to see.

The plan was fairly simple: Zoya, Ezra, and Kanan would get the droids out of the way, causing a diversion so Sabine and Zeb could fool Minister Tua into giving up the location of the disruptors with Sabine's translation skills. From there, they'd rendezvous with Hera, who would be waiting for them, and hopefully, deliver the disruptors without much trouble.

The Garel emissary said something unintelligible. Tua made a face. "Where is that translator?"

Attention away from the Minister's all-important problems for the moment, Zoya elbowed Ezra. "Where's Kanan? He should be here by now."

Ezra snorted. "Like he tells me anything. I'm surprised any of you can complete jobs at all with the amount of information they keep from you. He's a locked box and so is Hera."

"If you travel with someone long enough, you communicate telepathically," said Zoya, completely deadpan. He sighed, whether out of annoyance or boredom, she didn't know. Zoya felt her stomach grumble slightly and sighed. "I just can't wait for this to be over. We haven't had enough food for weeks."

"I bet I can eat more jogans than you when we get our supply back," he goaded.

Zoya recognized the attempt at lightening the mood and took it gratefully. "Yeah, right—I could beat you with my eyes closed. At anything, actually."

"Oh, you wish!"

"Not wish. Know."

They fell into comfortable silence after a moment, leaving Zoya to her empty stomach and starved thoughts. Over the last few weeks, supplies had dwindled, but Ezra had also become an integral part of their team—even if he did it while doing his best to annoy her out of her mind. (Which he was succeeding at.) Zoya might be able to state the obvious surrounding his talent, but that didn't mean she liked it: he was still a metaphorical thorn that had buried itself under her skin deeper and deeper ever since he joined.

During missions like these, where they had to work together, she just prayed he wouldn't do anything too drastic the way he had the first time they met. Zoya didn't need to hijack another star destroyer to save his sorry self, nor did she want to.

(And even if he got caught again, she wasn't sure she could face seeing Kallus again, recent absence or not.)

The transport door had just started to shut when a figure blurred by motion leaped onto it. Zoya straightened as Kanan made his way down the aisle, not acknowledging them. Inside, Zoya was relieved he hadn't missed them, but she kept her face neutral.

Chopper, who had been relatively peaceful up until now, jabbed Ezra in the thigh. He jumped back, directly into Zoya, who glared at him. "Watch what you're doing."

"It's Chopper," he hissed back indignantly. "I don't have a choice!"

Her reply was drowned by the announcement over the speakers. "Final call for Star-Commuter Shuttle ST-45, bound for Garel."

Zoya gave Ezra one last hard shove and leaned back as the ship began preparing for takeoff. "Sentients, please prepare for takeoff," called the pilot droid up front, and the shuttle turned, rose into the sky, and shot into hyperspace.

Blue lights glittered outside the window, lines passing by the ship faster than Zoya could keep track of. Though flying was not something she would ever be particularly accustomed to—that was what happened when you spent your entire life in one place, chained to a desk in an academy—she enjoyed these moments of quiet, when the ship seemed to stop rocking for a few seconds and the chatter in the aisles around her faded into background noise. With all the jobs they took, she rarely got to just enjoy the view.

That was probably because of the two people in her "family" for the flight. She had assigned Chopper, Ezra, and Zoya to take part in drawing Tua's droids away from her, but it wasn't going well: Chopper hadn't stopped poking Ezra since they'd entered hyperspace, and while it was part of the plan, Zoya suspected he was taking a great deal of satisfaction from seeing Ezra's face darken more with every minute. Zoya almost felt bad for him. Almost.

Up front, Tua was conversing with her associate while her droids translated for her. Blonde hair poked out from underneath her Imperial-assigned uniform cap and Zoya winced for a moment at the ill-fitting fabric. Sabine was probably redesigning her entire wardrobe in her mind.

Meanwhile, Ezra had snapped. "Will you cut it out? You have plenty of room! Stop crowding me," he yelled, pushing a protesting Chopper back with two hands.

Chopper, in retaliation, sent a spark of electricity at him and Ezra flew back into Zoya, who let out a muffled oof that cut off as he landed against her. "Ow," he complained. Zoya propped him up with one hand, pretending to wave her fist at Chopper. The droid danced out of her reach, but she hadn't really been trying to hit him anyway.

"Kid, how 'bout you get that rust bucket under control," Kanan growled, leaning over the seat barrier to look at them. Chopper waved an arm charged with electricity at him.

"How 'bout you mind your business," Zoya retorted.

Ezra opened his mouth to add something but Chopper zapped him again. At this rate, he'd be barbequed before they even reached their destination. Exasperated, Zoya pulled Ezra back and took his place, feeling a burst of pride when Chopper backed away. The dark look she gave him was only slightly fake.

Kanan—or whoever he was playing the role of today—had had enough. "Hey, pilot! Isn't there some rule against droids in the passenger area?"

Said pilot sighed and looked at Ezra and Zoya as sympathetically as it could. "I am sorry. Your astromech must proceed to the back of the craft."

"Hey, if my astromech is banished, then those two astromechs are banished too!" Ezra shouted, pointing at Tua and her translators. Zoya lowered herself into her seat to conceal the smile tugging at her mouth.

"Astromech? Me?" scoffed one of the droids. "I have never been so insulted. I'll have you know that I am a protocol droid fluent in over six million forms—"

Tua had a hand pinched over the bridge of her nose now, brown eyes angry. Zoya could half-see the metaphorical steam coming out of her ears. "Pilot, these two droids are with me and I am on Imperial business."

"Sorry ma'am," the pilot said. "But these are Imperial regulations."

"But, minister—" the droid pleaded.

"I can't risk an incident spoiling these negotiations," she interrupted, red-faced and furious. Zoya wished she could get a picture of this. "Go!"

Reluctantly, the protocol droid made his way down the aisle, the blue astromech next to him following. "Oh, this is so humiliating. Trust an astromech to ruin everything."

Now totally translator-less, Tua fumbled as her companion tried to say something. "I—I'm sorry Mr. Wabo, I don't understand you."

Ezra wouldn't look Zoya in the eyes—his shoulders shook with silent laughter, and she knew that if they made eye contact he'd lose it. Zoya composed herself as best she could, watching Sabine and Zeb prepare for their roles. Work your magic, Sabine.

Right on cue, Zeb leaned forward. "Hello! Excuse me—I couldn't help noticing your predicament. If it's of any help, my ward here is quite fluent."

Sabine simpered. "Oh, I would never presume. Though, it would be good practice for my level five exams at the Imperial Academy ..." She shook her head. "No, no! But I couldn't."

Tua's gaze softened. "You're a level five academy student? I was, too, once upon a time." She turned to Sabine, who had leaned in with all the eagerness of a student gaining favor with a superior. "If you would be so kind?"

"Of course, of course," Sabine said cheerfully, and began translating, the two falling into whatever conversation Imperials (or in this case, fake ones) made in their free time.

Zoya nudged Ezra. "Nice job back there. Not laughing, I mean. You did okay."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I ever let you guys down?"

"Yeah, a lot," she shot back, but it was in jest this time.

Ezra pretended to be upset. "Oh, I'm so sad that Zoya doesn't trust me. Whatever am I to do?"

"I don't not trust you," Zoya protested, but then stopped when she realized Tua and Sabine were still talking with the Garel emissary. "Hold on a minute," she whispered to Ezra, who had realized at the same time she had—this was the information they needed.

They both watched Tua preen under Sabine's fake adoration. Ezra mimed throwing up from behind the cover of the seats and Zoya punched him lightly. "Now," Tua said, "please ask Mr. Wabo where the shipment is being held."

Sabine nodded dutifully and rattled off a string of words. Wabo said something back and she smiled, pleased. "He said Bay 17."

Zoya didn't need to understand what Wabo had said to know that it was a lie. Sabine had long since perfected the ability to lie to just about anyone—with the exception of Zoya, who had spent enough time doing it herself that she could pick apart someone's words and examine each one, the truths and the fibs and the grey areas in between that marked someone as not quite either.

For someone who hated liars so much, she was certainly good at mimicking them.

Zoya's attention was dragged back to the present by the pilot's voice echoing throughout the cabin. "Sentients, we are approaching Garel. Please prepare for landing."

Peering out the window, Zoya watched the last of the blue glow of hyperspace fall away behind them as the purple-and-yellow planet came into view. Garel, unlike Kessel, was beautiful—lilac swaths of clouds created intricate patterns over the surface of the world while the golden cities glowed like beacons in the dark. She'd never visited before, but Hera had, and from what she'd described, it was vibrant in the day and even livelier at night.

Zoya wished she'd have more time to explore it—her father would have loved this place. If he hadn't been here already, one of the hundreds of planets he'd probably seen without her.

A stab of anger swept through her before she silenced it with a shake of her head.

The violet and orange-dotted landscape outside disappeared beyond the wall of the landing dock as the ship touched down. The planet itself was a work of art, but the cities the Empire was buying arms from were decidedly not. Steel walls ran the length of them and inside, small hubs of civilization existed under layer upon layer of tech-filled buildings. Zoya wondered if the planet would be overrun by them one day, the way Coruscant was—they were on their way already.

The door opened and Zoya trailed Ezra down the ramp, smiling a little as he admired the sky hanging low above them. Unlike Lothal's yellow and brown pallet, Garel's sky was the color of jogun fruit and seemed so tangible that you could reach up and take a piece of it for yourself. Ezra had barely left Lothal, and the first planet he'd been on outside of Lothal had been Kessel. No wonder he seemed so awestruck—this must have been a utopia compared to what he'd seen all his life. If this was how he'd react ... Zoya couldn't wait to see the look on his face when they visited Coruscant or Naboo next.

"You're staring," she said, grinning, but there was no malice in it, only a slight teasing tone in her voice that let him know she was joking.

"I've never seen anything like it before," he replied, not seeming to care that he was making the same point she had for once. "The sky, it's—it's purple. Have you ever seen a purple sky before?"

Zoya thought for a moment. "No, I haven't," she said, surprised. "I guess this is a first for me too."

Now it was his turn to adopt that familiar teasing tone. "Looks like you don't know as much as you think, doesn't it?"

"You sure know how to ruin a moment, Bridger," Zoya shot back, and his next words came as if they were underwater, because her attention was already shifting: Tua said something to Sabine, and Zoya watched Sabine respond, almost reverently—eyes alight with the look, albeit fake, of someone in the presence of their idol. She was suddenly hit by the thought of how similar Sabine looked to Mai in that moment.

"Zoya," Ezra said, and there was an uptick at the end of his words, a tiny question.

She looked back at him and realized he'd said something. "Sorry, what?"

He pointed. "Tua's leaving. We should go."

"Right. Time to go," Zoya said, repeating it in her head like a mantra as Sabine made her way towards them, Tua and her cadre of officers walking off in the direction of the bay Sabine had offered up.

"Anything?" Zoya asked under her breath as Sabine passed.

"Bay seven," replied Sabine quietly, and the group dispersed—Ezra off to the vents and Sabine, Zoya, and Zeb on foot. Ezra would open the bay door for the rest of them, and Zoya was tall enough (and stubborn enough) that vents were a no-go. In that way she guessed Ezra was useful—Not that she would ever say that to his face.

Kanan had taken off once Tua and her guards met up, but once Ezra had crawled into the vents, he appeared around the corner.

Zoya peered at him cautiously. "Why'd you wait? Ezra would have appreciated the good luck, you know." He exhaled slowly, the way he always did when he was trying to walk away from a fight, and she wondered if she'd hit a nerve. "Sorry. He just seemed upset."

As if on cue, Ezra's voice came over the comms and Kanan turned away from them in favor of answering. Zoya had the good sense to look away out of respect for their privacy, but the sharp edge of a knife was unmistakable in Ezra's voice.

Sabine, who was busy studying her surroundings (she had a habit of imprinting her artistic additions on places they should never have gotten to), winced as Kanan fired off another round of patronizing orders to Ezra. Even Zeb—usually not one to voice his support for Ezra—looked slightly uncomfortable, though by the time Bay Seven came into view, he'd smoothed his face into the arrogant smirk it always wore around Ezra.

They'd all heard some variation of this argument the past few weeks: Ezra had been brought on to train with Kanan, after all, and all he'd gotten since then was empty promises (no matter how well-meaning) from Hera and even emptier ones from Kanan. Neither Zoya, Sabine, nor Zeb had said anything, but they all felt the shift in mood between the two, the hopeful spirits that came with Ezra's introduction giving way to bitter glances and sharp insults under their breath.

Zoya wanted to fix the situation somehow, but getting between them felt more daunting than she cared to admit. Ezra and Kanan were supposed to have found some kind of force harmony or whatever by now. Acknowledging that they hadn't might only drive a wedge between them further, and ruin any chance of reconciliation.

So Sabine watched the walls and Zoya watched Sabine and Zeb pretended he hadn't just been feeling bad for Ezra by not feeling anything at all, and when the massive door slid open, they had settled back into their usual routine.

Zeb looked around them, clapping sardonically. "Well, kid, you pulled it off."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Ezra asked cockily.

"Yes," Zeb, Sabine, and Zoya answered in unison. His expression soured.

The four of them walked to the crates that had been stacked in the center of the Bay while Kanan went to open the door for Hera. Every so often, Sabine would cut Zoya a concerned look in Kanan's direction, and the two would turn back to see Kanan's posture slightly slumped as he said something to Hera.

Zoya wished he would tell them what was going on, but she knew what it was to keep secrets, and it wasn't her place to force his out into the open. She doubted she could if she wanted to anyways.

Kanan had just reached them, face set in a grim line, when Zeb opened one of the crates.

Almost immediately, he stumbled back in shock, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

Kanan put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, and Zoya and the others leaned over, too curious not to look at what had him so shaken. Ezra didn't seem to understand the contents, confusion scrawled across his face, and Sabine was already holding one in her hands reverently. They didn't know where these had come from, why Zeb was so shaken.

But Zoya did.

"Whoa," Sabine whispered, oblivious. "They're T-7 ion disruptors. These were banned by the Senate—you can short-circuit an entire ship with these."

Zeb still looked numb. "That's not why they were banned." Zoya held out a hand to steady him and he let her close the crate, the crease in his brows disappearing slightly.

"Get 'em aboard before company comes," Kanan snapped, some of the anger from before seeping through. He ran back to the ship to warn Hera and they got to work.

Sabine and Zoya took the first crate, grunting as they lugged it onto the rolling carts parked in the corner of the room. Together, they pushed it forward as hard as they could, and to their collective relief, it slid across the floor quickly.

"Come on," Sabine said, straining. "A few more steps and we're home free."

"What, you don't like it here?" said Zoya, smiling, and Sabine cuffed her in the back of the head. "Ow!"

Ahead of them, the whirring of the Ghost's ramp extending sounded. "Hurry!" Kanan yelled from the Ghost, the ramp hitting the floor with a dull thud. "We're running out of—"

"Time's up!" shouted Ezra, cutting him off.

Zoya heard the distinct sound of boots on tile and looked up to see a squad of stormtroopers raise their blasters at Zeb and Ezra, who had stopped and raised their hands. Kanan appeared beside Sabine, brows furrowed, but Zeb didn't notice—not as he took a step past Ezra, who hissed under his breath, "What are you doing?"

"There a problem here?" Zeb asked smoothly.

The Garel emissary from the transport muttered something Zoya could guess was obscene to Tua. Behind them, the gold translator droid spoke up. "Amda Wabo says those crates contain his disruptors."

Feigning confusion, Zeb continued forward. "Uh, must be some mistake. Can't possibly be disruptors in there because they're illegal, right?"

Zoya suddenly understood where he was going with this and smiled a little. The Imperials shifted guiltily, though whether it was out of remorse or worry for their pay, Zoya didn't know.

Kanan gestured to them silently, pointing towards the Ghost, and Sabine turned to push the crate up onto the ramp while Zeb stalled for them.

"That's irrelevant," Tua said shrilly. "We're going to search your crates."

"Be my guest," said Zeb, cavalier. Zoya tried not to worry—she knew he could handle himself. But once the crate was secure inside the hull, the feeling of discomfort began to make its way underneath her skin and settle there.

For a moment, all Zoya heard was the troopers moving forward. Then Zeb said something that was too far away to hear and the shots began.

Zeb took the two troopers closest to him up in the air like they were toy dolls and threw them at the others, knocking all but one down. All Zoya and Sabine could do was watch as he advanced on the poor guy, a predator attacking its prey in a concrete jungle. Only now, Zeb had his Bo-rifle out and was making his way through them, one by one, the entire battalion completely unmatched by one person.

And Zeb had a score to settle.

Zoya hadn't learned what happened at Inusagi after she left for several months—whether because Kanan and Hera purposely kept her away from any indicators or they simply didn't know, Zoya wasn't sure—but the day she did, the first person to say something was Zeb, his hand on her shoulder as she shook with the weight of the knowledge. Imperial occupation was one thing, the too-familiar story of military bases and academies being implanted into cities something of a pattern wherever they visited, but it was entirely another for half the population (and that was only what they would deign to report) to be wiped out. Inusagi wasn't a common case. Inusagi wasn't anything anymore.

Zeb might have been the only person who could understand the loss that struck her as she read the propaganda tablet hung on the wall. I'm here if you ever need to talk, kid.

She wished she could return the favor now. Instead, her feet carried her forward of their own accord, reaching for the crate as Ezra brought it to them, breathless from running halfway across the hallway as quickly as he could manage. Together with Sabine, they pushed it up the ramp and next to the one already stashed there.

A moment later, Kanan and Zeb launched themselves onto the still-closing ramp. With that, the Ghost lifted off into the night for the second time that day, leaving Garel and its violet skies behind.

As soon as the ship leveled out, Zoya allowed herself a moment of rest, trying to calm her furiously beating heart. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. After two rounds, she stood and turned to see two foreign droids standing like dead weight near the ramp.

"Oh, look," Sabine said cheerfully, though her face must have been anything but if the edge in her words was any indication. "Chopper made friends."

Zoya grit her teeth, looking up at the ceiling when Chopper bowed ceremoniously. It was the astromech and translator droid from the transport. Because why should anything ever go as planned?

"I am C-3PO and this is my counterpart, R2-D2," introduced the gold one automatically. "I was translating for Minister Tua when we were attacked by thieves like"—Zeb and Kanan, fed up with standing in the dark, passed by him, both looking identically suspicious—"uh. You," the droid finished lamely.

Zeb had climbed up to the loft, watching them with sharp eyes. Kanan said something to Sabine, but Zoya was only half-listening, watching Zeb watch them. She felt herself walk to the ladder and climb it, but if he saw her, he said nothing.

Zoya came up beside him. "I know you don't want to sell to Vizago—"

"Do you?" His face looked pained, but he wasn't injured. She wondered how the others had missed this, the crack separating what he wanted to say and what was coming out. To Zoya, it seemed like a gaping, unavoidable chasm.

"No," Zoya answered, and it was the truth. "But there's no other way, is there? We need the money. And Vizago isn't the Empire—this is better than handing the disruptors right back to them. We're giving someone else the tools to fight." It was halfhearted, and they both knew it.

"We don't know that. We don't know what he plans to do with them at all. That's the whole problem," Zeb snapped.

She winced. "I know."

His head lowered a fraction, and Zoya wondered if she'd done the right thing. But he said nothing else, and the silence swallowed the space between them until she couldn't reach him anymore.

Kanan and the others had finished their debrief, and the former was climbing the latter. Zeb moved past her, and then Zoya slipped into the hallway leading to their rooms, all the while wishing she'd never spoken at all.

✶

Zoya found Hera where she always was, head tilted back to watch the ship glide through the space between one spot in the galaxy and the next. She wore her usual outfit, orange pilot's pants stark in contrast with the cobalt lights shimmering outside the cockpit. Everything seemed to glitter now that they'd left Garel's grey concrete hangar, and the buttons in the cabin seemed to sparkle.

Taking her usual seat in the back, Zoya pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, mentally berating herself for such a sloppy response to Zeb's concerns. She of all people should have understood, or at least been able to assuage his fears. But she'd heard him stomp off to his room after she left, heard how Kanan and Sabine's thoughts on the matter had affected him. She wasn't stupid—she'd tried to help, and it had only made things worse. What she didn't know was how to make it right.

Finally, the quiet in the cabin was too much. "I made Zeb sad," Zoya said bluntly, and Hera started, turning to look at her.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that it's probably not about our new droid friends in the hull," she commented neutrally.

"Ha," Zoya said without humor. "I wish."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Zoya dragged a hand down the side of her face, trying to conceal how much it was bothering her, but if Hera was going to say anything, she never got the chance, because at that moment the door down the hall slammed and Ezra's angry voice came tumbling out. "You can't do that! It's my cabin too!"

Hera flashed her a sympathetic look, but her voice was solemn when she called to the culprit making the noise. "Ezra? Come in here."

Zoya heard one last bang—Ezra's parting gift to Zeb, most likely—and then Ezra walked in, looking both confused and angry. "Hera, Zeb's booted me from my own—"

"I know," Hera said placatingly, hands raised as if to push back the tide of fury coming off of him. "But maybe you could cut Zeb a little slack today."

"Oh, the way he cuts my slack?" Ezra's voice was all barbs, prickling thorns. Zoya imagined reaching out, fingers coming away stained crimson. He was at his worst when he was like this: mind dulled, already given in to his fury.

Hera saw it too, leaning forward as if that could make him understand. "Do you know what a T-7 disruptor is, what it does to an organic being?"

Ezra blinked. "Uh ... no." He took the seat in front of her, interest piqued.

"Well, Zeb knows," Hera said, voice infused with sadness and pity, or perhaps a mixture of both. "Because it's what the Imperials used on his people when they cleared his homeworld. Very few Lasats survived. And none remain on Lasan."

Zoya flinched at that and Ezra caught the movement, eyes narrowing. "What?"

"That ISB agent you met?" Zoya said, and she knew he remembered from the way his face turned icy. "He's one of the ones that helped. He's helped like that in a lot of places."

That last part was enough to make him look at her more closely, but Hera's attention was on both of them now, and Ezra was at a loss for words. "I ... I guess I could cut him a little slack ..."

Zoya kicked the back of his chair. "You could cut him more than a little."

"What, like you've got some stake in it?" he jabbed, thorns rising, and Hera jumped to stop both of them before a fight broke out.

"So," she cut in quickly, "how's the Jedi training going with Kanan?"

Distracted by the question, Ezra scoffed, turning away from Zoya. "Jedi training? Never heard of it."

Hera's brows knit. Zoya knew without asking that she was thinking of the many ways she could sway Kanan to Ezra's side after the job was done, how she could get Ezra what he needed. "We'll see about that."

She flicked a button on the console and the ship emerged from hyperspace, Lothal's familiar wheat-yellow and blue surface coming into view. Ezra smiled a little, which Zoya had begun to notice was an effect of returning to the place he'd grown up (and she suspected that no matter how many planets they visited, he'd always love Lothal best).

"Home sweet home," he said softly, and Hera let the ship dip forward.

✶

By the time the ship breached Lothal's atmosphere, Zoya and Ezra had made their way to the hull with Sabine, who had been deep in conversation with the R2 unit since they'd left. (Privately, Zoya thought she had grown attached to the well-mannered droid—Chopper was a real asshole and everyone knew it. Sabine was probably still reveling in the fact that droids could be, in fact, nice.)

She looked up now as Ezra descended the ladder, Zoya following. "Kanan and Hera okay?"

Zoya shot a furtive glance back up the ladder where Kanan's voice could be heard rising by the minute. "I ... I'm not gonna answer that."

Ezra, who had been suspiciously quiet since Hera had spoken with both of them, caught Zoya's eye, nodding towards Zeb as discreetly as she suspected he could. Zoya shook her head, hoping he'd understand, and to her relief, he didn't say anything.

The hull fell into a hushed silence, the mixture of voices drifting in from the cockpit. Hera's smooth words wrapped around Zoya, only softening further, no matter how hard she listened. She would have liked to hear what they were saying, to understand where Kanan stood in all of this, but while the walls were thin, the reinforced steel floor stood between them. And anyway, Hera always told Zoya she wasn't supposed to eavesdrop.

Obviously, Zoya had elected to ignore her.

Zeb picked at a lone strip of tape strapped to his gun, the sound of it tearing from the material jarring. Zoya had asked him where he'd gotten the bo-rifle once, when she hadn't known how much of his past matched up with hers, and it had gone terribly.

ZOYA: So ... your blaster-staff thing.

ZEB: What about it?

ZOYA: Where'd you get it? It's cool.

ZEB: It's not for sale, kid, if that's what you're asking.

ZOYA: That's why I'm asking where you got it instead—hey, are you listening?

ZEB: Ask another stupid question and you'll find out what happens when I use it.

ZOYA: ...

(Exit Zoya.)

That had been before the night he'd sent Sabine and her out to the Imperial compound near the base where she'd learned how thieves were treated by Imperial hands for the first time. He hadn't said anything directly, but Hera had told her in the long weeks between the excruciating process of healing and her return to the group that he had taken the responsibility for what had happened on his shoulders. It was then that Zoya worked up the courage to talk about the bo-rifle. The guilt that came with the revelation was suffocating.

Abruptly, the voices upstairs cut off, which Zoya took to mean that they'd reached their destination. Flicking the haphazard braid she'd tied during the ride over her shoulder, Zoya watched as Kanan and Hera emerged from the upper floors, Kanan with a comfortingly familiar look of annoyance on his face and Hera sporting an equally familiar one of moral superiority on her own.

"Can we talk about this later?" Kanan asked, not bothering to hide their fight at this point.

"That's fine, love," Hera replied, eyes glinting. "But we will discuss it."

Kanan scowled, but the blue droid Sabine had mentioned earlier spoke up before he could say something. "Oh, right," Sabine said. "This R2 says its real mission was to make sure the T-7s never reached the Empire, and that his master will pay handsomely for their return."

Zoya raised her eyebrows. All Kanan said was a reluctant "I'll think about it."

"So we're not selling the droids but we're selling the T-7s?" Zeb snapped. "We don't even know who Vizago's buyer is."

Kanan was barely paying attention. "We know it's not the Empire and I already made a deal with Vizago. So let's get these crates off the boat."

Zeb's hands were balled into fists, but Zoya didn't think Kanan saw.

Kanan marched off, taking the crates with him. Zoya was acutely aware of Zeb's uncertain gaze flicking towards her, but then he was gone too, following the others out into the tall grasses.

Every time they visited, Zoya liked Vizago less and less. The Devaronian crime leader reeked of bad money and stolen goods, and Zoya hated the leering way he eyed everything they brought him. Vizago had set up camp in Lothal's far reaches, away from the Capital City, away from the Imperial eyes and ears that had sustained their iron grip for so long. In part, it felt good to speak so freely when they were out there, but it was just as bad as being in the city itself—out here, Vizago's word was law, and if a single foul word on Vizago's part left her mouth she wouldn't even make it to the edge of camp before twin blaster holes buried themselves in her back.

Hera and Kanan had reached Vizago ahead of them, Zeb not far behind. "Oh, I can make some beautiful music with these," he was cooing, stroking a disruptor gently.

"They're not that kind of instrument!" Zeb yelled.

Vizago smiled innocently, vibrant red eyes glinting with mischief. "Ah, you just have to know how to play them." He tapped Kanan lightly with the disruptor knowingly. "And how to play those who want to buy them."

"You have to buy them from us first," Ezra pointed out. Zoya gave him an appraising look—that wasn't what she'd expected from him.

"Finally," Vizago said happily, not getting Ezra's points. "Someone on your crew who understands business."

Kanan looked resigned. "Let's just get this over with."

The sound of a starship approaching cut through the last dregs of conversation that might have been had, sending the entire crew on high alert. Everyone looked up, squinting. Vizago frowned. "What is this?"

Then Zoya realized what the sound was: a walker transport, one of the Empire's new toys. Teeth grinding together, she kept herself from running as Vizago whipped around to face Kanan. "You were followed!"

Hera stared at him. "That's not possible!"

"Tell it to the Empire," he seethed. Vizago signaled his men. In a matter of seconds, they were up and moving, the disruptors placed on the speeders that had sat unused since the Ghost's landing. Zoya realized what he was about to do and moved forward, hand moving protectively over the crate.

Kanan had a hand on Vizago's arm, and when the Devaronian tried to wrench himself from his grip he held firm and unyielding. "You haven't paid us."

"Cikatro Vizago doesn't pay for half a shipment. And he doesn't pay for trouble with Imperials," Vizago fired back. Kanan released him, and he pulled himself onto the ledge of his skiff. "My friends, I hope you live to bargain another day."

Zoya barely had time to let go of the crate before the ship began to hover away from her. Holding the scraped skin to her chest, she glared at him but said nothing. Even if she had, it wouldn't have mattered—Vizago and his crew rounded the corner and disappeared into the grasses beyond without so much as a word in from Kanan or Hera.

Meanwhile, the transport was only getting closer, and now Zoya could see the walkers attached to its belly: massive steel beasts that the Empire had recently begun mass-producing on Lothal's factories. They dwarfed even the taller complexes lining the Capital's streets and rivaled the small mountains ringing the clearing, and despite being far off loomed over all of them.

"Shouldn't we be going too?" observed Sabine.

Kanan shook his head. "We can't let these disruptors fall into Imperial hands. Sabine, Zoya destroy the guns."

"Now you're speaking my language," Sabine said cheerfully. "I'll go get my gear."

Kanan began firing off orders. "Hera and Zoya, help Sabine open the crates. Ezra, Zeb, line 'em up. Meanwhile ... I'll deal with the walkers."

"Dramatic, isn't he?" Zoya muttered, but she took the opposite side of the heavy-lidded crate and helped Hera carry it to the side anyway.

The ground rumbled around them—the walkers, once far off in the distance, landed near the camp and fired at the same time Zoya and Hera finished with the last crate. Zoya's legs resisted underneath her as the ground swayed, another mountain sending plumes of smoke into the sky.

Kanan fired on the closest one while the rest of the group took cover behind one of the untouched ridges. Another thunderous noise came from behind them as it fell with the disruptor's shot—Zoya pulled Sabine back by the collar of her armor just as a wave of hazy, sand-filled smoke rolled past them.

"Thanks!" Sabine yelled over the noise.

"No problem!"

Kanan had just raised the gun again when the walker stepped around its fallen companion and fired.

The impact threw Kanan past their barricade with enough force to break bone. He hit the ground a few yards away from them and lay unmoving, chest rising and falling slowly.

Hera's face contorted with rage and she ran to meet the attacker, though Zoya could tell that she was no match for the firepower the walker rained down. She rolled to Zoya's side quickly as a transport touched down and a battalion of stormtroopers came into view.

Zoya cursed colorfully under her breath, then instantly regretted it. If looks could kill, Hera would have had her six feet under right now. "Language!"

"Are you serious?" Zoya said, straining to hear over the noise. "Since when were you able to understand Wookiee?"

"Since Sabine taught you how to curse so I wouldn't notice!"

Zoya grinned, but her chance to ruin Hera's day further was snatched by the gold translator droid, who was making his way, albeit slowly, towards the troopers. Zoya blinked, wondering if she was seeing this correctly.

"I knew some form of rescue would arrive," it was saying. Catching Zeb's eye, she gestured towards the droid in confusion. What's going on? He threw up his hands as if to say, Like I know!

"Chopper, ready the ship for takeoff!" Hera shouted across the clearing, blaster fire distorting her voice. She caught Zoya's hand. "Run!"

"What—?" Zoya started, then saw what she was looking at: the walker had spotted them. "Right! Good idea!"

They were halfway to the ship when Zoya heard it: the electrical hum of energy starting up, eating at the air around it. When she felt the familiar buzz against her skin, the ionized air that came with only one type of weapon.

Slowly, Zoya turned. Hera was still running; she either didn't notice Zoya had stopped or didn't care as she turned and disappeared up the ramp.

For an instant, Zoya almost thought she imagined it. But from the way the firing had stopped, she knew she hadn't.

Kallus stood in the middle of the clearing, a vicious smile scrawled across his lips, illuminated in the light of the weapon he carried. The bo-rifle in his hands, identical to Zeb's, was wicked and beautiful and unnaturally golden compared to Zeb's purple. Zoya's breath caught—whether from surprise or shock or fear, she didn't know.

Zeb seemed to have reacted the same way. His back, turned to Zoya, kept her from seeing his face, but she didn't have to. He was looking at Kallus the same way she was.

"Lasat!" Kallus called, igniting the bo-rifle in his hands. "Face me!"

Kanan and Ezra said something to stop him, but he was already running, bo-rifle in hand.

Zoya watched, immobile, as the two fought: where Kallus slashed, Zeb ducked, spinning around to catch him in a turn. Kallus danced back, forcing Zeb forward. Zeb feinted right, blurring with the speed of his movement, and Kallus followed, raising his arms to strike before Zeb whirled around, bringing the tip of the weapon to Kallus's chest.

"Only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle!" he roared.

"I know," Kallus replied, laughing. "I removed it from a guardsman myself!" Then he leaped up, bo-rifle coming down hard, and the two moved again.

The spell freezing the stormtroopers, meanwhile, had broken, and they seemed to remember that everyone else was still there at the same time Zoya realized what was happening and rolled to the side. They fired on Kanan and Ezra, who reached Zoya behind the rocks.

"That fool Lasat's gonna get himself killed," Kanan growled to no one in particular.

Zoya fired at a trooper over his shoulder. "If we had sold those disruptors to R2's owner instead, maybe he wouldn't be in this position," she sang.

Kanan scoffed. "Yeah, yeah! I know!"

Sabine, who had been putting said disruptors in place while Zoya and the others evaded the Imperials, waved them over. "Okay, we're ready," she said. Kanan and Ezra took the first cart while Sabine and Zoya took the other. Straining, the two of them pushed it in the opposite direction—right into the path of the walker, while the second sailed straight towards the remaining troopers.

The mountains around them shook as the disruptors exploded. Zoya was knocked off her feet, head slamming against the ground. She blinked, eyes adjusting, looking up just in time to see Kallus stagger thrust his bo-rifle directly into Zeb's chest.

Zeb crumpled to his knees, and Zoya screamed, reaching for her fallen blaster, but then something happened.

Kallus raised his bo-rifle for a killing blow. Ezra cried out, hands extended. And then, inexplicably, Kallus was thrown against the rocks, blaster discarded.

Zoya's breath, ragged in her ears, stopped as she looked behind her. "Ezra?"

Ezra stared at his shaking hands, frantic eyes meeting hers. "I didn't mean—I didn't know—"

"Spectre-2, get the kids aboard," Kanan ordered Hera, who had been waiting. She shook herself from her stupor, and Zoya took Ezra's hand without waiting to see his reaction, sprinting towards the ship in the distance.

"Move, all of you, now!" Hera yelled behind them. Sabine and the droids saw them coming and quickly stood, joining them as they ran.

Sure, one of the droids was complaining as they ascended the ramp and Ezra ripped his hand from hers the moment he realized she'd helped him get aboard, but Zoya didn't care about any of that—not as Zeb and Kanan came up behind them, both weary but alive. Not as Zeb fell forward and it was all Kanan could do to catch him.

"Chopper, get us out of here!" Hera shouted into her comm. The ship rumbled to life, first reluctantly and then a steady hum. The ground underneath them shifted as the Ghost took off. Kanan lay Zeb down, and silence enveloped the hull.

"Will he be okay?" Sabine asked, voice quiet.

Kanan's eyes were worried, and he looked like he was about to say something ominous. Then Zeb groaned, wincing at some invisible pain, and tried for a smile. "Yeah."

Zoya couldn't help it. The moment he stood up, she sprang forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing. He recoiled, gasping, and her hands flew to her mouth. "Kriff, I didn't mean to, Zeb, I'm so sorry—"

He glowered, but there was no real malice in it. "Oh, sure, we all know you're out to get me." His gaze softened as he turned towards Kanan. "Thanks, mate. Appreciate the save."

Kanan detached himself gently. "Wasn't me. It was Ezra."

Right. The stunt Ezra had pulled before. The strange thing was, he seemed to know less about it than anyone else did. Had he really never done anything like that before? Zoya thought of the jump he'd made on Kessel, the impossible height he'd reached. No wonder he was so eager to start training.

Kanan seemed to see it, too, because he smiled. "And, Ezra, your formal Jedi training starts tomorrow."

Ezra beamed, and Zoya decided that he was a little too happy for her tastes. "Does this mean you'll stop complaining during missions and actually do them?"

He hit her on the arm, but it was worth it to see Zeb laugh out loud.

author's note i swear to god i didn't mean to write a 10,000 word chapter i hate long chapters i am so supremely sorry guys :/ figures that when i finally get the chapter done it's long as fuck. but i actually like how this turned out?? i think?? i was really happy that i got to explore zeb and zoya's relationship further since it's one of my favorite dynamics (actually let's face it they're all my favorite) out of the crew and how they both reacted to the situation. we also got to see some more of zoya's relationship with kanan/hera/sabine and also how she's adjusted to ezra being on the crew!! i'm really excited to begin to expand on those two, they're going to get lots of scenes together soon that are going to be tons of fun :') we will also be seeing zoya's trauma begin to show in her behavior (i swear i'm not going to unload it on her every chapter, there won't be any more for a while lmao) which is going to be exciting and also slightly heartbreaking hehe. as always, comment ur thoughts bc i always love seeing them!!