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i. before
Yavin greets her with golden skies, endless green, and a rainbow.
On the landing pad, she is welcomed by members of the Alliance whose names she’d only encountered in hushed meetings. The air smells of leaves and wet earth. Her arrival is auspicious, Admiral Raddus says. A sign that the Force is with them. It had been raining for nearly three days straight, but the sky cleared up just before her ship docked. Mon retorts that if it had been raining for three days, then it was probably due to stop anyway.
Above her, the temple rises, its stone face draped in vines. She asks if the man who extracted her from the Senate made it back safely. General Draven says that Bail Organa’s agent is now on Alderaan.
***
Her first few months on the base are a blur. She continues her efforts in bringing rebel cells together under one banner. She eats with the troops and brews her own tea, assuring Vel she’s nearly forgotten the taste of Coruscanti luxury. Intelligence informs her that her family has been placed on house arrest. Before leaving, she’d sent poorly encrypted letters pleading with them to join her, knowing that they wouldn’t—proof of the ignorance she’d hoped would save their lives. One week later, Leida appears in her first propaganda video denouncing the Alliance. The venom in her voice is all her own. (Good. She is safe.)
Each week brings fresh recruits, many inspired by her speeches. So she speaks and smiles and listens. Dressed in her Senate white, she offers herself as a symbol of the Republic. A leader-in-waiting with clean hands who will usher them into another era of democracy. It almost feels like one of her reelection campaigns, except instead of sharing recycled anecdotes at cocktail receptions, she reassures rebels in the mess tent that the Empire cannot win. (The words come easily enough, even if all of their simulations say otherwise.)
There’s other work, too—budget allocations, tactical reviews, meetings that cover everything from propaganda countermeasures to jungle wildlife control—though she learns, perhaps due to her inexperience, that she’s usually informed after the fact rather than consulted.
It’s at one of these briefings that she sees him again, the man who saved her.
She knows who he is now: Captain Cassian Andor of Rebel Intelligence. She’s felt a kinship toward him since their escape. But today, he sits across from her at the command centre having just unravelled one of their newest diplomatic initiatives.
“All that to say: the prototype targeting array has been secured. We’ll hand it off to Engineering,” Draven says beside Andor. “If there’s nothing else, we’ll be on our way.” He starts to get up before she responds.
“If there’s nothing else?” she asks in disbelief. “Our operation exposed a rebel cell on Talus. The Empire blamed them for the theft of the array.”
“I know this must be hard for you to hear.” Draven softens his voice. She clenches a fist beneath her robes. “We knew about the cell; they provided Captain Andor with the facility floor plans. But they were disorganized. Expendable. They would’ve exposed themselves sooner or later.”
“They seemed well-funded,” she says pointedly.
“Young nobles and dilettantes playing at war.” He scoffs. “We’ve seen that before.”
Her nails dig into her palm as she stares him down. “And their financiers?”
His tone turns defensive. “If you have a point—”
“I do. The cell was ineffective, yes. Which was why their backers were going to shift their support to us.” She catches a glimpse of Andor leaning forward in his seat. “Well, not anymore. I assume everyone’s in Imperial custody now.”
Draven’s brows knit. Clearly this is the first he’s hearing of this. “How much funding?”
“I can’t say; talks were in the early stages. But their holdings were substantial. One of them sat on the board of the very company that Captain Andor raided.”
“Intelligence didn’t flag any negotiations,” Draven says.
“They were in the latest financial reports. You had clearance.” She fixes them both with a cool stare. “I just hope we didn’t trade years of support for tech we would’ve gotten regardless. With far less collateral damage.”
Draven sighs, but yields with surprising grace. “We’ll… cross-reference our intel next time.” He glances at Andor, then back at her, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “And keep you better informed.”
Not quite an apology. But it’ll do.
When they leave, she looks down at the red crescent marks on her right palm. Her nails had broken skin again—another compulsion from her early Senate years that had recently resurfaced. Yavin just has a way of wearing down her polish right to the bone. She knows what some of the seasoned soldiers say about her. Soft, unused to battle. Not like the men in command, men they can trade war stories with. Men who know what’s truly at stake. She might feel the same in their position. She wonders how many briefings have been sanitized to protect her too-delicate sensibilities.
The training grounds sit near the base of the temple, and she finds herself alone here now, grip tight on a training blaster. Her aim was improving—she’d taken two lessons with the other so-called non-combatants—but every shot misses the mark today. Vel’s instructions ring inside her head: something about pausing your breath on the exhale, something else about the target. Andor had made it look so easy on Coruscant. Just a quick flick of his hand and they were gone. Two lives traded for her freedom. Her right palm burns; she ignores it. Another shot. Still wide. Again. Even worse. Again.
”You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep shooting like that,” a familiar voice calls out. “Senator.”
Mon flinches, then turns around to see Cassian Andor.
“I’m trying.” The edge in her voice makes him recoil. She hates this—the feel of the weapon in her hands, the way she must look to him right now, wild-eyed and ragged with her hair over her eyes. Somehow he always sees her at her worst.
He approaches her cautiously. “Hey. It’s okay. Just… slow down. Focus on your stance first, then on the target.” His hands hover near her shoulders like he’s going to guide her, but he pulls back and gets into position instead: feet apart, knees slightly bent, arms steady. She follows his lead, grateful for his guidance. Though part of her thinks she should resent it. “Now fire.”
She doesn’t hit the centre. But it’s closer.
“There you go,” he says with an approving nod. “Your shoulders are still a bit too tense. But that was good.”
“At the Senate…” she starts, then shakes her head. “You drew quickly. You took them by surprise.”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “That comes with practice. Muscle memory.” In one fluid motion, he takes the blaster from her, lifts his right arm, and pulls the trigger. A new mark appears right at the centre of the target.
She narrows her eyes. “If I’m ever in a position where I need a blaster, it means something’s gone wrong. Taking twenty seconds to aim isn’t going to help.”
“You never know. You could get lucky.”
“I prefer not to leave my survival purely on luck.”
“Guess you’ll have to keep practising.” He gives her a small grin before handing the blaster back. “You were right, by the way. We should’ve seen it.”
“What?”
“About the rebel cell on Talus. I met them; they really didn’t have their act together. But they had a lot of gear for a cell of that size. I should’ve caught that. Asked more questions.”
Does he believe he was responsible? It was Draven’s call, not his. “You couldn’t have known they had important patrons,” she says. “You were just following orders.”
“That’s what worries me sometimes.” He shrugs again and meets her gaze. “I hope I can still make my own choices when it counts.”
ii. during
The small bottle of rum sits empty on the dining table.
We can finish the bottle when I get back, Cassian had said last week. His true intent was clear. While he was away she decided it would not happen again.
She’s glad to be exempt from after-hours base activity reporting. If she weren’t, tonight’s entry would read: Headed to Captain Cassian Andor’s quarters at 2300 hours. Still at this location as of 0035.
There were no grand confessions this time. Just small talk over their mutual lack of sleep until he kissed her and took her to bed. She appreciated his lack of pretence. Never forceful but certain; when he pulled her into his lap and entered her, her body finally felt like her own. She matched him when she could—pressing, sucking, biting, marking his skin in new ways. As if seeking proof they were both still here.
Now, back in his living area, the ease between them is gone. She wraps her arms around herself while he hovers beside her. Neither has spoken since getting dressed. He’s probably too polite to push her to leave.
Well, that’s easy enough. “I should probably—”
K-2SO strides in before she can finish her sentence. They’ve met before—he’s always shadowing Cassian like an imprinted hatchling—but it’s her first time seeing him up close. He looms over her, all gangly limbs and carboplast.
“Hello,” the droid greets.
“Hello.”
“You have not been here before.”
Mon sighs. “I was just leaving.”
K-2SO’s eyes flicker off briefly. “You are a high-value asset, Senator Mothma. If you plan on leaving Cassian’s quarters past midnight, you should consider getting an escort. I can be of service.”
Cassian clears his throat. “I’ll take her home—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Mon interjects, looking at them both. “It’s a ten-minute walk.”
“There have been recent sightings of carnivorous reptiles near the perimeter,” K-2 says in his chipper tone. “They are known to ambush humans. It would only take minutes for you to be devoured.”
He must be exaggerating; surely she would’ve heard if the doodars still posed a real threat to base security. But Cassian steps forward to face her, expression heavy with concern. “Come on. It’s late.”
“Fine. K-2 can escort me,” she says. Cassian’s mouth opens, though he quickly swallows his objections. “You heard him. It would only take minutes for us to be devoured.”
“Right.” He leans against the wall and nods stiffly. “Um, have a good night, then. Mon.”
She likes how her name sounds on his tongue. Like something new he doesn’t want to break. It would be so easy—mad, yes, but easy—to grab him by his nape and forget a little longer.
She settles for a diplomat’s smile. “You too, Cassian.”
The base does feel too empty at this hour, but K-2 fills the silence the moment they start walking. It pleases him to learn they might’ve encountered each other on Coruscant once: him as a willing participant in one of the Emperor’s ostentatious parades, her as a forced spectator. He speaks of Palpatine with childlike reverence. Mon wonders how much of his old programming remains intact, and quickens her pace.
“I’d appreciate your discretion on this matter,” she says.
“What matter?”
She keeps her voice low, just above a whisper. “My… visit to Cassian’s quarters past midnight. As you so kindly put it.”
“Oh, yes. He warned me you might come over. I’m not authorized to speak of it,” K-2 says gravely. “Nor am I authorized to admit I’m not authorized to speak of it. I’m supposed to act confused. Try it. Ask me.”
“What? He warned you?”
“Yes, he said you made plans. He wanted me to rehearse.” His eyes go dark for a moment. “I mean… I’m not sure what you mean. I’ve never seen you in his quarters before.”
So Cassian had expected her to make good on his invitation. He even asked his droid to keep quiet. Part of her thought he would’ve preferred to forget last week altogether.
“You could do with a little more rehearsing,” she says.
“Noted.”
Her cabin emerges from the trees, its interior fully dark. With some luck, she can make it inside without Vel being any wiser.
K-2 raises a hand. “Before you go, we should discuss logistics. I can adjust my evening patrol route to coincide with your next visit.”
The very thought of it makes her scoff, though the warmth between her legs hasn’t left. They’d only promised to finish the rum. Nothing beyond that. Could she show up to his cabin unannounced? Would he wish it? “Thank you, K-2, but there won’t be a next time.”
***
The next time came a week later. And the next time, a day after that. She stopped counting after the fifth time. Now, K-2 schedules his patrols around her evening walks.
It’s fine. She’s allowed. This sort of thing is practically encouraged on Chandrila (what did anyone expect from a society that binds children to each other before they know who they are?), and hardly remarkable among the Coruscanti elite (who can afford to think of life as one great game, to be prodded and moulded and seized). She and Perrin had drifted to and from each other so often that the cycle itself was their only constant. His lightness, at various times, either grounded or enraged her. His trips to Canto Bight, at various times, felt like relief or betrayal. If they ever meet again, this will be the least of her transgressions.
And with Cassian, it always happens fast: his mouth at her throat, her hips already lifting before she could decide to say no. He’s attractive, of course—the younger rebels certainly make eyes at him enough—but beyond that… he doesn’t push. They speak plainly to each other. She thinks of Bix sometimes, when he’s inside her, and wonders if this is his way of dulling his grief. He is a soldier; he knows to seek shelter without confusing it for home.
She can picture the scandal if anyone found out. The leader of the Alliance with a junior officer. Yavin has grown in her seven months here, and rumour would travel fast. Somehow this hasn’t stopped her—only made her more careful. (Or she will be more careful.)
The temple no longer looks as imposing as it did when she first arrived. Around the hangars, the weekly supply drop keeps the morning crew busy. She nods at Draven as he weaves past a pair of transport droids. He respects her now; only occasionally keeps her in the dark. Off to the side, Cassian leans against a large cargo crate, leather jacket slung over his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt clings to his frame in the humidity. She will show him what she thinks of that later.
He approaches casually when he spots her. “Senator.”
“Good morning, Captain. I trust you’re well.”
“More or less. I managed to get out of speaking at orientation. Kay’s doing it for me.” He gestures proudly at K-2, who’s addressing a group of tense recruits in the hangar. One man is clutching his helmet in his hands like a stuffed bantha toy. She can barely make out the droid’s words from this distance. But whatever he’s saying can’t be part of their standard training regimen.
“Is he? They seem… troubled,” she says.
He waves a hand, eyes still on her. “I’m sure they’re fine. First day nerves. You know how it is.”
“Cassian.” She tries to look stern, but feels the grin tug at her mouth. “I met them yesterday. They were eager to serve; now they look like unwilling conscripts. Can you at least make sure K-2 didn’t open with Imperial torture methods?”
“I’ll go in a minute. Just wanted to say hello.”
“Well, mission accomplished.”
She doesn’t realize she’s smiling at him until Vel appears beside them. They spring apart. Cassian lifts a hand to his brow to squint at K-2.
“Morning,” Vel greets, then turns to Mon and says, “You look happy.”
“I’m not happy.” She grimaces at how that sounds. “I was telling Captain Andor to mind his droid. I think K-2 is scaring off the new recruits.”
“Well-rested, then. Cassian, doesn’t my cousin look well-rested today?”
He freezes for half a second before pretending to appraise her. An image of their late-night tryst in the temple flashes inconveniently in her mind. It had been quick, frantic, Cassian fresh from a mission that took a week longer than expected. “I’m not sure if I see enough of Senator Mothma to judge that.”
K-2’s gentle monotone carries over to them before Vel can respond: “During major battles, fighter pilot mortality rates range from twenty-two percent to as high as ninety—”
“I’m… gonna get him out of here before they all defect back to the Empire,” Cassian says, eager to make an exit. “Vel. Senator.”
He runs off to steer K-2 away while a displeased Draven looks on.
“Enjoying the view?” Vel snickers.
“I‘m not sure what you mean.”
“Oh, please, Mon. This has gone on long enough, so I’m just gonna come out and say it.” Vel leans closer to whisper in her ear. “I know someone’s been warming your sheets at night.”
Mon takes in a sharp breath. She flushes easily—she never could hide anything as a child—but if she doesn’t look at Cassian, stays light during this interrogation, then maybe…
“You could’ve told me, you know,” Vel continues, gently needling. “It’s not a small thing. To find comfort out here. Especially for the two of you.”
“Vel! What brought this on?”
“Don’t worry! I won’t tell anyone. You can even bring him over.” Vel nudges her and tips her chin at Draven.
“Draven.” Mon breathes out a sigh of relief. “You think—Draven.”
“I figured out weeks ago that you were sneaking off. Sometimes I’d lie awake and hear your little steps come and go. Always at odd hours. Then it was just a matter of figuring out who you were with.”
“And how… how did you settle on Draven?”
If Vel’s grin gets any wider, her cheeks might burst. “Once I thought about it, I realized you’re not exactly brimming with options. No offence. I knew it was someone who lived here. Someone with enough privacy, which ruled out everyone in the barracks. I also figured you’d go for someone high enough not to cause a scandal. And it couldn’t be anyone too charming—you’d hate that.”
“Can you get to the point?”
“After that, it was easy. I mean, he’s tall, handsome enough, human enough, no-nonsense. You probably spend more time with him than anybody else. You’re always whispering about something in the War Room.”
Mon nearly opens her mouth to say because we’re at war, but presses her lips together instead.
“You’re not denying it,” Vel says, sing-song.
“I don’t need to deny baseless speculation,” Mon huffs, though there’s no real bite to her voice. She must let Vel see her with Draven more.
Later that day, when she announces she’s going on an evening walk, Vel bids her goodnight with a hearty pat on the back and all but shoves her out the door.
“I just don’t understand why she thinks it’s Draven,” Cassian says.
They’ve settled into a routine now. She usually leaves his cabin right after; she’s careful not to overstay her welcome. But Melshi’s off-world until tomorrow, Vel no longer requires an alibi, and Cassian’s brought a honeycake from a market stall in Jafan. He’s done that a few times—brought back something small from his trips—and the cake is particularly good, second only to the candied dates from Pasaana. She can stay a bit longer. Even if it is to discuss her cousin’s shoddy detective work.
“As high-ranking members of the Alliance, they are often in close proximity,” K-2 says helpfully. “They have private briefings at least twice a week. Sometimes more. It is a reasonable guess.”
Cassian doesn’t dignify that with a proper response. He only frowns and mumbles a “huh.”
“Vel may also see General Draven as a more age-compatible option,” K-2 continues. “I’ve learned this matters to some humans. Though you and Senator Mothma don’t seem to—”
“Kay!” Cassian yelps, throwing a rag at the droid from across the table. The cloth ricochets off K-2’s dark plating and lands unacknowledged at his feet. “That’s enough. Why don’t you go outside and stand guard?”
K-2 departs without protest, his joints clattering softly. A long silence follows.
“He… he never knows what he’s talking about,” Cassian finally says.
“No, I think he gave an accurate assessment, actually.”
She means to exhale through her nose; somehow it comes out as a snort. They both fall apart in undignified laughter. It is ridiculous, and absurd, and a number of other adjectives she’s cycled through. She’s still not sure who he thinks of when they’re together. Or what he derives from their arrangement. But sometimes, he looks at her like he wouldn’t mind it if she lingered.
That’s the look he gives when he says, “Maybe we should start scheduling private briefings.”
“I should go,” she tells him, and stays.
***
Yavin greets her with birdsong, the smell of morning air, and pale light seeping through the slats.
She’s not in her own cabin. The bed creaks differently, the blankets thick and soft. Last night comes back in pieces: Cassian’s hands holding her steady, his mouth between her thighs—then, after the honeycake, after K-2’s too-honest observations, they’d stumbled back into his bedroom a second time. And somewhere between talking and kissing and drinking bad revnog, she must’ve dozed off. She can almost remember falling asleep on his chest. Though surely that was just a dream; she wouldn’t be so careless. Well. No matter. She’ll fix herself and be on her way.
Cassian is reassembling his blaster at the dining table when she enters. “Hey. You’re up.” He looks up with a small smile, then keeps working. “There’s tea in the pot if you want.”
“How did you—”
“I heard you in there a few minutes ago, so I started brewing it.”
“I’m sorry.” She attempts a faint laugh. “I meant to leave last night.”
He furrows his brow. “It’s fine.”
“I had a long day yesterday. I was reading Dodonna’s reports before I came over.” Her fingers itch to pick at her nails, so she clasps her hands together. “You know how he goes on. And then the revnog—”
“Mon. It’s fine.” He sets his weapon down and studies her intently. “Have some tea.”
She frowns, but his steadiness disarms her, so she pours herself a cup and joins him. He doesn’t even care for tea. Yet there’s a small jar of dried leaves and citrus rinds near the kettle that she suspects he keeps for her benefit.
“Look, I know what this is.” He takes a deep breath, searching for his words. “Or isn’t. But I have no intention of being cruel to you. That’s all.”
“I know.”
He lets out a puff of air and drums his fingers once on the table. “You should come over one day. Play rianza with us. Just a couple of friendly games.”
“What?”
“You know I usually play with Melshi and K-2. Vel when she’s in the mood. It’ll be fun.” He says it offhand, like it wouldn’t be unusual for her to be there.
“I could get Vel to invite me. Frame it as curiosity. It’ll look suspicious coming from you.”
He rolls his eyes. “Politicians.”
They don’t say anything else, but it’s an easy silence this time. He moves to pack the rest of his gear, cursing under his breath when he trips over a loose power cable on the floor. (She really should tell him to clean up.) She finishes the rest of her tea. It’s oversteeped and the best she’s had.
“I should go,” she says, standing up. “Thank you for—thank you.”
“Anytime.”
“I take it you’re leaving soon?”
“In twenty minutes. K-2’s getting the ship ready.” The sun spills in, warm and gold, catching his profile as he waters Bix’s plants. He tips the can just enough to wet the soil. She often thinks he is spoiled for peacetime; seeing him here, she hopes some of his softness can endure.
“Be safe, then. Come back,” she says wryly.
“I will.”
iii. after
A planet killer. Mon had been wary of Luthen’s intel too. How could she not be, after the web of distrust he’d created? The paranoia that consumed him? But she cannot deny the evidence. She has spent over a third of her life in the Empire’s service; she knows their arrogance. Their shortsightedness. It isn’t like them to spring a trap this intricate. No, this feels more like a leak they‘ve failed to contain.
The Council will convene in thirty minutes. Coming straight from Eadu, Cassian has relayed enough for her to understand: there is a flaw in the weapon, a deliberate weakness they can exploit. The schematics on Scarif are the key. It would require infiltrating a heavily guarded Imperial data vault on a heavily guarded planet.
But Galen Erso is dead. Only Jyn Erso saw his final message.
“I believe you,” Mon says.
He shakes his head. “What about the rest of them?”
“A few can be persuaded. But you’re right; you’ll never get full support of the Council,” she admits. “Probably not even a majority.”
“So overrule them somehow,” he says, raising his voice. “Authorize a mission anyway!”
If they had more time, she would make him understand. This is the cost of governance. The Alliance remains fragile even now; it has no charter, no ratified leadership, only a coalition of disparate factions she’s trying to hold together. At times it feels like it might tear itself apart before the Empire can. Some councillors still believe in a peaceful resolution. Would anyone heed her order if she attempted to act unilaterally? And even if they did—hadn’t she watched Palpatine turn the threat of war into a mandate to rule?
“We aim to restore democracy.” She straightens, hands clasped together in front. “If we abandon our core tenets the moment they become inconvenient, are we any better than the Empire?”
“You can’t seriously be concerned about optics—”
“It’s not about optics. My authority exists only through consensus. If I give orders without Council support, then I risk fracturing—”
“This is about our survival!” he snaps, leaning closer. “They know we’re onto them. It’s only a matter of time before they pull the plans from Scarif. We need to act now.”
Water drips from the corner of her office. She thinks, absurdly, that the last time she was alone with him, she’d been pressed against that stone wall in her robes. That was over three months ago. Funny that only the news of an Imperial superweapon could bring them together again.
It had almost been too easy to pull back. She’d done it countless times to overeager acquaintances seeking some political favour or other. A polite apology after a missed invitation, a promise to reschedule, repeated and repeated until the promises stopped altogether. She was terribly sorry, but she needed every bit of sleep she could get, and surely he must too after such a gruelling mission… maybe another time? None of it was even untrue. When she recalls this next, if she ever allows herself the memory of it, she will tell herself that duty drove them apart. That nothing could’ve bloomed on borrowed time. But here, she admits she plucked out whatever could take root.
Mon steps back to put some distance between them. “I will abide by the Council’s decision. Whatever it may be.”
“I don’t have to answer to your Council!” He throws it at her like a challenge. It’s all impulse, but seeing him now—hands clenched, pacing back and forth—she can almost imagine him going off alone in vain.
She could stop it. Just a quick message and he’d be confined to quarters, restrained if needed. Safe for another day.
“No. You don’t,” she says instead. “And I suspect others may feel the same.”
He stops pacing. A crease forms at his brow, then disappears—an immediate understanding. He knows her well, despite this rift between them, knows how to look in the space between her words. She might as well have spoken the order aloud: take who you trust. Stand ready. Leave if the vote fails.
“I can gather everyone during the meeting.” He crosses his arms, still restless. “But someone’s bound to notice a crew like that. We’d be lucky to make it off the ground.”
“Emotions will run high after we adjourn,” she says. “I can make sure the right people are… looking elsewhere.”
Cassian nods. “All right.”
There will be no deliberation, no careful planning of options and contingencies. But she’s been here long enough to deduce the broadest strokes. An infiltration with the stolen ship from Eadu. A desperate gamble for a small chance.
“You won’t have fleet support. If anything goes wrong—”
He lets out a breathy laugh. “That’s what I’m good at, right? Sneaking in.”
She can picture it too clearly: Cassian face down on the sand, smoke rising from his body; Cassian slumped against the blast doors, blood spreading through his jacket; Cassian on comms, pleading for reinforcements as the line cuts out. A dozen versions of the same ending. And if not on Scarif, then on another mission, one of the many she will sanction. The war has scarcely begun.
Another part of her thinks, his luck hasn’t run out yet. Perhaps it’ll remain that way, again and again and again and again.
“Come back to us, Captain.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners when he looks at her gently—fondly—and she realizes it’s how he’s been looking at her all along. “I’d rather not make promises I can’t keep.”
She holds his gaze. He’s always seemed older than his years; now she finds herself hoping he’ll grow older still. Let him see the future she wishes to build. If they had more time, she would tell him everything. But the Council will convene in fifteen minutes.
“I’m sorry. For what I cannot give.”
He catches her arm as she passes, stroking her wrist with his thumb the way he used to. “Mon.”
She wants to say you don’t have to do this—that she will send the fleet no matter what the Council decides—but she offers nothing else. And when he presses his lips softly to her forehead, she doesn’t know if it’s a new beginning or an end.
If he returns, she will ask him to dinner. They have only rations, yes, but she can open that bottle of Chandrilan wine Bail had brought for her name day. The grappaberries from her valley always did make the best red. She’d been saving it for a victory worth toasting. And then she’ll take what he’s willing to give: a handshake, another evening, an early goodbye—and send him on his way or stay until dawn.
At the meeting, she watches him drift toward the exit as Jyn speaks. Tensions are high. The Council is divided. They both know how the vote will fall.
“I’m sorry, Jyn. Without the full support of the Council, the odds are too great.”
By the time she says these words, he is long gone.