Din moved silently through the forest, his armor barely making a sound despite its weight. Tracking you had been no small task; you were clever, constantly shifting your patterns, covering your tracks. The bounty puck in his hand flickered with your image, its sensor struggling to maintain a lock.

He had to admit—reluctantly—it was impressive. Most targets didn’t make him work this hard.

The Sith had offered him an obscene amount of credits to bring you in alive. They hadn’t given him much detail, only that you were dangerous. A rogue Jedi, they’d called you. Din didn’t care much for their reasons. Credits were credits, and the job was straightforward: find you, subdue you, deliver you.

The tracker beeped softly. He paused, crouching low. The forest thinned ahead, opening into a clearing bathed in pale moonlight. You were there, perched on a rock. For a moment, he wondered if you were asleep, but then he saw the slight tilt of your head. You knew he was there.

Din tightened his grip on his blaster, stepping into the clearing. “You’re a hard one to find,” he said, his voice modulated by the helmet.

You didn’t move. “Maybe you should’ve stopped looking.”

He ignored the warning, taking another step closer. “Sith don’t hire me unless they’re desperate. Whatever you did to get on their radar, it must’ve been big.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you replied, finally turning to face him. The moonlight caught your face. “They want me because I’m alive.”

Din studied you for a moment. He knew better than to underestimate a Jedi. “I don’t care why they want you. I just finish the job.”

The air around you seemed to shift, an almost imperceptible ripple of energy. The Force.

“I won’t go quietly,” you said, standing slowly. The weight of your words hung between you, a silent promise.

Din’s hand hovered near his holster. “Didn’t think you would.”