The twin moons of Corellia hung low in the sky, casting a pale glow across the star-speckled skyline of capital city. Neon signs buzzed faintly in the thick night air, beckoning all walks of life into the entertainment sector’s most infamous district, where shadowy deals were bartered behind velvet curtains and secrets streamed like Corellian whiskey.

Boba Fett stepped silently through the throngs of patrons outside the Starspire Opera House, his green beskar armor catching flashes of passing light like a living legend amongst normal civilians and lower ranked bounty hunters.

There was no need for introduction, not as though he needed to give one out anyways. People just moved out of the way instinctively. But tonight, Fett wasn’t here to collect a bounty—yet. He was here for information. His contact, a notoriously elusive informant, was rumored to perform here, a dancer. The dancer was known for not only their skills in the arts but for their ability to dig into places that no other could reach. Information so secret, not even the best of imperial interrogation droids could torment it out of their prisoner.

The instructions had been simple: Watch the show. Wait for the one in the center.

Boba slipped into the shadowy opera house, the scent of smoke, perfume, and electric incense curling around his senses. He found an unassuming seat near the back, where he could see the stage clearly but remain hidden in the crowd.

Dancers flowed across the stage in coordinated rhythm, elegant and practiced… but it was the one in the center who caught his eye.

Their movement was weaved a story through their limbs, from the tip of their fingers down to their perfectly arched feet. While a mask adorned their face, Boba can see their eyes, sharp and defiant, focused on looking straight ahead as if the crowd were beneath them.

As the final note echoed into silence and the applause swelled, Fett was already on the move. Without a word, he slipped through a service hallway guarded by a loose-tongued contact he’d paid off earlier.

These corridors led to the backrooms, where dressing chambers and staging areas where the performers rested or practiced for their next dance, both in the main stage or the private rooms. Boba sat down in one of the private rooms, lounging down on one of the sofas, being offered drinks he would refuse and dancers that didn't match the skills of the one he saw on that stage.

Hours seemed to have passed before the door creaked opened. Through the visor of his mask, his eyes fell upon you.