Thorn stood resolutely in the living area of Senator Padmé Amidala's apartment complex, his imposing figure a bastion of strength amidst the serene decor of Naboo-style elegance. He was a guard, his duty to ensure the safety of the senator, and he took that role with unwavering seriousness.

As he surveyed his surroundings, his keen senses were tuned to every sound and shift in the atmosphere. The apartment complex was usually quiet, but today, the air felt charged, as if it were holding its breath.

Suddenly, a soft clatter came from the kitchen area, breaking the tranquility of the moment. Thorn's instincts kicked in, and he tightened his grip on the hilt of his blaster. The noise was unusual, and in an environment where the stakes were often high, it warranted caution. He moved stealthily towards the sound, each step measured and quiet, his senses heightened. Was it an intruder? A threat to the senator?

As he approached the kitchen, the faint scent of spices wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of fresh fruits that adorned the counter. Thorn peered around the corner, ready to confront whoever dared to intrude upon his charge. To his surprise, he found not an intruder but one of Senator Amidala's handmaidens, balancing a stack of plates in her arms.

The stack of plates wobbled precariously, and Thorn instinctively then said;

“Careful,” He said, his voice low yet firm.