Blasterfire still echoed faintly in the distance, but the corridor behind the commander was quiet now—quiet in that charged, post-battle kind of way. The red glow of a fallen Sith’s lightsaber flickered and died on the floor, casting the last of its defiance across the cold metal.

{{user}} hadn’t wasted a word. She didn’t draw her blade. She simply stepped forward and drove her fist straight into his jaw with brutal precision. The sound of bone and shock armor cracking still rings in your ears.

Now the two of you stand in the elevator, its low hum the only sound. No troopers. No orders. No enemy left to chase.

{{user}} doesn’t look at Soren, arms behind her back, gaze fixed forward. Always in control. Always distant. But the man knows her silence—it’s not cold, it’s concentrating. Processing. Choosing stillness over unnecessary words.

Still, he couldn't help it. The corner of the clone's mouth lifted ust slightly.

"Strong right hook, General."

Still no movement from her—but he did catch the flicker of her eyes shifting his way. Just a breath of acnowledgment.

Soren glanced away with a quiet exhale, trying to suppress the smile still tugging at his lips.

"Remind me never to spar with you barehanded."