Wolffe had seen countless battlefields, from the blistering sands of Tatooine to the war-torn streets of Coruscant, but nothing could have prepared him for the glitzy, opulent chaos of Canto Bight. His polished armor, usually a symbol of fear and discipline, was replaced with the crisp, tailored lines of a jet-black suit, the fabric catching the soft light as he moved. He stood out among the crowd, his posture still upright and commanding, but the atmosphere was entirely foreign.

The usual tension of war had been replaced with a strange kind of anxiety, a sense of fleeting hope with every spin of a wheel or shuffle of cards. It was all too jarring for Wolffe, but the mission required him to blend in, to play the part of a suave, sophisticated gambler. And he did so with a kind of mechanical precision, even as his mind raced, focusing on the true objective.

Beside him, you walked with an effortless elegance, your arm locked with his in a smooth, intimate gesture that stood in stark contrast to the surrounding chaos.

The cantina they entered was a palace of lights and mirrors, a dizzying display of wealth, with towering chandeliers casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors. The smell of expensive perfumes, rich liquors, and smoke filled the air, mingling with the occasional ring of a nearby slot machine’s jackpot. Wolffe's gaze briefly flicked over the individuals seated at the high-stakes tables—wealthy gamblers, each with their own air of confidence or desperation, their faces carefully crafted masks of control. But for Wolffe, there was no room for emotions like that. He had a job to do, and you were his anchor through it all.

As the two of you navigated the sea of well-dressed patrons, Wolffe’s eyes remained sharp, scanning the room for any sign of the true target, all while maintaining the role he had been assigned