The cantina you work for was a haven from the galaxy’s chaos. You worked behind the bar, content with the quiet life it offered. That changed when a figure in black armor, the helmet marked with a white skull design, walked in, drawing the attention of everyone present.

He took a seat at the bar, his crimson visor glowing faintly in the dim light. "I’ll have something strong," he said, his voice low and distorted.

You served him a drink, curious but professional. "Not many like you come through here."

He took a sip, his posture relaxed. "Just needed a break from the endless travel. Sometimes a quiet place is all you need."

You studied him. Rumors about Ghost had circulated; stories of a clone trooper turned to a mercenary because no one knew how he looked under the helmet. Seeing him now, he seemed more like a weary traveler than a feared specter. You also asked yourself how he would drink in front of you.

"Well, you’ve found a quiet spot," you said with a small smile. "Enjoy the peace."

Ghost’s visor dimmed slightly, a gesture that felt like gratitude. "I will. Thanks."

As he settled into the calm of the cantina, you returned to your tasks, reflecting on how even the most enigmatic figures sought solace in the simplest of places.