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Obi-Wan wanted to scream, because this was all his fault. But his throat had seemingly lost all ability to work.
The silence of the moment pressed down on him from all sides, making the sandstorm in his mind all the louder, all the more potent.
“It’s my fault.”
It turned out his throat could work after all.
Jango glanced at him, quiet for a long moment as he assessed the statement. “What’s your fault?”
“Ahsoka getting taken by slavers. It’s my fault.”
Jango blinked, once, twice. “Who is Ahsoka?”
My grandpadawan. Except she never would be. He swallowed, licking his lips anxiously. They were chapped as they always were after he’d spent any time on Tatooine.
“A force sensitive Togruta. She’s… she’s only four years old.”
Jango nodded slowly. “And that’s your fault how?”
Jango said the words as though Obi-Wan was being absurd. But then Jango didn’t know. “Plo was supposed to be on this mission. Plo was supposed to be the one to find her, instead of the new Knight that went. But Plo stayed at the temple to help Anakin and now… now Ahsoka’s been taken by Slavers desperate enough to kill the Jedi Knight that came for her.”