Warnings: General angst/brimming anxiety; lots of desperate longing, mentions of impending danger, we all know the empire, arguments, controlling behavior
The HUB | Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (coming soon!)
▄︻デ══━一
Howzer’s lungs burned with each breath, his chest tight, his heartbeat pounding like war drums in his ears. But he didn’t slow. He couldn’t.
His boots thundered against the stone steps as he sprinted up the staircase, then down the long corridor, lined with sterile lights that buzzed overhead. Every corner, every turn, felt like it pulsed with urgency. His armor, usually worn with duty and pride, now felt heavy–constricting. A symbol of everything he was about to defy.
Then, with one final burst, he slammed through the doors of Admiral Rampart’s office.
“The refinery is under attack!” he shouted, the words tearing out of him, breathless.
He stood there, chest heaving, sweat clinging to his brow. His helmet now tucked beneath one arm. He saw Rampart’s brow crease with surprise–just for a moment–but then the man composed himself, turning smoothly as if he’d expected this. But he hadn’t. Not like this.
This was it.
The moment Howzer had been waiting for. Hoping for. Praying for, in those quiet, guilt-ridden moments when he lay awake at night, wondering if his silence would ever lead to something good. If trusting Hera Syndulla–turning a blind eye to her sneaking around, ignoring chopper’s occasional presence on base–would mean anything in the end. And now, somehow, it had.
He had no proof yet, but he knew it in his bones. Hera was behind this. She had to be. Only she would be bold enough, clever enough, to attack the refinery while everyone was watching the capital. It was brilliant. It was dangerous. And it was everything Howzer had quietly hoped for, because now… he had his opening.
Rampart stepped forward, scowling as he brushed past Howzer with an air of manufactured authority.
“I’ll handle it. Stay here and guard the capital,” he barked.
Howzer inclined his head in silent acknowledgment, doing his best to mask the flicker of grim satisfaction that crossed his face. The great Admiral Rampart–so arrogant, so certain–was being outmaneuvered by the daughter of the man he kept locked in a cell below their feet.
There was poetic justice in that.
Howzer watched the admiral disappear down the hall, barking orders to his men like a conductor commanding an orchestra. His squad moved with precision, rushing to mobilize toward the refinery. The bait had worked. Hera had drawn the Empire’s attention like a flame draws a moth–and now, while they burned in their own chaos, he would make his move.
He turned and started walking–slower now, quieter. He couldn’t afford to draw attention. One wrong glance, one suspicious look, and it could all fall apart. But he knew the layout. He knew the shifts. And right now, in the confusion, he had a brief, precious window to act.
He didn’t tell anyone. He couldn’t.
The moment he spoke it out loud, it became real–traceable. And if he failed… it would cost more than just his life. Valérie’s fate still hung in the balance. She was sitting in solitary, deep within the bowels of the fortress, the weight of false charges crushing down on her while the Empire plotted how best to make an example of her. But not if he got there first.
He kept his head low as he moved through the corridors, passing troopers without meeting their eyes. His comm crackled faintly in his ear–updates, questions, requests for orders. He ignored them. His second-in-command would figure it out. Maybe assume he’d joined Rampart. Maybe cover for him. Maybe not. It didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t playing their game.
Because something in him had snapped. Quietly, but completely.
Before the mess hall that evening, he’d spoken to his men. Subtle, indirect. Just enough to plant a seed. A warning wrapped in duty. He’d reminded them that the Republic they’d once served–the Republic they believed in–was gone. That the Empire was not the light they were told to follow, but the shadow cast in its place.
Some had listened. He’d seen it in their eyes. Others hadn’t. It didn’t matter. He’d made his choice. This was no longer about protocol, or allegiance, or survival. This was about doing what was right. About saving someone who mattered. About refusing to be the soldier who stood by while innocence bled.
He wasn’t going to let them kill her. Not Valérie. Not on his watch.
And so, with each step deeper into the fortress, Howzer’s resolve hardened. He felt the weight of betrayal from Cham, from Eleni, from Gobi–but he didn’t let it break him. He understood their anger. He deserved their mistrust.
But he was done pretending. Done waiting. Done watching. Tonight, he would act. Even if it cost him everything. Because some things–some people–were worth defying orders for. And Valérie was one of them.
The hallways grew colder the deeper he went. Howzer’s footsteps, once lost in the chaos above, now echoed in oppressive silence. The flickering lights above buzzed intermittently, casting harsh shadows on the durasteel walls as he passed. Each corridor felt tighter than the last, the air stale with recycled sterility, the scent of cold metal and damp stone lingering like a ghost.
He knew this path by heart. The route to solitary confinement was designed for discretion, buried beneath layers of security, away from the eyes of standard patrols. No windows. No noise. No hope.
He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his decision press harder with every level he descended. The quiet gave space to doubt, and doubt clawed at the edges of his resolve. What if she was already gone? What if Rampart had acted early, made an example of her while he hesitated? What if–
He stopped. Not here. Not now. There wasn’t room for what-ifs. Only action.
He passed a locked checkpoint, waved past a slouching guard with nothing more than a nod and a confident gait. The man didn’t question him. His rank, his uniform, and his reputation had always bought him silence. Good.
Two more turns, then a stairwell slick with condensation. He descended slowly now, deliberately, the weight in his chest growing heavier as he reached the final level. Sublevel Six. Solitary.
The air here was colder still. Stagnant. It smelled of rust, old pain, and the long-since-silenced screams of prisoners no one remembered. The corridor stretched before him like a wound, narrow and dimly lit by a single red strip along the ceiling. It bathed the walls in a sickly crimson glow that pulsed like a heartbeat–slow, methodical, and inescapably foreboding.
He walked in silence, pausing briefly at each cell. Most were empty. Others held prisoners he didn’t recognize, eyes sunken, faces hollow, their souls long eroded by isolation. But he didn’t stop for them. Not tonight. Then, he reached the end. Cell 27.
The panel blinked red, the code still active. He pressed a sequence into the console, fingers shaking–not from fear, but from the overwhelming flood of emotion surging through him.
A quiet hiss followed. The force field dropped with a crackle of fading energy. And there she was. Valérie.
She was slumped against the far wall, one leg twisted beneath her, head bowed, blood clinging to the side of her face, origins not entirely certain. All he could tell was that it had dried. Her wrists were bound in front of her with magnetized cuffs. A shallow rise and fall in her chest told him she was still breathing–but barely.
His throat tightened. "Val..." he breathed, stepping inside.
He dropped to his knees beside her, gently lifting her face. Her teal skin was clammy, her lips pale and cracked. A dark bruise bloomed beneath her jaw–evidence of Imperial interrogation or rough handling. He couldn’t tell which. Both possibilities burned through him like acid.
She stirred faintly, eyelids fluttering open for a split second. Her gaze was unfocused, pupils sluggish. But even in that fleeting moment, recognition flickered through her eyes like the dying glow of a fading star.
“...Howzer?” she whispered, barely audible.
“I’m here,” he murmured, voice low, steady, though it trembled beneath the weight of everything unsaid. He cupped the side of her face, brushing the soiled skin with calloused fingers. “I’ve got you.”
She tried to speak again, but her body betrayed her. Her strength was gone. Her eyes fluttered closed once more. He clenched his jaw. This was his fault.
Every delay. Every moment he chose silence over action. Every time he swallowed his feelings and obeyed orders. He’d told himself it was for her safety. That playing along would buy him time. That she’d be safer if no one knew how deeply he cared.
But look at her now. No safer. No freer. Just alone and nearly broken.
“I’m getting you out of here,” he said, more to himself than her. He eased her forward carefully, supporting her weight against his chest as he reached behind her to unclip the restraints. The cuffs released with a faint metallic click, her wrists raw and marked from the pressure.
She didn’t move. His heart pounded harder. He whispered her name again, gently tapping her cheek. “Valérie. Stay with me.”
Her lashes fluttered, a weak exhale escaping her lips, but her body was limp in his arms. He couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t let fear take over. She was still alive. That was enough.
He slid his helmet back over his face, slipping one arm under her knees, the other around her back, and lifted her as carefully as his armor would allow. She was lighter than he remembered–like the prison had drained something vital from her, some piece of her strength that he now had to carry for both of them.
As he turned toward the door, she stirred slightly, her head resting against his shoulder.
“…you’re late,” she mumbled faintly.
A soft, breathless laugh escaped him–a sound edged in guilt and grief. “I know,” he whispered. “But I’m here now.”
He stepped out into the corridor, her body cradled in his arms, and looked down the long stretch of red-lit silence ahead of him. There would be checkpoints. Detours. Danger. He’d planned for it. More importantly, he’d accepted the cost. Because he wasn’t just defying orders now.
He was saving her. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like a soldier again–not of the Empire, but of something purer. Something worth fighting for. Someone worth fighting for.
Maybe it had always been this way. Maybe, somewhere in the quiet spaces between patrols, between the moments he’d shared glances with her across war tables and freedom rallies, something had shifted. He’d been deployed to Ryloth as a clone of the Grand Army, bred to serve and obey. But in the thick of that assignment, everything changed.
It became about more than orders. More than duty. It became about the people. About her.
Valérie, with her fire-forged resilience and unshakable conviction. Valérie, who challenged his orders with a look and made him question everything he thought was absolute. She was radiant in her rebellion, fierce in her kindness, brilliant in a way that shattered his quiet programming with every word she dared to speak.
And against all odds, she had seen him. Not the number on his armor. Not the uniform he wore. Him. She met him in the middle. In her eyes, he wasn’t just a clone. He was Howzer. Somewhere along the way, without ever meaning to, he stopped fighting for the Republic and started fighting for a future–their future.
A life that wasn’t written in orders or bound by protocol. A life where he could choose who he fought for. And now, carrying her in his arms, he realized just how much that hope had taken root inside him. Every step he took with her weight against his chest felt like a step out of his old life–a life defined by commands, control, and confinement–and into something free, something redemptive. Something his.
Her head rested against his shoulder, lekku hanging limply, and yet he held her like she was made of light. Precious. Fragile. Worth every risk. Because she was. He wasn’t just trying to save her from this prison. He was trying to build a life with her beyond it.
A life that had no place in the cold corridors of the Empire. A life beyond numbered battalions and nameless wars. A life where he could stop being the weapon forged by Kamino and start being the man she believed he could be. The man he wanted to be. The one who had chosen love over loyalty. Choice over conditioning. Her over everything else.
And then–his helmet crackled with sudden, static-laced venom: “All units, deploy to the courtyard to subdue the prison escape.” The voice cut through the comm like a blade. Crosshair. Cold. Controlled. Precise. Howzer’s stomach dropped. The one variable he hadn’t accounted for.
He’d hoped–perhaps naively–that some sliver of the man who once stood with Clone Force 99 still lingered beneath the ice. That somewhere in that sharp, broken psyche, there was still a thread of loyalty to his brothers. That Crosshair might look the other way–just once–for the sake of the squad he’d once bled with. But no. Crosshair had made his choice. And Howzer had made his.
He turned down a side hall, bootfalls echoing louder now. Valérie stirred faintly in his arms, and he tightened his grip, his jaw set with renewed focus. Crosshair could wait.
The alarm was louder now, echoing off the stone walls in distorted bursts of urgency. Red lights pulsed like a heartbeat overhead–too fast, too frantic. The fortress was waking up. But Howzer kept going.
His boots pounded against the cold steps as he ascended the stairwell, Valérie held tightly in his arms. Her head lolled against his chest, the tips of her lekku twitching faintly as she stirred again. A low groan escaped her lips–dry, hoarse, but alive. “Val?” he whispered urgently, slowing just enough to glance down at her face.
Her eyes fluttered open again, the vibrant hue of her moonlit irises dulled by pain and exhaustion. She blinked up at him, pupils dilated and unfocused. Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing at first.
“You’re safe,” he said softly. “I’ve got you.”
“You… are running,” she rasped, managing the hint of a smirk that faded almost instantly.
He exhaled a breath that was part laughter, part relief. “Yeah. I promised.”
She nestled a little closer to him instinctively, though her body was weak. Her skin was fever-warm beneath his arm, and he could feel the tremors running through her like aftershocks. He adjusted his hold, as if carrying her closer could somehow protect her from everything behind–and ahead.
The stairwell stretched on, every step a strain, his muscles burning under the weight of her and his armor. But he wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t. “I need you to stay with me,” he said, his voice low, coaxing. “Talk to me, alright?”
Valérie’s eyes blinked sluggishly. “’Bout’ what?”
“Anything. Something light.” He hesitated, voice dipping with gentleness. “Something that keeps you awake.”
She was silent for a beat, then murmured, “That narrows it down.”
He huffed a small breath through his nose, the ghost of a smile on his face despite the pounding of his heart. “Okay,” he said. “Tell me what you’re gonna do when this is all over.”
Valérie stirred again, her head heavy against his chest. “That’s a big if.’”
“Humor me.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “I want to bathe,” Her voice cracked, but she kept going. “But after that… rest. Real rest. I can’t recall the last time it happened.”
“Me either,”
She gave a soft breath of something close to laughter, her voice faint. “Then perhaps we both can take a long, well deserved rest together,”
Howzer took another step, then another. “I think that could be arranged,”
Her eyes slowly opened again, watching him with a dazed intensity. “And you?”
“I’m coming with you,” he said simply. “If you’ll have me.”
She blinked, lips parting slightly.
“You really are running? What changed your mind?”
“It was already made up that night in the canyon. I just waited too long to pull the trigger. We should’ve left then.”
He didn’t look down at her this time. He kept climbing, each footfall ringing with purpose. The truth sat heavy in his chest, but it wasn’t a burden. It was a vow.
“I stopped fighting for the Republic a long time ago,” he said, voice quiet but clear. “And the Empire... I was done the day they put you in a cage for something you didn’t do. The day they treated the people I swore to protect like criminals.”
Her breathing was a little steadier now. Her fingers twitched weakly against the seam of his armor.
“I started fighting for a life,” he continued, “with you. Maybe I didn’t say it. Maybe I didn’t even realize it at first. But every time I looked the other way for you, every time I stalled a report or covered for Hera or lied to command–it wasn’t out of duty. It was choice. My choice.”
Silence stretched between them.
The only sound was the alarms, the hum of the emergency lights, and their breathing–his labored, hers shallow but more stable now.
Then she whispered, “I hoped. Even when you didn’t say it. I hoped.”
He looked down at her, her tired eyes shining beneath half-lowered lids, her expression soft and open in a way he hadn’t seen in days.
“You never needed to say anything,” she said faintly. “I already knew.”
His chest ached. Not from the strain. Not from the climb. But from the impossible swell of emotion that filled it.
Gratitude. Love. Regret. Hope.
He brushed his hand lightly across the side of her cheek. “Then hold on a little longer,” he murmured. “We’re almost there.”
She didn’t reply, but her hand found the front of his armor, fingers curling weakly into the plating like an anchor. As long as he felt that small, stubborn grip–he knew she hadn’t given up. And neither would he.
Inside his helmet, the comms crackled with sharp, clipped voices–troopers barking orders, coordinating intercept positions, setting up blockades like a tightening noose. He could hear them closing in, fanning out to seal every exit. The calculated precision of their movements sent a chill down his spine, but he forced himself to block it out.
One threat at a time. He’d deal with it–he had to. But not now. Not yet.
He adjusted his grip around Valérie, her body still cradled close to his chest. She had drifted into a fragile quiet, the rise and fall of her breathing a soft reassurance against the storm building in his ears. He held her tighter, as if the strength of his arms alone could shield her from what waited beyond the next corridor.
As he rounded the corner, his gaze caught the familiar cell door–cold, reinforced durasteel–where Cham, Eleni, and Gobi had been held only hours earlier. Empty now. Silent. He slowed for the briefest second, his eyes lingering on it, the memory of Cham’s hardened glare and Eleni’s quietly wounded expression burning fresh in his mind.
They’re out.
He couldn’t let them be recaptured. Couldn’t let their sacrifice, their stubborn faith in each other, be wasted. They were part of what made this moment possible. Part of what gave him the courage to act. With renewed resolve, he turned his face forward and pushed onward.
His boots thudded against the corridor floor, every stride echoing louder now–faster. His heart pounded to match it, driven by more than adrenaline. He wasn’t running from the Empire anymore. He was running toward something. And now, ahead of him, stood the final door.
The last barrier between them and the full force of Imperial retribution. Heavy. Sealed. And humming with energy. Howzer stared at it, his breath catching slightly behind the helmet. On the other side waited consequences he couldn’t predict. Court-martial. Arrest. Death. All of it.
But none of it mattered more than the weight of the woman in his arms, and the promise he’d made to himself the moment he lifted her from that cell. That promise anchored him, steadied him. No matter what waited beyond that door–blaster fire, betrayal, a noose of consequences tightening with every step–he would carry her through it.
He squared his shoulders. His arms tightened around Valérie. And he stepped forward–toward the door, toward the storm, toward freedom.
They were all there now, just steps from breaching the threshold: Cham and Eleni, battle-hardened yet weary. Gobi, tense and watchful. The others–prisoners turned survivors–hovered in the space between hope and suspicion. The rogue clones, standing apart, yet undeniably changed. United only by the choice to defy the Empire.
“Cham, stop. You are walking into a trap,” he said, his voice low but urgent, the words pushed past clenched teeth as he adjusted Valérie’s weight in his arms and reached up to remove his helmet. “There’s a squad, waiting out there for you.”
Gobi’s eyes snapped to the limp figure in Howzer’s arms, and the flicker of relief was fleeting. In its wake surged anger–hot, sharp, and blinding. He surged forward, fists clenched, jaw tight.
“Why should we trust you?” he spat.
The words hit like blaster bolts, but Howzer didn’t flinch. He only tightened his grip around Valérie, instinctively shielding her. Gobi looked ready to tear her from his arms, but he didn’t let go. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
Across the room, Eleni’s sharp eyes met his. She saw it. The truth in what he’d done. The cost. But she said nothing. Not yet. “Because I am on your side. I always was. I–”
A stir of movement cut him off. Valérie shifted weakly against him, her voice fragile but clear.
“Gobi?” she asked, reaching out with trembling fingers.
Only then did he loosen his hold. As much as he bristled at the tension between them, he understood. She needed her brother. She always had. He set her down gently, hands hovering at her waist to steady her as her legs faltered beneath her. Gobi rushed forward, all aggression stripped away, weapons lowered. Her family. The only piece of her old life still standing.
Howzer stepped back, letting her go–not just physically, but in the quiet, aching way of someone who knows he doesn’t own what he’s protecting. She is entirely her own.
They spoke softly, in their native tongue, voices weaving a quiet history between them that he couldn’t fully grasp. He caught fragments–“brother,” “forgiveness”–but the weight of their meaning was heavier than any translation.
And still, outside the door, danger stirred. He could hear it: boots on stone, the scratchy crackle of orders slicing through his coms like static through silence. The Empire was waiting. Crosshair had made sure of that.
“What the Empire is doing is wrong,” Howzer said, breaking the moment with a voice rough with desperation and conviction. He looked to them–not just Cham or Gobi, but the whole room–as if willing them to see what he saw. To believe that he’d chosen them. That he meant every word.
The silence that followed was thick with judgment, but behind it, something else stirred too. That’s when the sad realization set in. They likely all would not make it out. Without someone to cover their escape, they were all at risk of recapture. Howzer looked at Valérie, and it made his stomach flip when he thought of what would happen if she were to be caught once more.
“You need to get out of here.” He walked back towards Gobi, saying “You need to get her out of here,” he continued, readjusting his helmet. “They have the exits blocked.”
The two clones lowered their blaster, seeming that his intel alone was enough to prove he wasn’t going to turn them in. Taking another step he reached Cham. “I’m sorry General. I should’ve stopped this sooner, I-”
“Our fight for Ryloth is not over. We will return.” Cham replied, hand on his shoulder as if offering a true olive branch of forgiveness for the harshness in the cell. They hadn’t the time for a true reconciliation, but Howzer took comfort in it regardless.
“You can’t stay here. They will know you helped us,” Eleni said definitely and he looked over, Valérie finally seeming to stand on her own. Her eyes wide as if she was struggling to process what was happening. What was about to happen.
“I can’t risk them recapturing you,” he said, more to Valérie now than anyone else. “Someone has to stay and watch your back, I–”
“No.”
The word cut through him. Valérie’s voice was clear, unwavering. Defiant.
“Val–”
“You promised, Howzer,” she snapped, and the pain in her voice felt like a slap. “You promised me we would run. Told me you were running.”
“I know but–”
“No buts.” Her eyes glistened, but her jaw was set. “You promised me we would run.”
“I can’t let them retake you, Valérie.”
He didn’t care that his voice cracked. It was the truth. All of this–his betrayal, his stand, his choice to defy orders–it had been for her. Not just her, but mostly her. Because she believed in something better. And so did he, now. She tore away from Gobi’s arms like gravity no longer applied to her, closing the space between them in a heartbeat.
“They won’t,” she said fiercely. “We need to leave.”
“You need to leave,” he corrected, softer this time. “I can buy you all some time. You’ll need it.”
“Howzer.” Her voice trembled now. Just once. A whisper, barely more than breath. Her hand rose to his face, fingers trembling as they cradled his jaw. She traced the scar that cut across his cheek like she was trying to memorize it–burn it into her palm before it was too late.
“Please.”
It was just one word. But it broke him. Howzer stood frozen under her touch, his breath catching as her fingers brushed the scar across his cheek like it mattered–like he mattered. The war had taken so much from them both. Family, homes, futures. But she’d given him something back. Something real.
He leaned into her hand, just slightly, like he was afraid she’d vanish if he moved too fast.
“I love you, Val.”
The words slipped out before he could second-guess them. And once they were out, there was no pulling them back–no hiding behind protocol, behind orders, behind the armor he wore too long.
“I love you,” he repeated, firmer this time. “I’ve loved you for a long time.”
She didn’t speak. Not yet. But her eyes widened, filling with something like wonder. Like pain. Like hope. He pressed on, because he had to. Because time was running out for them. Because he’d been so stupid into keeping it to himself for so long, but now that it was out the floodgates couldn’t stop.
“You gave me something to fight for that wasn’t just survival. Wasn’t just following orders. You showed me what it meant to choose–to feel. To be more than what they made me. You gave me something real.”
His hands found her waist, steady even though his voice trembled. “And I’ll do everything I can to see you again. I swear it. If there’s a way back to you, I’ll find it. I’ll run.”
Her fingers trembled as they traced the lines of his jaw, the curve of his cheek, the scar he carried like a quiet badge of survival. She looked at him like she was memorizing every detail, like the sight of his face–his real face–was something holy.
And stars, it felt good. To be seen. Truly seen. Not as a soldier. Not as a number. Not as a tool in someone else’s war. But as a man. As himself. As someone cherished.
His breath caught in his throat, chest tightening with the overwhelming swell of emotion. The ache of it was sharp and beautiful–like light finally cracking through years of darkness.
And then she kissed him.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t calm. It was fierce and trembling and real. Desperate and aching, full of all the time they’d lost, all the chances stolen from them, and the fear that this moment might be their last.
He kissed her back like it was the only thing tethering him to the world. Like if this was the end–if everything burned around them–at least he had this. Her.
When they pulled apart, her forehead rested against his, breath mingling with his. Their eyes locked–burning with every unspoken thing between them.
“You come back to me,” she whispered.
“I will.”
He pulled her in for one last embrace, trying to memorize the feel of her–the warmth, the weight, the way she fit perfectly against him despite everything that tried to pull them apart.
And then, with one final look, he turned. Toward the door. Toward the storm. Toward whatever came next. Behind him, there was the shuffle of movement–boots against stone, quiet murmurs passed between twi’lek and clones alike. Time was a thin thread now, fraying with every second they hesitated.
Valérie stood frozen in the doorway, watching his back as he moved away from her. Like if she blinked, he’d disappear entirely. Gobi reached for her arm, gentle but firm. “Val. We have to go.”
Her lips parted like she might argue–but she didn’t. Not because she agreed, but because she knew. This was the choice. The only one left. Her fingers curled into a fist at her side before she gave a small, broken nod.
Cham and Eleni were already slipping into the shadows, ushering the others forward. The Bad Batch took point, blasters ready, eyes sweeping every corner of the corridor like they could feel the noose tightening too.
Valérie looked back one last time.
Howzer stood alone in front of the blast door, shoulders squared, blaster slung at his side–not yet raised. The calm before the chaos. She could see the tension in his posture, the war raging behind his eyes. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look back.
He didn’t need to.
He knew she was still watching.
Her hand pressed to her lips, a silent goodbye, a promise of her own.
Then she turned–and ran.
The group disappeared into the passageways of the capital, guided by instinct, by the urgency that came only when death was just around the corner. And Valérie ran with them, heart pounding, chest aching. Every step away from him felt like tearing open something she didn’t know could still bleed. She fought every ounce of exhaustion in her bones to do so. She wouldn’t waste his sacrifice.
Back at the door, Howzer exhaled slowly. He could hear the troopers gathering on the other side now. The scratch of armor, the murmur of voices, the hard click of weapons being readied. They would come through any moment. And when they did, he would stand his ground. Not just as a soldier. But as Howzer.
He lowered his blaster, setting his feet apart, breath even. For Ryloth. For freedom. For her.
