Coruscant looked clean from orbit.
It always did.
From up there, the planet was a polished jewel—light stitched into geometry, lanes of traffic like veins of gold, the Senate dome shining like it actually meant what it said. But the closer you got, the more you remembered: Coruscant wasn't clean. It was layered. And the deeper you went, the darker the layers got.
I stood again in the High Council Chamber, armor plates still integrated into my robes, the faint scuffs from Wasskah not polished out. The room felt colder this time. Not because of temperature. Because of purpose.
Yoda watched me like he was measuring something that wasn't height.
Mace Windu spoke first.
"Knight Kriss. Your actions on Wasskah were… effective. The extraction was clean. The destruction of the hunting installations will proceed pending final Senate clearance."
"Anakin's fleet is already in position," I said evenly.
"We are aware," Mace replied.
Of course they were.
"But are waiting to a bunch of bureaucrats to approve a jedi bill? With all respect, but Anakin will wait forever there, masters."
Plo Koon leaned slightly forward, not showing because of his mask, but others appeared obviously uncomfortable with my affirmation of the obvious fact. Then, Master Plo continued "The shadow bus data from the asteroid outpost has yielded… troubling patterns."
He changed the topic.
I didn't move. "How troubling?"
"Enough," Shaak Ti said, "that we are no longer comfortable treating this as isolated corruption."
The holo-projector ignited between us. Lines of data spun into a web—intel traffic, logistics reroutes, Senate committee approvals, GAR deployments. Threads that should not have crossed… crossed.
"Multiple anomalies," Obi-Wan said quietly. "Supply convoys redirected at the last moment. Intelligence leaks that benefited Separatist offensives just enough to stall, but not enough to win. Senate votes aligning too conveniently with war prolongation."
"Someone's nudging the board," I said.
"Yes," Mace answered. "And doing so carefully."
Yoda tapped his cane once.
"Within the Republic, the rot may be," he murmured. "Subtle, it is. Patient."
I folded my hands behind my back. "You want someone to infiltrate."
Mace met my gaze directly. "We want counter-intelligence. Domestic. Quiet. No official Jedi oversight trails. No GAR markings. We cannot use Temple investigators without risking alerting whoever is embedded."
"You want someone who can move in and out of both worlds," I said. "Temple and military. Senate and street."
"And who understands discretion," Shaak Ti added.
I almost laughed at that.
"You want me," I said.
"Yes," Mace replied.
The room held silence like it was something sacred.
"This mission will not be public," Obi-Wan said. "You will operate independently of Bad Company in most cases, though limited use of your unit may be authorized if absolutely necessary."
"No clones in Senate corridors," I muttered.
"No," Mace said. "But you may find use for them elsewhere."
I nodded slowly. "Scope?"
"Identify individuals within the Republic aiding Separatist corrupts," Plo said. "Not necessarily ideologues—some may be opportunists, profiteers, compromised bureaucrats. We need names. Evidence. Proof."
"And if it leads higher?" I asked.
The room didn't grew even colder.
"Then we deal with it," Windu said.
I inclined my head. "Understood."
Yoda's eyes narrowed slightly. "Careful, you must be. Darkness, near you will be. Seductive, power and secrets are."
"I'm not interested in power," I said.
"Hmm," Yoda replied softly. "That is why dangerous, you are young Kriss."
Dismissal came without ceremony. As I turned to leave, Mace added one final line.
"Knight Kriss."
"Yes, Master?"
"Trust your instincts. But verify them."
That was about as close to approval as I ever got of him ever got.
It's already more than Anakin will ever have from him, I think.
The Temple corridors were quieter than usual. Word of Wasskah had spread, though details hadn't. Younglings walked in clusters, casting glances at me that were equal parts awe and fear.
I found the three in one of the healing gardens, seated on low stone benches near a fountain. Ahsoka was with them, arms folded, watching like a hawk pretending to be casual.
She glanced up as I approached. "You look like you just swallowed something unpleasant."
"Council meetings," I said. "They'll do that."
She snorted and nudged the Mirialan girl. "Told you he'd look like that after."
The three younglings straightened when I stepped closer.
I crouched to their level.
"Alright," I said. "We never did formal introductions."
The Mirialan lifted her chin first. "I'm Tallis Venn."
The Twi'lek boy followed. "Rinkon Vosel."
The Cerean boy nodded. "Kor Rin Dall."
I let their names settle.
"You three survived something that would break a lot of Padawans and Knights," I said quietly. "That matters. But surviving isn't the same as being ready next time."
Tallis met my eyes with stubborn intensity. Good.
"You fight like someone who doesn't want to be cornered again," I told her. "You're quick. Aggressive when you decide to be. You should train with a double-bladed saber."
Her eyes widened.
"Niman," I continued. "Form VI. Balanced. Adaptable. Use of the Force in combat. It'll let you flow between offense and Force techniques without overcommitting. You don't need raw power—you need control and flexibility."
She nodded slowly. "I… like moving fast and using acrobacies too."
"Then move smarter and faster, I believe in you," I said.
I turned to Rinkon.
"You," I said, tapping two fingers lightly to his forehead. "You weren't thinking about your saber. You were thinking ahead. About where people were. What they'd do."
He swallowed. "I… I could feel them sometimes."
"Good," I said. "You should lean into that. Focus on Force abilities. Telekinesis precision. Situational awareness. Mindfulness under stress. Not everyone needs to be the one swinging the blade. Some Jedi shape the battlefield before anyone swings, Master Fay was an example, research of her when you have time, but do not neglect you lightsaber use, focus on Form I, Shi-Cho."
His lekku stilled. "I don't have to be the strongest with the blade?"
"No," I said. "You have to be the most aware, to support others, even if you don't have a blade in hands."
Finally, Kor Rin.
"You kept firing," I said. "Even when you were scared."
He nodded stiffly.
"You're Cerean. Dual processing. Two brains. Use it. Train in a hybrid style. Saber in one hand, blaster in the other. Close-mid range adaptability. It'll suit your cognitive rhythm."
He blinked. "That's… allowed?"
"It is if you survive, focus on Form II Makashi and Form III Soresu," I replied.
Ahsoka smirked, amused. "He's right Kor Rin."
I stood.
"You three aren't prey," I said firmly. "Don't ever let someone make you feel like you are. But don't rush to be predators either. Learn. Train. Earn your strength."
They nodded—small, but steadier than before.
As I turned to leave, Ahsoka stepped beside me.
"You're taking on more," she said quietly.
"Yeah."
"You always do that."
"Someone has to."
She bumped my shoulder lightly. "Just don't drown in it."
"No promises Snips," I said.
Her eyebrows twitched a little, Anakin told me about her little nickname.
Coruscant's mid-levels didn't shine like the Senate district.
They breathed, but were better than the deeper levels.
The bar was called The 79, wedged between a maintenance shaft and a decommissioned droid repair shop. It was where clones went when they wanted something that wasn't Temple-clean and Senate-polite.
Music pulsed low and heavy. Smoke hung in the air like a second ceiling. The scent was oil, alcohol, perfume, and ozone.
Clones filled most of the tables—off-duty armor stripped down to undershirts and half-unsealed chest plates, laughter louder than it needed to be. They needed loud. After the warzones, silence gets suspicious.
I kept the robe but left the saber hidden beneath the table edge. The clone plates stayed on. They always did now.
Rift spotted me first from the bar.
"Well I'll be kriffed," he said. "General slumming it with the rest of us."
"Buy me a drink," I replied.
"Only if you admit I saved your ass at least twice on Wasskah."
"Three times," I said. "But who's counting."
Burner laughed so hard he almost dropped his glass.
The stage lights shifted.
That's when I saw her.
Tholotian.
Tall. Lithe. Skin a smooth, pale brown that caught the colored lights and held them. The distinctive cranial tendrils rose from her head like art, catching faint lights as she moved. She wore a flowing, translucent dance garment that shimmered with every step, fabric clinging and releasing in rhythm with the music.
Her name, according to the holo-display near the stage: Yma Gallura.
She moved like she was a close friend of gravity.
Not desperate. Not crude. Confident.
The clones cheered as she spun, arms sweeping outward, fabric flaring. But her eyes scanned the room with intent, not vacancy.
They stopped on me.
Just for a second.
Then she smiled.
Slow.
Deliberate.
I held her gaze.
Burner elbowed me. "Careful, General. That one bites."
"I'm not prey," I muttered.
Rift smirked. "You said the same thing about Wasskah."
"And we are alive, Rift, so?" I said, slightly smirking, while Rift chuckled.
When her set ended, she drifted toward the bar like she owned the air between tables.
She stopped beside me.
Up close, her scent was faintly floral, faintly metallic. Something intoxicating under the bar's heavier smells.
"You don't look like the others," she said, voice smooth with a subtle musical lilt.
"I get that a lot," I replied.
Her eyes traced the clone plate on my shoulder.
"You wear the boys armor," she observed.
"They're my soldiers and friends."
"And you're their General... and Jedi."
"Something like that."
She leaned closer, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the bar near mine. Not touching. Just… close enough to imply.
"You look tired," she murmured.
"I am."
"And yet you're here."
"Needed noise."
"And what do you need now?" she asked, gaze lowering briefly before rising again.
The music shifted—slower. Warmer.
I didn't answer immediately.
She smiled again.
"Yma Gallura," she said softly. "And you are?"
"Will," I replied.
"Just Will?"
"For tonight."
Her fingers brushed the back of my hand.
Light. Intentional.
Electric.
The room blurred a little at the edges.
She leaned in slightly, voice low.
"You don't carry yourself like someone who wants a distraction," she said. "You carry yourself like someone who needs one."
I exhaled slowly.
"Maybe I need one."
Her smile deepened.
"Well," she whispered, stepping just a fraction closer, warmth radiating through the thin fabric between us, "we could see what you're capable of when you're not saving the galaxy."
The air between us tightened.
Not desperation.
Not vulgar.
Heat. Controlled.
And for the first time since Wasskah… since the Council… since the shadow bus… I let myself not think about corruption, or war, or hunters.
Just this.
Just her.
Just the charged space between breath and decision.
And the way she was looking at me made it very clear—
This night wasn't going to be quiet.
Not for me.