CptEks
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The air smelled of coolant, burnt spice, and secrets.
Cassian’s boots struck the durasteel floor in even, deliberate beats—each step a calculated risk. The shadows of Nar Shaddaa curled around him, alive with hushed deals and cold stares.
He knew the drop was here. He didn’t know if the informant would be.
Or if he’d be walking into a trap.
A Rodian merchant hissed something about “fresh blood” as he passed. Another figure melted into shadow...
He tightened his grip on the Bryar Pistol. If the meeting was a set-up, someone was going to learn how fast a rebel could shoot...
Behind the scenes...
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