The proximity alarm screamed in my cockpit.
I yanked the control yoke hard to starboard, feeling the Delta-7 Aethersprite respond with the kind of precision only a Force-sensitive pilot could manage. The starfighter rolled, its sleek frame cutting through the void as turbolaser fire painted green streaks across my viewport.
Too close. Way too close.
My astromech droid, R4-P3, a battered orange unit Plo had assigned me, shrieked a warning through the comm system. The translation scrolled across my HUD: FIVE TARGETS LOCKED. EVASIVE MANEUVERS RECOMMENDED.
"Thanks for the advice, Arfour," I muttered, throwing the fighter into a corkscrew dive that would have made a less experienced pilot black out. The G-forces pressed against my chest like a physical weight, but I channeled the Force through my body, reinforcing my cardiovascular system, keeping the blood flowing to my brain.
The Corona-class armed frigates hung in space like predatory fish, their hulls bristling with weapons emplacements. Five of them. I'd managed to reduce their numbers from eight through a combination of luck, skill, and sheer desperation, but five against one was still suicide odds.
Even for a Jedi.
Especially for a Jedi who's only a decent pilot, I thought grimly, watching my shield indicator drop another ten percent as a glancing hit rocked my fighter. Not like Anakin. Not like Plo.
"Cain, status report." Master Plo Koon's voice came through the comm, calm and measured despite the chaos of the battle.
I checked my tactical display. The main assault force, Plo, Obi-Wan, and Anakin, had successfully boarded the pirate command ship and were fighting their way through to the bridge. The hostages on Takodana were being evacuated by Republic forces. Everything was going according to plan.
Except for the part where I was about to become a very expensive piece of space debris.
"Still breathing, Master," I replied, rolling inverted and diving beneath another salvo of turbolaser fire. "But these frigates are getting creative. They're trying to box me in."
"Hold your position, Padawan. We're almost finished here."
Hold position. Right. Because that was so easy when five warships were actively trying to vaporize me.
I reached out with the Force, feeling the flow of battle around me. The frigates were coordinating their fire patterns, trying to herd me into a kill zone. Smart. Professional. These weren't your average pirates, they had military training, probably ex-Republic Navy or a Mandalorian looking for easy credits.
Which means they're predictable.
I pulled back on the throttle, letting my fighter decelerate sharply. The lead frigate's gunners, expecting me to continue my evasive pattern, fired where I should have been. Their shots sailed harmlessly past my canopy.
Then I slammed the throttle forward, angling directly toward the gap between two of the frigates. R4 screamed in binary. The translation was colorful and involved several suggestions about my parentage and mental stability.
"I know it's crazy," I said through gritted teeth, watching the distance counter tick down. "That's why it'll work."
The two frigates adjusted their firing solutions, but they were too slow. I threaded the needle between them, close enough that I could see individual hull plates and sensor arrays. For a moment, I was in their blind spot, too close for their main batteries, too fast for their point-defense systems.
Then I was through, and the frigates were firing at each other, their targeting computers confused by my sudden disappearance from their sensors. One of them took a direct hit to its shield generator. The explosion bloomed like a flower in the void, beautiful and terrible.
Four left.
My hands were shaking on the controls. Sweat dripped down my face, stinging my eyes. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
I hate flying, I thought, not for the first time. I really, really hate flying.
Anakin would have been laughing right now. He would have been pulling impossible maneuvers, dancing through the turbolaser fire like it was a game. He would have already destroyed half these frigates and been asking for more.
But I wasn't Anakin.
I was just a Padawan who'd spent three years training in the Force, in lightsaber combat, in the mystical arts, and made almost no time for flight training unless Master Plo made me, because I'd been too focused on my other Master's which he has been very patient with me on.
I've been so stupid, I berated myself, yanking the fighter into another evasive roll. You can't fight Sidious from a starfighter. You can't stop the Clone Wars by being a good pilot. But you also can't help anyone if you're dead.
The tactical display lit up with new contacts. The four remaining frigates were moving to intercept, their formation tightening. They'd learned from their mistake. They weren't going to give me another opening.
My shield indicator dropped to thirty percent. Then twenty.
Come on, Master. Any time now would be great.
As if in answer to my prayer, four brilliant lances of light stabbed through the void. The frigates didn't stand a chance.
Master Plo Koon's fighter, a modified Delta-7 with enhanced shields and weapons systems, tore through the pirate formation like a blade through silk. His shots were precise, surgical, targeting shield generators and engine clusters with the kind of accuracy that came from decades of combat experience.
Two frigates exploded in rapid succession. A third lost power and began drifting, its crew already abandoning ship. The fourth tried to run, but Plo's follow-up shots crippled its hyperdrive before it could jump.
Just like that, it was over.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Cain," Plo said, his voice carrying a hint of warmth beneath the vocoder's mechanical tone. "Saving the prisoners and overtaking the main ship took longer than expected."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "It's fine, Master. What about the hostages on Takodana?"
"Don't worry about them, Cain." That was Anakin's voice.
"Obi-Wan and I freed them. I had to wait until the Republic Navy entered the atmosphere before coming to your aid."
Obi-Wan's more measured tone followed. "The situation is secure, Padawan Cain. Well done maintaining the decoy position. Your performance was... adequate."
Adequate. Coming from Obi-Wan, that was practically high praise.
I smiled despite my exhaustion. "I'm just glad you all made it when you did. Sometimes I hate playing decoy."
"Then why did you volunteer?" Plo asked, and I could hear the gentle amusement in his voice.
"It had to be done," I replied, checking my fighter's systems. Hull integrity at seventy percent. Shields recharging slowly. Hyperdrive functional. "And Master, you were needed there. The least I could do is hold off the enemy and get some more hands-on experience piloting a starfighter."
"You know, Cain, I could give you some pointers and help you with your piloting skills," Anakin said, and I could practically hear the grin in his voice.
"Padawan Skywalker," Plo said, his tone taking on a note of gentle correction, "I believe you are right, but for right now, let's focus on getting the pirates out of the Mid-Rim before we talk about other things."
"Yes, Master Koon," Anakin replied, properly chastised but still cheerful.
I set course for the rendezvous point, letting the autopilot take over while I focused on calming my racing heart. The adrenaline was fading now, leaving behind the familiar ache of muscles pushed too hard, reflexes strained to their limit.
Three years of training, I thought, watching the stars streak past my canopy. Three years of learning from the best Masters in the Order. And I'm still just adequate in a cockpit. But that was okay. I didn't need or want to be the best pilot. I just needed to survive long enough to do what needed to be done.
And today, I had....
Jedi Temple Coruscant
The lightsaber came at my left shoulder with enough force to shatter bone. I parried, barely, feeling the impact reverberate through my arms. Before I could recover, Master Windu's blade was already moving, a strike at my right wrist, then my neck, then my sternum, then my left leg. Five strikes in less than two seconds, each one delivered with perfect form and overwhelming power.
Too fast. He's too fast.
I gave ground, my feet sliding across the polished floor of the training chamber. My muscles screamed in protest. I'd been sparring with Master Windu for two hours, and every minute felt like an eternity.
"Your defense is improving," Mace said, his voice calm and analytical even as he pressed his attack. "But you're still reacting instead of reading the attack and countering properly. You're letting the blade lead you instead of leading the blade."
Another flurry of strikes. I managed to parry three, but the fourth slipped through my guard and tapped my ribs, hard enough to bruise, not hard enough to injure.
"Again," Mace said.
I reset my stance, trying to center myself. My shatterpoint sight flickered at the edges of my vision, showing me the weak points in Mace's form, the places where his defense could be broken. But every time I tried to exploit one, he moved faster than I could perceive, and I was back at square one.
It's not enough, I thought, frustration building in my chest. I can see the shatterpoints, but I can't act on them fast enough. Not against someone like him.
Mace attacked again, and this time I tried something different. Instead of parrying, I redirected, using the momentum of his strike to guide my own blade in a counterattack. It was a technique Master Fay had taught me, using the Force to deflect and redirect rather than meeting force with force.
For a moment, it worked. My blade slipped past Mace's guard, aimed at his shoulder. Then he simply wasn't there anymore.
He'd moved, impossibly fast, and was so fluid and smooth, and suddenly his lightsaber saber was at my throat.
"Better," he said, stepping back. "You're learning to adapt more quickly . But you're still thinking too much. Reaching the Shatterpoint isn't about conscious thought. It's about letting the Force guide you to the truth of that moment."
He deactivated his saber and gestured toward the meditation gardens. "Come. Let's get some fresh air, Padawan Cain."
I followed him out of the training chamber, grateful for the reprieve. My body ached in places I didn't know could ache. My Padawan braid, stuck to my neck with sweat.
We sat on one of the stone benches overlooking the gardens, the Coruscant skyline stretching out beyond the Temple walls. The afternoon sun painted everything in shades of gold and amber.
"Padawan," Mace said after a long moment of silence, "I seen how hard you pushed yourself these past few years. Not just with me but with the other masters. I understand the want to be more, but putting too much pressure on yourself will not help you or those around you. Start by learning when to ask for help. Then know what your limits are. After you start there, everything else becomes easier. Then you will be one step closer to mastering yourself."
I nodded slowly, processing his words. "I understand what you mean, Master."
"I know you do, Padawan." He turned to look at me, his dark eyes searching. "Now, I know you been asking the council to look deeper into your family history these past few years...." He paused, and I felt my heart rate spike. I asked a few times but they said it would not be necessary for me to know, but I still asked Master Plo and Fay to look anyway. .
"Why you seek to know your family history is your own right," Mace continued, "as long as you don't let it consume you. But I believe Mandalore might be a good place to start based of that i." He paused again, and something that might have been a smile touched his lips. "Which is also fortunate, because the Duchess has requested meetings with the Jedi. I will see about you and your Master being added to that mission. Then take a chance and seek your answers there."
I stared at him, surprised. Mace Windu, the strictest, most by-the-book member of the Council, was actively helping me pursue something as personal as my heritage?
Maybe my influence over the years has affected him, more than I realized.
"Thank you, Master Windu," I said, bowing my head respectfully. "I will keep your words in mind when I do so."
He nodded and stood, preparing to leave. Then he paused and looked back at me.
"Padawan Cain, when I look at you, I see conflict. Shatterpoints covering your entire being. You carry too much weight for someone so young." His expression softened slightly. "Remember, the Jedi Order has stood for a thousand generations not because of individual strength, but because we stand together. You don't have to carry everything alone."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the setting sun. I sat there for a long time, watching the light fade from the sky, thinking about everything that had happened over the past three years.
It felt like both an eternity and an instant.
I was thirteen now, physically, at least. Mentally, I carried the weight of two lifetimes, two sets of memories that sometimes felt like they were at war with each other. The adult consciousness that remembered Star Wars as fiction, and now a life of a Padawan growing up in the Jedi Temple.
Master Plo Koon had been everything I'd hoped for and more.
He was patient where others might have been demanding. Wise where others might have been rigid. He taught me the ways of the Baran Do Sages, his people's ancient Force tradition, showing me how to listen to the Force before making any big decisions, how to read the currents of fate and the Force, and how to find the still point at the center of chaos.
"The Force is not a tool to be wielded," he'd told me during one of our early lessons, his voice carrying that distinctive resonance through his antiox mask. "It is a river, and we are swimmers. We can choose to fight the current and exhaust ourselves, or we can learn to move with it, to find the paths of least resistance."
He'd taught me lightsaber forms, not just the basics I'd learned as an initiate, but the deeper principles behind each style. Form III's perfect defense. Form V's overwhelming offense. The philosophical underpinnings of Form II's elegance and Form IV's acrobatic freedom.
"You have the potential to master all seven forms," Plo had said during one particularly intense training session. "But mastery is not about knowing every technique. It's about understanding when to use each one, and more importantly, when not to."
But more than technique, Plo taught me about balance. About the difference between the light side and the dark side, and the vast gray area in between where most beings actually lived.
"The Jedi Code speaks of peace and serenity," he'd explained, "but peace is not the absence of emotion. It is the presence of understanding. Serenity is not emptiness, it is fullness without attachment. But that does not mean you cannot have attachments. You can hold on to those attachments past the time to let them go for whatever reason they or you must leave. "
Those lessons had been invaluable. They'd helped me reconcile my adult consciousness with my young body, helped me understand that I didn't have to suppress my emotions to be a good Jedi, I just had to master them. A lesson I never fully learned in my past life, Jedi or not.
And slowly, painfully, I was learning.
Master Fay's teachings had been different, more mystical, more abstract. I could wrap my head around the philosophical talk. I use to study philosophy but sometimes even she was like the text book Jedi and said some mystical stuff that made no sense.
She would take me into the Force void, that strange realm of consciousness where Force-sensitive beings appeared as lights in the darkness. There, she taught me to see the connections between all things, to understand the cosmic Force that bound the galaxy together.
"The living Force is the Force as it exists in the moment," she'd explained, her presence in the void appearing as a brilliant white light tinged with gold. "But the cosmic Force is the Force as it exists across time, past, present, and future, all woven together in an infinite tapestry."
She'd taught me techniques Force Stasis. Force Valor. Force Healing. She showed me how to deflect and redirect attacks using pure Force manipulation, without ever touching a lightsaber. And how to become the eye of the storm, letting violence flow around me without touching me.
I'd practiced with Seris countless times, both of us attacking Master Fay with our training sabers set to stun. No matter what we did, no matter what forms we used, whether we attacked together or separately, whether we used Jar'Kai or single-blade techniques, we could never touch her.
She moved like a fairy dancing in the wind, her body swaying and turning with impossible grace, the Force itself seeming to bend around her.
"This is not about strength," she'd said after one particularly frustrating session where Seris and I had attacked her for three hours straight without landing a single hit. "This is about understanding. The Force shows you where the attacks will be. You simply need to not be there when they arrive."
Anakin had joined us a few times, but he'd always given up after a couple of hours. I didn't blame him, it was exhausting, both physically and mentally, to attack someone for hours on end and never make contact.
But I'd persisted, and slowly, I was beginning to understand. Not to master, not yet, but to understand.
Master An'ya Kuro's training had been... different.
She'd made it clear from the beginning that she wasn't going to be my primary instructor. "You need masters who will help you grow in new ways," she'd said. "But I'm always available if you need guidance."
Instead, she'd focused her attention on Derren, and I'd gotten to witness her teaching methods firsthand during our joint training sessions.
They were brutal.
She would take Derren to the lower levels of Coruscant, both of them wearing weighted clothing, and go bounty hunting. Real bounty hunting, against real criminals. Derren wasn't allowed to use his lightsaber, and sometimes he wasn't allowed to use the Force either. But he was learning how use Force cloak. A Force technique involving the manipulation of light and sound waves to render a practitioner virtually invisible to the naked eye or making the Force user seem unworthy of notice. F
"You need to learn to fight without your crutches," she'd told him after one particularly rough session where he'd come back covered in bruises. "The Force is a gift, but it can also be a weakness if you rely on it too much."
When she trained both of us together, she'd set up scenarios that were borderline insane. Sparring on floating platforms with moving obstacles and training droids firing stun bolts at us. If she felt like we were fooling around, she'd make it harder, adding more obstacles, increasing the platform's movement speed, programming the droids to be more aggressive.
"Master Kuro is a sassy old bitch," Derren had said once, after a particularly grueling session, "but I like her anyway."
I'd laughed, because it was true. She was harsh, demanding, and utterly uncompromising. But she was also fair, and she genuinely cared about our growth, even if her methods were unconventional.
And then there was Mother Talzin.
My secret master. The one no one in the Temple knew about.
I would enter the Force void during my meditations, seeking out her presence, that massive sphere of green mist that represented her consciousness. There, in that realm beyond physical space, she taught me the mystical side of the Force that the Jedi had long forgotten or deliberately suppressed.
Force Magick. I haven't made much progress since we haven't had any person time and I been busy. But so far she has shown me something. The art of drawing from a planet's Force energy rather than your own internal reserves.
"The Jedi teach you to use your own life force," Talzin had explained during one of our early lessons, her voice echoing strangely in the void. "But that is limiting. Why use your own energy when you can draw from the world around you?"
It wasn't easy. The technique required a deep connection to whatever planet I was on, and that connection took time to develop. The longer I stayed somewhere, the deeper my bond with its Force energy became.
Coruscant wasn't ideal for practice, too much technology, too much artificial construction, not enough natural Force energy. Even with the Force Nexus under the temple. But I'd managed to learn the basics, and I was eager to try it on Force-rich worlds like Dagobah, Ilum, or Ossus.
Or the Valley of the Jedi on Ruusan, I thought. That would be incredible.
Talzin had also taught me a form of healing that was fundamentally different from traditional Jedi techniques. Instead of using my own life force to heal injuries, I learned to channel the planet's Force energy through myself and into the wounded person.
It was slower than Force healing, and it required more concentration, but it didn't drain me the way normal healing did. And it opened up possibilities I was still exploring.
Could I refine this into something like Cade Skywalker's Dark Transfer? I wondered. A technique that could heal without the dark side corruption, that could bring people back from the brink of death without sacrificing myself?
It was a long-term project, but I was making progress. Still, despite three years of intensive training under four different masters, I was acutely aware of my limitations.
My shatterpoint sight was improving, but I could only activate it reliably in desperate situations. Master Windu said I needed to change my state of mind, to see the galaxy differently, but that was easier said than done when you carried the knowledge of future catastrophes in your head.
My Electric Judgment, the light side equivalent of Force Lightning, was barely functional. I could generate sparks, tiny flickers of golden energy that danced across my fingertips, but nothing powerful enough to be useful in combat. The technique required a sense of determined justice, a righteous conviction that I was struggling to cultivate.
The Jedi Order is hypocritical about this, I thought, not for the first time. They allow Vaapad, which channels the dark side, but they frown on Electric Judgment, which uses the light side. It makes no sense.
But I practiced in secret anyway, hoping that eventually, I'd break through whatever mental block was holding me back.
My lightsaber skills had improved dramatically. Three years of training with Plo, supplemented by sessions with Mace and occasional instruction from Master Fay, had made me a formidable duelist. I was proficient in Forms I through V, with a working knowledge of Form VI and the beginnings of Form VII.
But I wasn't a master. Not yet. And I was painfully aware that when I eventually faced Count Dook, and I would face him, I was certain of that, I would need every advantage I could get.
Dooku is a master of Form II, I reminded myself. One of the greatest duelists in the galaxy. He trained Qui-Gon. He's been studying the dark side for years. And according to my vision on Ilum, he's seen me coming.
The thought sent a chill down my spine. I was thirteen years old. Physically stronger than I'd been at ten, more skilled, more knowledgeable. But still just a Padawan. Still learning and growing. I needed more time, I thought. More training and preparation. But time was the one thing I didn't have enough of.
The Clone Wars were coming. Sidious was moving his pieces into position. Dooku was gathering his forces. The galaxy was sliding toward catastrophe, and I was racing to be ready before it all came crashing down.
At least I have allies now, I reminded myself. The Noctis network is growing. Senators who trust my information. Political figures who are starting to question Palpatine's motives.
Over the past three years, I'd been carefully building that network through my publicist, using my success as the author "Dawnstar" to establish credibility and financial independence. I'd sent carefully crafted messages to Mon Mothma, Bail Organa, Padmé Amidala, and others—information about corruption, warnings about suspicious legislation, hints about Palpatine's true nature.
Nothing too obvious. Nothing that would expose me. Just seeds, planted carefully, waiting to grow. And next year, I planned to make my move on the clone army.
If I can take control of the cloning program on Kamino, I thought, I can improve it. Make the clones more independent, less susceptible to Order 66. Maybe even prevent the inhibitor chips from being installed in the first place.
It was a long shot. A dangerous gamble. But it was necessary. One step at a time, I told myself. First Mandalore. Find out about my heritage. Then Kamino. Then...
Then what? Face Sidious? Stop the Clone Wars? Save Anakin from his fall?
All of it, I thought grimly. I have to do all of it. Because if I don't, millions will die.
The weight of that knowledge pressed down on me like a physical force. Some days, it was almost too much to bear.
But then I'd remember my friends. Seris, Derren, Barriss, Anakin. The bond we'd forged on Ilum, the connection that tied us together across space and time.
I wasn't alone. I'd never been alone. And together, we would face whatever came. I was walking down one of the Temple's main corridors, my mind still processing the conversation with Mace, when I saw him.
Chancellor Palpatine.
He was entering the Temple, accompanied by two Temple Guards, their golden armor gleaming in the afternoon light. His robes were immaculate, his expression warm and grandfatherly, his presence in the Force carefully neutral, exactly as it always was.
But I knew better. I knew what lurked beneath that pleasant exterior. The monster wearing a politician's face. Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith, architect of the galaxy's destruction.
And he was looking directly at me.
"Oh, Padawan Cain," he said, his voice carrying that distinctive Naboo accent, warm and cultured. "It is good to see you, as always."
As always. As if we were old friends. As if he hadn't been manipulating events behind the scenes for decades.
I bowed respectfully, keeping my expression neutral. "Chancellor Palpatine. It is good to see you again. Are you here to see Anakin?"
Over the past three years, Palpatine had visited the Temple regularly, once or twice a month, always with some excuse about checking on Anakin's progress or discussing Republic business with the Council. I'd warned Anakin about him, in my own way. Never trust a politician completely, I'd said. They always have an angle.
Anakin had taken the warning to heart, somewhat. He was still friendly with Palpatine, still accepted his invitations to opera performances and political discussions, but there was a wariness there now that hadn't existed before.
Good, I thought. Keep your guard up, Anakin. Don't let him in too deep.
But Palpatine's next words made my blood run cold.
"No, not this time," he said, his smile widening slightly. "I am actually here to see you."
What?
"Me, sir?" I said, pointing at myself, trying to keep the alarm out of my voice.
"Yes, you, my dear boy." Palpatine's eyes, those deceptively kind eyes that hid such malevolence, studied me with what appeared to be genuine interest. "I've been hearing remarkable things about your progress. Master Plo Koon speaks very highly of you. And I understand you've been involved in several successful missions recently."
He knows about the Mid-Rim operation, I realized. Of course he does. He probably knows about every mission the Jedi undertake.
"I've been fortunate to learn from excellent teachers," I said carefully, my mind racing. Why is he interested in me? What does he want?
"Indeed." Palpatine clasped his hands behind his back, his posture relaxed and unthreatening. "I was wondering if you might have time for a conversation. Nothing formal, you understand. Just a chat between an old politician and a promising young Jedi. I find that I learn so much from speaking with the younger generation."
Every instinct I had was screaming at me to refuse. To make an excuse, to get away from this man as quickly as possible.
But I couldn't. Not without arousing suspicion. Not without making him wonder why I was so eager to avoid him.
He's testing me, I realized. He probably sensed something on Ilum, or something. And now he's trying to figure out if I'm a threat or an opportunity.
I forced myself to smile. "I would be honored, Chancellor. When would be convenient for you?"
"Excellent!" Palpatine's expression brightened. "I have a meeting with the Council in an hour, but perhaps afterward? We could take a walk through the meditation gardens. I've always found them so peaceful."
The meditation gardens. Where we'd be alone. Where no one would overhear our conversation.
"That sounds perfect, sir," I said, bowing again.
"Wonderful. I look forward to our discussion, Padawan Cain." He inclined his head graciously, then continued down the corridor with his Temple Guard escort, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.
I waited until he was out of sight before letting my carefully controlled expression slip.
Kriff.
My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding. The Krayt dragon pearl necklace, the mysterious artifact Quinlan Vos had given me, felt suddenly heavy against my chest.
Palpatine wants to talk to me. Sidious wants to talk to me.
This was bad. This was very, very bad.
I needed to tell someone. Master Plo. Master Fay. Someone who could help me navigate this without exposing myself or putting my friends in danger. But even as I thought it, I knew I couldn't. Not yet. Not without more information.
What does he want? I thought, my mind racing through possibilities. Is he trying to recruit me? Test me? Eliminate me?
I didn't know. And that uncertainty was terrifying.
I took a deep breath, centering myself the way Plo had taught me. Feel the Force. Listen to its guidance. Find the still point at the center of the storm.
Slowly, my heartbeat returned to normal. My hands stopped shaking.
I can do this, I told myself. I've been preparing for this. I know who he is. I know what he's capable of. I just need to be careful. Be smart. Don't give him any reason to see me as a threat.
But even as I thought it, I knew the truth.
Palpatine, Sidious,was the most dangerous being in the galaxy. A master manipulator who had orchestrated the fall of the Jedi Order and the rise of the Empire. A Sith Lord who had trained Darth Vader and ruled the galaxy with an iron fist for decades.
And in one hour, I was going to be alone with him. May the Force be with me, I thought, turning toward the meditation chambers. Because I'm going to need all the help I can get.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Temple corridors as I walked, and for the first time in three years, I felt truly afraid.
Not of death. Not of failure. But of the conversation that was coming. And what it might mean for everything I'd been working toward.