To a bar

The cold night air bit at Ahsoka’s skin as she stumbled through the shadowed alleyways, the distant hum of speeders and the faint glow of neon lights her only companions. Her legs ached, her body still trembling from the adrenaline of her escape, but she couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not while he was still out there. The memory of his voice, low and venomous, echoed in her mind.

“You can’t run forever, little Togruta.”

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. No, she thought fiercely. I won’t let him win. I won’t let anyone win. But the reality of her situation pressed down on her like a weight. She was alone, hunted, with no credits, no allies, and no plan. The city was a labyrinth of danger, its twisting streets and towering buildings hiding both opportunity and threat.

Ahsoka’s sharp eyes scanned her surroundings, her montrals picking up the faintest sounds of distant footsteps and the occasional clatter of droids. She needed to find shelter, somewhere to rest and regroup, but every shadow felt like a trap, every noise a potential threat. Her hand instinctively went to the blaster she’d stolen, her fingers brushing against the cool metal. It was her only advantage, and she intended to use it.

The alley she was in opened up into a wider street, bustling with late-night activity. Throngs of beings—humans, Twi’leks, Rodians—moved through the area, their faces illuminated by the glow of holographic signs advertising everything from cantinas to spice dens. Ahsoka hesitated at the edge of the crowd, her instincts screaming at her to stay hidden, to avoid drawing attention. But she needed information. She needed to know where she was, where she could go, and how she could get off this cursed planet.

She pulled the hood of her stolen jacket lower over her face, obscuring her montrals and the distinctive markings on her skin, and stepped into the crowd. The press of bodies around her was overwhelming, the cacophony of voices and smells assaulting her senses. She kept her head down, her posture casual, as she moved through the throng, her eyes darting from one face to another, searching for someone—anyone—who might help her.

Finally, her gaze landed on a small, dimly lit cantina tucked into the corner of the street. The sign above the door flickered faintly, the letters spelling out The Rusty Bantha. It looked seedy, the kind of place where questions wouldn’t be asked and favors could be bought—for the right price. Ahsoka took a deep breath and pushed through the door, the smoky air and the stench of spilled ale hitting her like a wall.

The cantina was half-full, the patrons a mix of rough-looking spacers and locals nursing their drinks. Ahsoka’s eyes scanned the room, her gaze landing on a lone figure sitting at the bar—a Trandoshan with a scar running down the side of his face. He looked like the type who might know how to get off-planet, and more importantly, he looked like the type who wouldn’t ask too many questions.

She approached the bar, her steps deliberate but casual, and slid onto the stool next to him. The bartender—a surly Weequay with a cybernetic eye—nodded at her, his gruff voice cutting through the din.

“What’ll it be?”

“Water,” Ahsoka replied, her voice low and steady. The bartender raised an eyebrow but said nothing, grabbing a glass and filling it from a tap. She took a sip, her eyes flicking toward the Trandoshan out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her now, his gaze sharp and calculating.

“You lost, little one?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Ahsoka met his gaze, her expression neutral but her heart pounding in her chest. Careful, she reminded herself. One wrong move, and you’re dead. “Just passing through,” she said, her tone casual. “Looking for a way off this rock.”

The Trandoshan chuckled, a deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “Ain’t we all?” He took a long swig from his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. “What’s it worth to you?”

Ahsoka’s mind raced. She had no credits, no valuables, nothing to offer except her skills—and her body. The thought made her stomach churn, but she shoved it aside. She’d do what she had to. She’d survived worse.

“I can pay,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her gut. “But I need to know if you can get me out of here.”

The Trandoshan leaned closer, his breath hot and reeking of ale. “Depends,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “What’s your name, little one?”

Ahsoka hesitated, her mind racing for a plausible alias. “Kira,” she said finally, the name tasting bitter on her tongue.

The Trandoshan chuckled again, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that made her skin crawl. “Alright, Kira. I might know a guy.” He leaned back, his expression unreadable. “But it’ll cost you.”

Ahsoka’s fingers tightened around her glass, her mind racing. How far are you willing to go? a voice in her head whispered. She shoved it aside, her jaw tightening. She didn’t have a choice. Not if she wanted to survive.

“Name your price,” she said, her voice low and steady.

The Trandoshan’s grin widened, and he leaned in again, his voice a low growl. “You’re gonna owe me, Kira. And I always collect.”

The weight of his words settled over her like a shadow, but Ahsoka didn’t flinch. She’d made her decision. There was no turning back now.