I’d taken Vader’s hand, in part, because the only other option was plunging to a messy, embarrassing, decidedly non-epic death—and I’ve been avoiding deaths of the non-epic kind all my life.

But listen, there was more to it than that. Because here’s the first valuable bit of intel I was able to gather.

Of all the people in all the galaxy, Vader sought me out. He recognized my skills. My talents. My potential for greatness.

Almost no one else saw that in me. Not my mother, who carted me off to some desolate wasteland of a rotting space-rock to keep me out of so-called danger. Not my professors at university, who thought my methods were all flash, nothing more. Not Utani Xane, who fired me for trying to do something great. And certainly not…

Well. A lot of people.

But Vader saw me. He was maybe the first person to truly see me—

and everything I could do.

Okay, maybe not everything. Because if he’d been able to see deep into the innermost workings of my brain, he’d have known I wasn’t really on his team, no matter how many simpering honorifics I threw his way.

Again: The only team I care about is Team Me.

And Team Me knew this was the chance of a lifetime. Whether I was dangling off a ledge in a drafty quarantine world or activating a droid that could shoot fire out of its nether regions…whenever Darth Vader offered me that hand, I’d take it.

So as I got to my feet and took the helm of my ship, setting a course for Geonosis, I kept watching him, looking for those telltale weaknesses.

I’d find them eventually. I always do.

SCENE 6

EXT. UNIVERSITY OF BAR’LETH. DAY. FLASHBACK.

APHRA (narration):

The Dark Lord had really stressed that discretion bit. And…well, okay, maybe that’s not exactly one of the things I’m known for, but trust me: I know how to do stealth. In fact, I think my reputation for being all flashy and adventurous, the kind of girl who explosions just seem to follow around… enhances my ability to be stealthy. People get comfortable in their assumptions about who I am, and before they know what’s happening, I’ve tricked them into giving me whatever I want.

I mean, take Sava Toob-Nix.

That crusty old geezer attained his position as sava of the University of Bar’leth—my not-so-esteemed alma mater—through lying and trickery. Normally, those are qualities I respect, but Toob-Nix was such a sour-faced stick-in-the-mud, I pretty much hated him on sight.

And unlucky for me, the feeling was mutual.

We got off on the wrong foot immediately.