Affie was used to “government offices” that were official in name only. They operated out of someone’s ship, or the back of a cantina. Instead of laws and regulations, most people obeyed the customs of a region, or the whims of some local potentate.

The Republic ran things differently. She’d been told that before, but the truth of it didn’t fully hit her until she walked into the offices that regulated shipping. Every step she took in her shabby boots echoed off the polished stone floors; the high ceiling was held aloft by columns too thick for her to put her arms around. Every piece of equipment she saw gleamed with cleanliness, as though each had been put in place only the day before. Affie had timed her visit for just after opening—mostly because she couldn’t stand to hang around for Scover to return from her breakfast meeting, but partly because she thought most people wouldn’t be up that early. Instead the place was bustling, yet orderly.

She found the pristine environment more intimidating than welcoming. The files she’d downloaded onto the datapad in her bag glowed with imagined heat, like they’d burn their way through the canvas. More than once, Affie thought of simply walking back out the way she’d come.

But she stayed put long enough for her name to be called.

Affie was ushered into a small room with a Twi’lek minor official. Despite the fact that Affie was a seventeen-year-old girl, the Twi’lek seemed to be taking her seriously. If he’d laughed her off, that would’ve given her an excuse—

But she was sick of excuses.

“You wish to make a report?” the Twi’lek asked.

“Yes.” Taking a deep breath, Affie pulled the datapad from her bag and handed it over. She’d thought it would feel better once there was no turning back. It didn’t. She plunged ahead anyway. “I’m reporting the abuse of indentures in the Byne Guild.”

At first, Reath waited for an invitation. None came. Finally, three days after Dez’s release from the hospital, Reath decided not to wait any longer.

When he pushed the door chimes, at first he received no response. The autofunctions had said Dez Rydan was home and awake, but that wasn’t the same as accepting guests. He could be tired. Still recovering. Reath was already turning to go when the door unsealed.

It slid open to reveal Dez’s quarters. Reath knew these were normally messier than the average Jedi’s quarters, by a power of about ten, but even Dez could only make so much mess within his first few hours out of medical care. He sat on a meditation cushion in the center of the room, a casual robe wrapped loosely around him. He’d regained the weight he had lost, and to judge by what Reath could see, there wouldn’t even be any scars.