Chapter Text
Mace Windu stares at the holocron in his hands for longer than he should. It was left on the temple steps by a short figure in a cloak, no discernible features under the shear volume of material. It's since been put through bomb checks, just in case, and now it's in Mace's hands. He hasn't even opened it yet, but he knows.
Master Yoda— impatient despite the fact he must be nearing his first millennium— snaps his stick out at Mace's shins. Mace, long accustomed to his fellow councillor's ways, does not bother to dodge, instead, he focuses on opening the holocron.
Just as he thought, he's blessed with a list of young Force-sensitives across the galaxy. The list.
It was stolen less than a day ago by the bounty hunter, Cad Bane, and now it has inexplicably returned. The cloaked figure wasn't tall enough to be Cad Bane.
It's a mystery, one Mace intends to solve.
There aren't many people out there brave or stupid enough to cross Cad Bane. To make someone like that an enemy by stealing from him is no small thing. And why return it to the Jedi Order? There's clearly someone out there willing to pay for the holocron. It would've made far more sense for someone to steal it and take the reward, not return it. That they hid their face only makes it all the worse. If they'd been obvious about it, the Jedi could've potentially protected them from their new enemies. Instead, this stranger has returned something sacred, and is going to suffer alone for it— by choice. They must've felt this worth it.
There are few out there who would cross Cad Bane, fewer still with any love for the Jedi Order. It is simply strange, so very strange.
"Is there any chance Bane made a copy?" Mace asks as the rest of the council utter their relief and gratitude. The future of the Jedi Order is safely back with them.
"As far as we're aware, he was still looking for a Jedi to open it when this was left on the steps. There are no missing Jedi he might've forced to open it," another councillor reminds them all. "Knight Skywalker and his padawan are due to report back any minute on Bane's activities, perhaps they can tell us with greater certainty."
They're all reminded that the Force works in mysterious ways when the Council's comm in the centre of the room flickers with soft light and beeps at them. It's Master Yoda who opens the commline, and Knight Skywalker is cast in blue holo glory before them, his padawan beside him. There are bows and greetings, the usual pomp and circumstance from traditions nobody remembers the original meanings of. Then, finally, Mace is able to ask, "What do you have to report on Bane?"
Skywalker glances down at his padawan who stands taller, though Mace can see in her face that something has her unsettled. "He's dead, Master Windu," Skywalker answers.
There's a ripple across the room as councillors shift in their seats, surprise and confusion and concern floating about the air. "Dead?"
"His ship was adrift and he was dead when we boarded." Skywalker gives his padawan another brief check before surreptitiously bringing his hand up to run his thumb in a line over his neck only to cover himself by scratching his cheek. There's a smudge of something green on the back of his hand. "He bled out," Skywalker says, and the council are smart enough to recognise someone slit Bane's throat. Bane, a duros, green-blooded.
Mace was one of the people concerned about the idea of letting Skywalker take a padawan. He's still new to knighthood, and he was young to be knighted too. But it's clear as the suns on Tatooine that Skywalker is a good master to young Ahsoka Tano.
"There's no sign of the holocron either, masters. It seems whoever killed him must've taken it."
"Indeed," Master Obi-Wan Kenobi agrees, one of the many councillors who can only be here via holocall because they're too busy with the war to be on Coruscant. Those who aren't here at all are too busy even for that. Mace doesn't remember the last time they had a full council, in person or even just a mixture of holocall and face-to-face. This war has taken much from them. "And they seemingly brought it straight to us."
Mace holds the holocron up so Skywalker and Tano will be able to see it easily. The plot has only thickened. It was strange enough for someone to betray Cad Bane, but now they'd also had the skill to get the drop on him. Bane, who managed to stay three steps ahead of a temple full of Jedi to steal the holocron, has been killed, just like that.
Brave enough to cross Bane. Skilled enough to kill Bane. Generous enough to return the holocron to the Jedi while demanding nothing in return.
Master Yoda hums. "A mystery, we have," he says and all turn to listen. "Find this good stranger, we should, before trouble their goodness brings them."
***
Mace wouldn't say he frequents Dex's diner. He pays a visit every so often, perhaps twice a year, thrice at the most. To call that frequenting is an overstatement of great proportions.
Despite this, FLO greets him like an old friend, and Dex appears from around the back in short order to glomp Mace into a hug. Mace has never been fond of public displays of affection, nor is he often physically affectionate with anyone, but he tolerates it from Dex. It is most certainly the fault of one Obi-Wan Kenobi, should anyone happen to ask.
"I'll get you a special right up and you can tell me what brings you to me, pal," Dex tells him before Mace can place an actual order. That's alright though, Dex's specials always seem to be exactly what Mace needs whether he realises it or not (Kenobi has a theory that Dex has just a touch of Force-sensitivity; Mace just thinks he knows people).
It's less than ten minutes later that Dex is sitting across from him, the kind of greasy, high-calorie meal in front of Mace that'll shorten his lifetime by a decade and be worth it. Since it would be rude to let the food grow cold, Mace takes his first bite— flavour explodes in his mouth, spices combining into a taste he can only describe as perfection— before asking about what he came here for.
See, Dex isn't just an extraordinary cook with an incredibly friendly manner, he's also the source of more information than is comprehensible. More often than not, something happens in the galaxy that draws even one eye, Dex knows. Cad Bane's death will have drawn more than one eye.
Dex hums, four thick arms crossing over his chest. Even for a besalisk, Dex is not a small man and only fools forget such things. "Why's the Jedi Order want to know about Bane's killer?"
Dex is in the information game. That isn't something that gets turned off, even with friendly conversations, and this has been business talk from the start. Mace has a choice now, Dex will already know the holocron was stolen, but he might not be aware that it's been returned. There's no reason for anyone to have shared that information with him, only Jedi know it, and they've all been told to keep it to themselves. Mace can trade his info for Dex's, or he can pay credits and Dex is not cheap, not even for friends. Mace leans in a little closer, a light touch of the Force pressing anyone nearby to let their focus drift away from this little booth where Mace is eating as he chats with his friend. "They helped us, and we think it's likely that made them enemies. We have a debt to pay."
Dex's eyes narrow, and his intent gaze as he discerns whether or not Mace is being honest is the first time Mace has considered that maybe Kenobi is right about the Force-sensitivity thing. Then Dex sighs, a little exasperated, a little fond, a little resigned. "She won't accept the debt."
The pronoun is not shared by accident, Mace harbours no illusions. "Nonetheless."
"She's in over her head this time, really and truly." Dex shakes his head with another sigh, this one more frustrated. "You really want to help her?"
Mace nods, hoping his sincerity won't be undermined by the food he's currently chewing. It truly is delicious; he expected nothing less from Dex.
Dex nods, sharp and firm and there's a flash in the corner of Mace's eye, the kind of flash he's long grown used to. "Come back in two hours."
A faint buzzing in the air flickers off as Dex leaves the table to get back to his other job, sound from the rest of the diner suddenly much clearer. He hadn't noticed when Dex turned the anti-eavesdropping device on, but he's glad it was there nonetheless.
Two hours. Two hours and Dex will have something for him. Mace won't lie, he's intrigued.
***
They're called shatterpoints. Moments in time, in history, in the fabric of the universe that are important, crucial even. Mace has seen them for as long as he can remember.
It bothered him when he was young, inexperienced, unused to it. He remembers weeks spent with a cool compress over his eyes in the halls of healing, head pounding with migraines that migrated their way around his skull. It got so bad sometimes, they'd put him on an IV because he couldn't eat or drink himself.
These days, the migraines only come when it's particularly bad. And he hasn't been knocked down by one since he was a padawan, young and in-training.
To the few who can see shatterpoints— it's a rare ability but not one Mace bears alone (thank the Force)— they manifest differently. To Mace, they're spots of brightness, little stars that hang in the air. They often follow people around, their moments and choices forcing the shatterpoints to follow in their tides.
Some are blindingly bright, others just little flickers he can barely see. Always, without fail, when the moment comes, they explode. A sharp flash, and then it's as if they were never there to begin with.
He can tell, he doesn't know exactly how, but he knows when the time is coming, when a shatterpoint is going to ignite before his eyes and soon. Still, knowing this next choice is crucial doesn't mean he always makes the right one. He tries, of course, but he's just one man. He does his best, and that has to be enough.
Standing at the entrance to Dex's, FLO making her usual bubbly greeting, Mace doesn't need Dex to come by and tell him what he's got for Mace. One glance is all it takes. Mace scans the room the way he scans every room, and in one corner is a figure eating something he knows isn't on the usual menu (ergo, it's a special). Their cloak hides their face from view, but the inserts in the hood mark them as non-human, potentially togruta, or any number of species. They're small too; he marks togruta off the list, they're a predator species and an adult certainly wouldn't have their feet hanging off the floor when they sit.
There's a shatterpoint above their head. It's not particularly big, but it's bright, and Mace is almost certain it's going to leave a mark on his retinas that he'll be stuck with for a few hours at least when the moment comes.
He takes a seat opposite them.
"Not interested. Leave."
Mace raises an eyebrow, waiting for them to lift their head when they discover their demand is not being met. Instead, they pick up something fried in thick batter from their plate and take a hefty bite.
Their voice sounded... well, it's hard to be sure when he still doesn't know their species, but most young near-humans have a certain cadence to their voice, a higher pitch. This stranger has that cadence.
"My name is Mace Windu, Jedi Master. He/him."
"Still not interested. Still leave." Almost certainly young. It's still a little species dependant, but he's pretty sure now. This person isn't small because of their species, this person is a child, not matured enough to be anything other than short.
The air hums with the anti-eavesdropping technology Dex must have set up for every table. He knows the hum wasn't there before, but from the way the child twitches, they aren't the one who activated it. Dex must've seen them sitting together and turned it on remotely. "I think I'll stay."
This, at last, earns him a look. A glare, would be more accurate. They're definitely human or very near, despite the hood inserts, and they're definitely young. "What do you want, Jedi?" they ask, voice bored already. They take another bite of food.
"To thank you," he tells them.
They blink at him like he's trying to convince them he's a hutt.
"If I'm understanding things correctly."
Their eyes narrow and he doesn't think he's imagining the suspicion in their gaze. "I don't mess with Jedi." Their head tilts, gaze so intent they're probably trying to read every inch of his body language for any sign he might be lying. He doubts he could twitch without them noticing. "Whoever suggested you've got something to thank me for was full of it. You should find better contacts."
Now it's Mace's turn to blink. They're a good liar, skilled. If he weren't a Jedi, he would never have known. Fortunately, he is a Jedi, and the Force that aids and guides all Jedi is being unusually clear on this: they're lying to his face. The only question is why are they bothering? He's here, he's found them, if they've been trying to hide from this, they must know the game is up now. "I'm also here to offer assistance, should you wish for it."
"Assistance with what?" they ask, another chunk of battered something halfway to their mouth.
Mace raises an eyebrow. "You killed Cad Bane and prevented whatever deal he made from going through." A deal the council had discussed in great detail, for who could want the list of potential future younglings in a war? They're only able to suspect it's Count Dooku, the leader of the opposing side, a Sith— a monstrous perverter of the Force. Sith don't take kindly to their plans being thwarted. "Like it or not, you've made enemies."
They snort, a hand just coming up in time to keep them from spitting some of their food out. It takes a moment of breathing through near-laughter before they manage to swallow. "So you're— what?— offering a Jedi protection detail? Aren't you a little busy? I heard there's a war on."
"We're offering somewhere to lay low for a while."
For the first time, a bit of food nearing their mouth returns to the plate. "Like a safe house?"
"A safe place, certainly." A safe house feels inaccurate somehow. Whatever they're imagining, it wouldn't be the truth of it. "You saved our children from harm. We welcome you to our home for as long as you need."
Their hands fall to the table as they lean back. "You're offering the Jedi Temple as a safe house for whatever idiot was stupid enough to kill Cad Bane." It's not a question, more an utterance, awed, surprised, amazed.
"We're offering the Jedi Temple as a safe place for the one who risked their life protecting younglings, and attempted to do so with no benefit to them."
It's a moment of just staring. Nothing else, just staring. He can't tell if they're looking for something, maybe hunting some sense of deceit on his face— they won't find any. It seems to him though that they're just staring. Like he said something that requires a moment just to stare. Their eyes snap away, and they tear some unusual looking vegetable into two more manageable pieces. "Well, I wish you luck idiot hunting. I'd like to return to my meal in peace now, thank you."
See, if this meeting had been what he expected, if he'd found himself faced with an adult hardened by years of fighting, he would've left without question. The offer has been made, the offer has been refused, that's their right. But this meeting started because he saw the shatterpoint hovering over them, and they're no adult. This is a child, and he can't just leave them. "I still don't know your name."
"Not my fault you put yourself at a disadvantage when you introduced yourself."
An annoying child. But still, he can't just leave them.
"She/her," she concedes, apparently willing to share her pronouns (and yes, Dex already shared those, but Mace has always preferred to hear pronouns from the source), if not her actual name. It's progress, and— at this point— he'll take it.
"The rumour that Jedi can control you if you give them your name is nothing more than myth."
"Still no," she replies, seemingly unsurprised by his words, which either means she knew it was bantha poodoo already or that she expected him to say something like that but is certain it's still a lie. He hopes for the former.
"The rumour that Jedi can tell when you're lying is a little more accurate."
"Oh, are we being obvious about this now? I thought this was staying happily unspoken."
Mace doesn't know what it is about this kid but she definitely enjoys putting him on the back foot and she's done it too many times in just this one conversation. To be fair, she's been putting less and less effort into her lying as they've continued talking, but she hasn't exactly been clear that she knew they both knew she was lying. Mace has never liked politics, and this conversation is starting to feel like ones he's had with politicians. It's all sneaky and passive-aggressive and nobody ever says what they actually mean.
"Alright, then. Get out."
A shadow casts over the table and the girl's eyes shut tight in what can only be a wince. Mace thinks he catches a swear muttered under her breath.
Mace, meanwhile, turns to face the shadow's caster. It's Dex, his arms crossed as he stares down at her looking decidedly unimpressed. "Are you telling one of my friends to get out of my diner?"
The girl straightens up, forces her eyes open and raises her chin to meet Dex's gaze evenly. Considering the size difference between the two of them, it's a brave move. "Are you saying you snitched on me to your friend?" she returns in kind.
Dex doesn't rise to the bait. "You stepped in it this time, kid, and you know it. They're good people, and they want to help, so you're going to let them."
"I can't be stationary, Dex," she says, even though she's still on Coruscant when— if she's being hunted— she should really be getting as far from Coruscant as she can.
"Stationary under the protection of the Jedi Order. You'll be fine." Dex's tone is steady and sure and taking none of her shit. And yet-
"They'll wait me out."
"No," Dex counters, "the good hunters will wait you out, the bad hunters will get bored and forget you, then you can put your focus on surviving the good ones without having to deal with the pests."
Seemingly out of arguments, the girl decides her best chance is to stare Dex down in the hopes he'll back off. Considering what Mace knows of Dex's less than upstanding history, it's not a battle she's going to win. When a full sixty seconds goes by and neither one of them has spoken or moved beyond breathing, Mace realises he's watching two very stubborn people butt heads and unless something changes this could go on for a while. He settles back in his chair, considering a light meditation while he waits.
"Please, kid," Dex says. It's not a concession, it's a plea. "I'm asking you to do this, please."
The girl snatches her eyes away, locking them onto her plate. Her meal is almost done, but she doesn't seem to be contemplating eating more right at this second. She's lost this fight. "You can't just-" She cuts herself off, eyes closing now.
There's quiet as the child sits there, her palms flat against the table as she does naught but breathe and— presumably— think. When she opens her eyes again, there's a steady surety in her. It's not smug, not arrogant, just even.
"He has to catch me," she says, presumably to Dex, even as she looks directly at Mace, openly sizing him up.
Mace, unsure what she means by that, looks to Dex for help. Dex's attention is on the girl though, frowning.
"How well do you know the streets down here, Jedi Master and Councillor Windu?" is her question. Despite her nonchalance in asking, it feels like a trap. Or perhaps it feels like a trap because of her nonchalance. The titles she gave him are also interesting, he introduced himself as a master but knew better than to say he's a member of the High Council, the person who killed Cad Bane wouldn't be the type to respond well to that show of authority. That she knows, from what could only be his name, that he's a councillor suggests knowledge of the Jedi few sentients bother with.
"I grew up on Coruscant," he tells her.
Her head tilts, almost rolling her eyes but not quite. "But how well do you know these streets?"
Mace will admit, he knows Coruscant fairly well. A newcomer here gets lost easily, but he knows how to find his way from anywhere given enough time. Being able to find his way back to the Temple, and being able to navigate the lower levels in all their alleyway and backstreet glory are two very different things however. "Well enough," he tells her, hiding the doubt he feels.
She turns her attention back on Dex, eyes challenging.
Dex's sigh can only be called long-suffering. It's the sigh of a man who knows he won the war, but there's still one battle left and victory is not a given. "Deal."
She holds her arm out and Dex taps one of his wrists against hers. "Come along, Master Windu. If you can catch me once we've left the diner, I'll come to the Temple with you."
"I suppose I don't get a say in this," Mace presumes, reaching out into the Force to get a better read on her unique Force signature so he'll have an easier time finding her if she gets out of his sight. He has some advantages here. With the Force as his ally and his size, he'll be faster, and likely outlast her too. The trouble is, he's almost certain she'll know these streets better, including any shortcuts. She won't be able to hide from him now that he knows how she feels in the Force, she's unusually well-shielded in it for someone who isn't a Jedi, but perhaps she's got a touch of Force-sensitivity to her, or perhaps a Force-sensitive taught her how; either way, she feels like air that burns in the lungs after too long starving for it— compared to the calmer signatures he's used to in his fellow Jedi (the touch of sunlight, the unfurling leaf, dew on grass), it's strange. "What qualifies as catching you?"
"Do Jedi younglings play 'It'?"
Jedi younglings play more games than Mace has ever been able to keep up with. Some of them stay the same year after year, the games the crèchemasters introduce to aid development, but the rest of them are constantly changing, evolving. Children are truly a culture all of their own. 'It' is a familiar one, thankfully. All it takes is one tap to catch someone.
"You're it, Master Windu."
And then she darts away, vaulting over the back of a seat to throw herself over a row of tables that would've greatly slowed her escape otherwise. She's landed on the other side to the shouts of other customers by the time Mace has managed to get moving.
The game has begun.
***
She's devious. Very devious. His tracking skills are hardly the greatest in the Jedi Order, but they're good enough that he can heavily lean on them while chasing her through thickening backstreets. It's a maze, and each wrong turn puts more distance between the two of them.
He's got close to her once in the last twenty minutes (the kid knows how to run and run for a long time, he underestimated her stamina) and she led him straight into an alley so narrow that he had no chance of getting through it. She, however, a child far smaller, slid through it easily. It was nine minutes before he caught so much as a glimpse of her again.
He tried jumping up onto the rooftops at one point, Force-born agility allowing him to traverse the city in leaps and bounds. From above, he assumed he'd have an easier time navigating. Thirty seconds later, she'd run into an area where the roofs of the buildings on this level of Coruscant were the floor of the level above them, forcing him back down into the maze.
He's reaching out into the Force for guidance, for help in succeeding to catch the child, when he steps out into a thriving market. It's swarming with people and thicker with smog than anywhere he's seen on Coruscant before. Everyone in this place oozes deceit. Every face is hidden. Hoods, masks, scarves.
Mace didn't bring his cloak to Dex's. He's dressed in the beige and brown robes everyone on this planet recognises as Jedi. If he takes a single step into this chaos, everyone here will know, and— judging by the less than legal wears he can see on display here— there'll be pandemonium. Sith hells. He'll be lucky to get out of that mess, let alone track a child through it.
Lucky for him, not all the wears here are completely illegal (though the slightly off branding he can see would suggest they're knock-offs rather than the real deal). The stall two to the left of him sells clothes, and it's not a stretch of his abilities to float a thick cloak his way, a little outward pulse of nothing to see here keeping prying eyes from noticing. When he steps out from cover a moment later, nobody bats an eye. He's just another human-or-near resident of the lower levels and nobody cares.
He wanders the market for a time once he's dropped a handful of credits at the stall he stole the jogan-coloured cloak from, sinking into the Force to hunt the desperate breath of the girl. She's in the thick of it, naturally.
He can barely breathe without hitting someone as he shuffles and sidles his way through. The child moves much faster until the moment she doesn't. He frowns, pushing on with a little more haste. She's at the edge of the most crowded area but instead of taking the opportunity to start sprinting, she's stopped. She hasn't stopped for a moment in the last twenty-eight minutes. She wouldn't stop unless someone made her.
There are grumbles from people around him as he goes against the natural speed of this space, but nobody starts a fight and he knows well enough to count himself lucky for it.
In the distance, in amongst the blurs of people moving about, a small cloak billows as the child he's hunting runs for the nearest alley. Out of the worst throngs, Mace picks up his pace.
There's no helpful warning from the Force. He runs straight into metal armour that steps directly into his path. Their helmet is at their side, but it's distinct shape marks them pretty blatantly as mandalorian.
Mace only stays on his feet due to the Force's aid, recovering quickly. He offers the mandalorian an apology even though they were the one who stepped in his path, and tries to move past them. A fist in his tunic stops him in his tracks.
"What do you want with the kid?" they spit out. Their anger tastes like blood in the air.
Mace glances towards the alley the girl was heading for. He finds her there, not running anymore, simply leaning against the wall, waiting. This is the perfect chance for her to get away from him, and she's not taking it.
"What's your plan, demagolka?" they demand, all five eyes very firmly focused on Mace. Whatever they've just called him, it's in Mando'a, and it's not a compliment. "You want the kid, you'll have to go through me."
Mace's knowledge of mandalorian culture is lacking to say the least, but he knows children are pretty important to them. At a guess, this mandalorian either stopped the girl, thinking she was running scared, or she stopped them on purpose. Either way, she's convinced them that Mace is a threat to her and they're not about to let that go.
Normally, in a misunderstanding like this, Mace could simply explain he is a Jedi, maybe imply the child is a runaway Jedi initiate. Unfortunately, even his limited knowledge of mandalorian culture is enough to tell him that even hinting he is a Jedi to a mandalorian might just turn this misunderstanding into a fight. Kriff. Alright, he'll give it to the girl, she's smart.
He isn't interested in a fight, doesn't know how to explain why he's chasing a child without revealing information that might put her in danger, doesn't want the mandalorian chasing him while he's chasing her. It's a mess, and she's created it perfectly. She definitely reminds him of politicians.
***
The trouble with inviting a Jedi to hunt you, Mace thinks four hours later on the other side of the Senate District to where he saw the girl last (she left about five minutes into his very tense conversation with the mandalorian, apparently witnessing whatever she was hoping to see by waiting), is that once they've got your Force signature memorised, all they've got to do is get within range to sense you.
He's been on a speeder, traversing as much of Coruscant as he can in an effort to get even the slightest sign of her, and finally, finally, he can feel her. He drops a few levels, then goes up one again because she won't stop moving. She can't possibly think he's still on her tail, yet she's still moving erratically. He can't sense anyone else following her. The only explanation is that this is how she always makes her way. It speaks of paranoia, but Mace is the war general who scans every room as he enters for exits and potential threats.
He calls on the Force to silence his steps, presses just a little of notice-me-not into the air. He isn't even close to reaching distance when she turns. It takes a moment, but she squints and finds his eyes even through his light efforts to keep her attention away. Well, she's definitely interacted with Force-sensitives before if she can brute force her way through that little Jedi trick.
"Persistent," she says, continuing to take steps backwards, but all that's behind her is an empty lift shaft with broken doors that haven't been closed to protect the gap. There's no real options for her to turn left or right without getting closer to Mace first. She might be able to make it if she moves fast enough, but not if she keeps going backwards. She's backing herself into the corner. She knows she's lost.
"And you're very good at running," he compliments. "I thought I had advantages, but you used your own to turn them against me. Clever."
Her head tilts, brow creased. Her, "Thank you," sounds stilted, uncertain, like she isn't sure whether he means those words or not. He does.
He inclines his head in return. "Now," he begins, glancing around at the situation that now must be clear to her, "I believe you're it."
The girl hums and she's getting worryingly close to the lift edge. "Really? I don't remember getting caught."
He raises an eyebrow, making his look at their surroundings a little more pointed this time. He doesn't know what last ditch effort she could possibly be thinking up that might keep him from catching her, but it won't work. She takes another step. He reaches his hand out, halting in his steps. "Watch out."
She finally stops, heels literally at the edge of a hole that could be a thousand klicks deep. If she so much as shifts her weight back, she'll fall.
She pulls her hood back from her head, letting it fall around her shoulders. She's not quite human. She might be part-human, but there's something shimmery at her neck, faint colours reflecting dim light even through the fog, and her nose is distinctly flat, the bridge of it barely protruding from her face. He's not quite close enough to make out the fine tattooing under her eyes, but most tattoo artists won't do work on someone so young, so they're almost certainly cultural.
She lifts one foot into the air, let's it shift back a little, points her toes, and then her foot is hanging over the edge.
"You'd rather risk the drop than staying at the Jedi Temple?"
She shrugs. "According to you, I was stupid enough to risk my life crossing Cad Bane just to deliver something he stole back to the Jedi, breaking any deal he made and making any number of enemies in the process. Why wouldn't I be stupid enough to risk the drop?"
"You'll be safe at the Jedi Temple. Dex asked you to give us a chance, not to jump down a lift shaft."
"I don't owe Dex anything," she says, even though she gave an inch when he asked it of her. It definitely seemed like she owed Dex something back at the diner, or at least cared about what he thought. "And the Jedi Temple is filled only with those either on shore leave or unable to fulfil a role in the Grand Army of the Republic." Her arms swing out in reference to the rather pompous title and it looks like she's about to lose balance for a heart-stopping moment. "Maybe before the war, I would've been safe there. But it isn't before the war anymore."
"Nobody attacks the Jedi Temple," escapes his mouth before he can stop it.
She raises an eyebrow. "Right, so Cad Bane was just given a holocron of Jedi younglings, rather than infiltrating the Temple despite all its security measures and the many Jedi who should've seen it coming."
He earned that.
"You're not making a very convincing argument, Master Windu."
"Do you trust Dex?" Mace tries.
She scowls and he knows that was the worst thing to say. "I trust that he believes in your people, but that doesn't mean I do. Maybe I'll see you around, maybe I won't."
He knows what's going to happen before she does it. She presses her hand against the edge of the broken lift doors and lets the pressure tip her back.
Mace has been ready since he saw how close to the edge she was. He's not letting her fall.
The Force wraps around her, a soft hammock that catches her and lifts. Rather than struggling, she goes limp, resigned.
The child safely in hand, Mace moves to stand just a step before the edge. She meets his eyes. "You still haven't caught me yet," she says with the stubbornness only a child can have.
Her eyes close as he huffs. Fine, if she needs proof that he's succeeded in catching her exactly as the rules dictate, he can do that. Her foot is in easy reach.
If he'd moved just a blink earlier, a touch faster, if he'd done this before huffing rather than after, she would've been too late. As it is, he remembers the world moving around him, remembers pressure against his ribs, and then he's sagging against a wall, his head pounding because of a concussion rather than shatterpoints and he can't feel the girl anymore.
What the kriff?
***
It's a reasonable hour of the morning by the time he gets back to Dex's. He's checked in with the High Council, explained he found the one who returned the holocron but that she escaped. He doesn't go into specific details on the merry chase she led him on with ease, but does tell them about how it ended.
Mace theorised she had some Force-sensitivity before the hunt even started. With how easily she stayed ahead of him, he should've known it was more than just 'some'. She'd probably been tracking him just the same as he was her, how else would she have known to lead him to the taller buildings when he took to the rooftops?
Then, right at the end, she'd thrown him back with the Force. She hadn't closed her eyes in resignation, she'd closed her eyes to concentrate.
She wasn't trained to the level of a Jedi initiate or padawan her age, not even close, but she has some training, clearly. He should've known.
When he walks in, Dex takes one look and utters what must be a swear in his mother-tongue. "Don't take it too hard, my friend, you're not the first to fail to catch her. Thanks for trying though. I'll get you a special."
Dex's special looks a lot like the one the girl was having yesterday evening. "Alright, ask your questions," he says as that familiar electrical humming starts up, "I know you've got them. Can't promise I'll answer them all but I'll try, for her sake."
Mace leans back in his seat, risking the rudeness of letting the food cool to level Dex with a serious look. Dex straightens, and Mace knows he's got his point across. "You didn't mention she was Force-sensitive."
Dex frowns. "I didn't think the kid getting feelings every so often was something that needed a warning."
Mace realises he has a choice now. He can share that the child's abilities span well beyond simple feelings every so often (Mace had been bullied into the Halls of Healing to fix his concussion from her very solid Force push as soon as he finished his report to the rest of the Council), knowing it'll be a share of information, but it's the girl's information, not his, and she's clearly made the choice to keep the extent of her Force powers to herself. He shouldn't betray that, especially if he's still hoping to find her and convince her to come to the Temple. He needs her trust. "Someone taught her how to lose a tail, who?"
Dex glances at the room. It's a slow morning for the diner, but there are still a few people around. Most of them are busy eating food and remembering how to be functioning people though, so there isn't anyone trying to eavesdrop, especially not in a way that would work through the humming tech. "Cad Bane."
The name hovers, meaningless, until his mind rearranges to fit the new information into place. Cad Bane trained her. Cad Bane involved her in the mission for the holocron, or at least made it so she was aware of the mission. She betrayed him, the one who taught her.
But why? Because she's Force-sensitive? Because, if this had happened a decade ago, her name might've been on that holocron?
Was Bane a cruel trainer? She was clearly a good student.
She killed someone who taught her and taught her well all for a list of children she had no reason to care about.
"Why did she do it?"
Dex sighs. "Hit's been- Hit's what I call her. She gives everyone a different name. Hit, Spice, and Junkie are the ones I've heard so far." There's an uncomfortable theme to those three names and Dex doesn't sound any happier about it than Mace feels. "Hit's been working bounties and mercenary work for a few years now, but everyone knows she's got one rule: no kids. Bane should've known that better than anyone, but apparently he forgot and he paid the same price anyone else who tried it has."
No kids. It was as simple as that. The holocron had contained a list of Force-sensitive children Bane was going to sell to someone who would abuse that knowledge and she killed him for it. Their history be damned.
She has a code. One rule. No kids. To stand by it, she'd betrayed someone and gained far too many enemies. A lot of people would've just broken it. "Do you have any idea where she'd be right now?" he asks, because she may have fallen down a lift shaft but if she's powerful enough to throw him into a wall, she can probably break her fall well enough to survive. Terminal velocity on Coruscant is only so fast.
"When did you last see her?"
"Early this morning." Falling down a lift shaft for Force knows how far.
Dex shakes his head. "She'll be off-planet by now, finding a job to work."
Mace supposes he should call off the two Jedi they sent out looking for her in that case. "What about where she will be?"
"Normally I'd say she'll be back here in four months," Dex tells him and there's something comforting in knowing this kid isn't a complete loose cannon, running across the universe with nowhere and nobody to come back to, "but after I told you about her..."
Dex trails off but Mace can figure out the rest. If she feels like Dex betrayed her, she might not ever be back. They may have just lost this kid the one place they know she goes to regularly to check in.
"If you hear anything about her, will you let me know?"
Dex nods. "If you want her safe, same as me, then everything on her is yours, free of charge."