My Unfortunate Fate

chapter 66

The hardest wounds to heal are those which are invisible.

This morning, I'm tired and numb. I don't know how long it took for me to stop crying and fall asleep, but I know it took a while because I am insanely tired.

My routine goes by in a blur: shower, dress, etcetera. I struggle with the new leather straps of my armour, but I manage to fit them on. Usually, Anakin would help me with that.

I take my lightsaber off my nightstand and sheath it. I hope this undercover mission won't be too violent, but I have my weapon as a last resort. Maybe it will be good to go undercover again. I haven't done that since Zygerria, and I guess I'd like to have a more hopeful mission to remember my undercover work.

Only a few people know of this mission other than Eyn and me, whom I don't care to name. It shouldn't be hard to mask my absence; I am adept at hiding things already.

Focus on the mission, I remind myself. Reminiscing on past events will only hurt me.

I grab a supply bar from an assorted tray of nutrient-full snacks. As I begin eating my breakfast, something catches my eye—on the ground by my door. Taking a closer look, I identify the strange item as...a letter?

I wonder who would leave a message in such a form. There are only a few people in my life that are in close contact with me, though that's usually via face-to-face or holotransmission. My main suspect, in this case, is Eyn, but when I open the letter and get a glance at the hapless scribble of words on the page, I know it isn't him.

I hesitate to go any further.

My vision is already blurry. Somehow, even a reminder of him can make me cry.

A small, black, square device falls from the envelope and into my trembling hand. I set it aside. It looks like some sort of electronic device, but I have no interest in it.

I flatten out the letter and start reading.

Y/n...

I'm sorry about what happened last night. You may not forgive me, and you may not even believe me, but I need you to know how deep my regret is. Despite my disagreement with your decision to stay distanced, I'll respect it if it's what you want.

I still have a bad feeling about that friend of yours—Laric. It's not just a personal issue; there's something about him that I don't trust, and I think you should stay cautious. So I made you something.

There's a tracking chip within this letter. Hold on to it, in case anything goes wrong. It should be small enough to conceal, and it won't emit a signal until you destroy it.

I fold the letter inwards and take a short pause to regain my spirits.

The chip is on the counter to my left: small—it should be insignificant—but all too meaningful. Even if these suspicions are false, if nothing happens, if Eyn isn't a danger: to do this? To put in the effort to engineer this thing—this small, basic and yet clever tracking device—for me? For my safety?

This is a desperate, protective measure that could lead me back into a forbidden trap.

This is enough. It's too much.

I know I shouldn't, but I can't stop myself from reading the rest of the letter.

If you run into any trouble, break the chip, and someone will come and find you. That may not be me if you don't want to see me again. I told Obi-Wan about the chip—avoiding any other subjects, of course—which means he might be the one to heroically rush in and save you in a time of crisis.