Hound’s Tooth
The receiving deck of the Hound’s Tooth is colder than Mirage expected. The metal beneath her boots hums faintly. The air smells wrong—like oil but something sharper beneath it. Old blood. The dim amber emergency lights run in jagged strips along the walls, flickering slightly as if the ship is breathing.
Mirage steps off the docking collar, her hand pressed against her side. The pain there is sharp and familiar now, but the fever twisting through her veins makes her limbs heavy and slow. Scope follows behind her. His glass dome reflects the light.
A figure steps out from the shadows. Young. Dark hair curling over his forehead, sharp eyes already measuring her with a seasoned precision most adults couldn’t manage. He’s dressed in a brown flight jacket over a grey plasteel chest plate, his hands tucked in his belt casually, but Mirage can see the tension in his stance.
“Come with me,” he says. His voice is low and steady.
Mirage’s brow lifts. “A clone boy?”
The boy’s mouth twitches. “Not quite.”
Her gaze flickers over his face. His resemblance to the infamous Jango Fett is unmistakable. Same jawline. Same eyes. But there’s a hardness here that makes him different. A raw edge that’s earned, not inherited. What is different about this clone? She’s served with many but they all had the same look on their face. This boy has a unique aura about him.
“What’s your name?”
“Boba,” he says. “Boba Fett.”
“Mirage,” she replies.
“Didn’t ask,” he retorts.
Mirage’s eyes narrow. Scope lets out a low warble, and she can feel the weight of his gaze from behind the glass dome. The saber is nestled in his launcher, secured. He’s holding his position, waiting.
Boba’s eyes look toward the droid.
“Bossk is waiting,” Boba says. He gestures toward the far hallway.
Her jaw tightens. “Lead the way.”
She follows him through the corridor, Scope rolling at her flank.
The passage is narrow and dim, lined with security panels and maintenance hatches. Mirage breathes out slowly and stretches her senses out through the Force.
Pain.
It lingers here—soaked into the metal, echoing along the walls like the ghost of a scream.
The faint burn of blaster residue clings to the edges of the corridor. Old fight. Weeks old, at least. There’s a dent in the nearest bulkhead at head height—impacted durasteel, deep and sharp. Someone’s head hit it. Hard. Synthetic.
Boba walks without hesitation. His posture is measured and practiced. He’s been on this ship for a long time. Enough time that the details don’t register for him anymore.
Mirage’s eyes track over the wall panels. The locking mechanisms on the blast doors are reinforced—aftermarket. Expensive. Someone didn’t trust the stock defenses. The camera above the next door is newer than the others. Scratches around the mounting bracket suggest it was pulled out and reinstalled more than once.
Scope clicks softly. Mirage doesn’t look at him. They pass an open doorway. Her senses prickle.
The room beyond smells of stale sweat and metal. Chains hang from the ceiling. The floor beneath them is stained dark. The residue of fear clings to the walls, sharp and thick.
Boba’s head tilts slightly toward her. “What do you think?”
Mirage’s face remains blank. “Nothing I didn’t expect.”
Her side stings. She can feel the fever spreading, hot beneath her skin. Every step sends a jolt of pain up through her ribs. She’s bleeding again—she can feel it beneath the bandages. But she doesn’t stop.
She reaches out through the Force, threading through the ship’s walls and ventilation shafts. The ship’s structure unfolds in her mind like a schematic, branching hallways, sealed compartments—
Holding cells. She thinks.
Far deck. Sealed by a secondary security grid. There’s a trace of movement behind it—a single heartbeat. Slow. Weakened.
Graves.
Mirage’s hand twitches at her side.
“Mirage,” Boba says over his shoulder, “I’m curious. Are you planning escape routes already?”
She grits her teeth. “No. I’m figuring out how to kill you and your friends, that’s all.”
Boba glances back. There’s the faintest flicker of stress beneath the guarded expression.
The corridor opens into the main meeting chamber. The doors slide open with a hydraulic hiss. Bossk sits atop a makeshift throne in the center of the barren room, his broad frame cutting a jagged silhouette beneath the low lights. He’s dressed in the familiar yellow flight suit, the edges stained dark with something. His claws flex against the armrest of the chair as he stands.
Off to his side, slouched against the wall, is a woman who’s hard to miss. Tall and ghostly pale, her chalk-white skin almost glows under the dim lighting. A thin, blood-red ponytail trails over one shoulder, the stark contrast against her skin making her look even more unnatural. Her black eyes are deep pits beneath high, arched brows, giving her a hollow, predatory stare as she peels a piece of fruit with a small, razor-edged knife. The slow, deliberate movements of her long fingers suggest a casual ease with violence—like the blade is an extension of her hand. A dark red jumpsuit clings to her lean frame, reinforced with worn armor plates, and a long-barreled rifle is slung casually across her back. The thin metal antenna curving from the crown of her bald head catches the light as her gaze lifts toward Mirage. Cold recognition coils in Mirage’s gut before the name even forms in her mind.
Holy hell, that’s Aurra Sing. Mirage shivers.
Bossk’s golden eyes lock onto Mirage’s. His pupils slit vertically, narrowing in interest.
“You must be Mirage,” he growls, voice low and gravelly. His smile bares his jagged teeth.
Mirage’s jaw tightens. “You must be Bossk.”
Aurra smirks and takes a bite of the fruit. Juice runs down her fingers. Her eyes glint beneath her pale lashes.
“I see you’ve already met the kid,” Bossk growls. His gaze shifts toward Boba. “He’s been… useful.”
Boba says nothing. His eyes stay on Mirage. Mirage feels the pull of the saber through the Force. Scope is holding his position at the threshold.
“You have something of mine,” Mirage says.
Bossk’s smile sharpens. “We’ll see about that.”
Bossk’s reptilian eyes narrow as Mirage steps closer, her boots echoing against the grated floor. The subtle tilt of his head sends a ripple down the thick ridges of his scaly neck. He sniffs once, slow and deliberate. The way his slitted nostrils flare makes Mirage's skin crawl.
“You reek of death,” Bossk rasps, his sharp teeth glinting under the low lights. “Wounded. Infected.” His tongue flicks out, tasting the air. “Sick prey doesn't deserve to keep its hoard. Where’s the Beskar?”
Mirage’s jaw tightens. Her hand forms a fist at her side. The sharp throb of her wound pulses in sync with her heartbeat, a low, burning ache beneath the bandages. She breathes through the fire climbing up her spine, feeling it spread through her chest.
“You’re just going to take them from me? After we had a deal?” she says through gritted teeth.
Mirage tosses the Beskar ingot and knives to the floor in front of Bossk with a clank.
Bossk’s pupils thin to black slits. “It would be easy. Your ship… your man…” His scaly lips peel back into something that resembles a smile. “When you die—and you will—they will be useful to someone else.”
Mirage feels it then, a crackling heat curling at the edge of her mind. It’s subtle at first, like static in the air before a storm, but it rises fast—electric, dangerous. The Force coils at the base of her skull, sparking down her limbs. Her breath quickens.
Across the room, Boba Fett sits perfectly still, his gloved fingers resting lightly on his knee. Aurra Sing watches with that hollow black gaze, the half-peeled fruit turning lazily between her pale fingers. No one moves.
Mirage’s lips curl. “You want to settle this between us two?”
Bossk’s hiss deepens into a low growl. His claws flex against his blaster. “You’d have to stand up straight first.”
“I can pay you two more than he can, you don’t have to take orders from slime like him,” Mirage petitions Aurra and Boba.
“I choose the winner,” Aurra replies, taking another bite from the fruit.
Bossk moves first. The sharp scrape of metal on leather as his clawed hand draws the blaster from his belt. No hesitation. The barrel flashes. Mirage feels the shot before she hears it—a burst of white-hot pain searing across her side as she twists away, the heat ripping through muscle and bone. She staggers, biting back a scream as her shoulder slams into the cold wall behind her.
Another two shots slam into the wall as Mirage rolls along it trying to keep upright..
Bossk bares his teeth and levels the blaster.
"She’s fast,” Mirage hears Aurra murmur.
The hiss of a priming charge cuts the air. Mirage looks toward Aurra, pale and smiling as her slim pistol rises toward Mirage’s head. To her left, Boba Fett readies his blaster, finger resting on the trigger.
“How about three against one,” Bossk hisses.
Mirage straightens. Her hand presses to her side, warm blood and hot carbon spilling between her fingers. Pain is a distant thing now. Distant… beneath the low thrum building in her chest. A sharp, vibrating hum beneath her skin. Her heart pounds in her ears.
Bossk shows his yellow fangs.
Mirage’s hands open at her sides. A sharp crackle sparks in her fingertips, blue threads of energy hissing and snapping through the air. Bossk’s nostrils flare.
“Oh,” Aurra whispers as she shakes her head slowly, looking at Boba.
Aurra lowers her pistol slightly. Boba follows suit.
Bossk sees the ripples of electric current and fires a shot off straight into Mirage's chest. Mirage twists to the side making the bolt ricochet off the chestplate under her covering. It slams into the wall behind her. Bossk pushes off the grates, launching towards Mirage with claws bared.
Mirage tries to get out of the way but Bossk is much larger than her and has longer arms. He brings her to the ground, abandoning his pistol. Mirage kicks up with a knee into his gut as hard as she can. Bossk has the wind knocked out of him but he bites down hard on her right shoulder. Mirage headbutts him and nearly knocks herself out. His head is much harder than she though. Bossk laughs a guttural sound.
“Weak,” he hisses.
He raises a claw and strikes clear across her face with his three-taloned claw. Mirage cries out in raw pain. Bossk looks at the remains of an eye on his center claw and sticks it in his mouth his tongue cleaning the claw.
“You should be proud. Not many are marked for death by one such as myself,” Bossk growls his musings.
Mirage uses her left hand to staunch the bleeding on her left eye as Bossk stands straddling her supine form.
“Grab the prisoner and bring him here,” Bossk calls as he looks back at Aurra.
Mirage lifts her hands, energy crackling.
Bossk turns to look at her and reacts quickly, grabbing his now empty holster.
Mirage lets the storm loose.
The lightning tears from her fingertips in jagged blue-white arcs, striking Bossk center mass. He roars as the electricity floods through him, his muscles locking, claws curling into his chest. The lights overhead explode in a shower of sparks. A metallic groan echoes through the deck as the whole room plunges into darkness, illuminated only by the searing glow of the lightning curling around Mirage’s hands.
Aurra looks at Boba and raises a hand staying his pistol.
Bossk drops backward, smoke rising from his scorched chest. Mirage struggles to stand up but she pushes through. She takes a step toward him, eye burning black, her lips pulling into a hard line as another current arcs from her fingertips and sears into his scales. His mouth stretches wide in a soundless scream.
Aurra’s dark eyes gleaming with twisted fascination. She steps closer, her smile sharp beneath the flicker of lightning.
The lightning fizzles out, leaving behind the scent of scorched flesh and burned metal. Bossk goes slack, smoke curling from his body. Mirage stands over him, her strawlike hair more white than before. Her black eye flicks toward Aurra—still smiling—and Boba—staring at her as though he’s seeing something monstrous.
Mirage’s hands tremble. Her breathing sharpens. The static in her skull is louder now, clawing to be released.
“Get up,” she growls.
Bossk groans, smoke rising from his scorched chest. His claws twitch weakly against the deck as he struggles to lift his head. His limbs spasm, the lingering aftershocks of lightning twisting through his nervous system.
Her black eye narrows.
Bossk’s body lifts off the ground in a sharp lurch. His claws scrape against the deck as an unseen force grips him by the throat and hauls him into the air. His breath rattles through his jagged teeth as Mirage’s hand tightens in the air.
“Ghhkk—”
Bossk’s heavy frame slams into the wall with a bone-jarring crack that echoes through the darkened room. His head snaps back, his limbs hanging slack.
Mirage stops inches from him, her eye glinting in the dim amber lights.
“Still think I’m not going to make it?” Her voice is low and sharp, crackling with the same dark energy humming beneath her skin.
Aurra stands to Mirage’s right, watching the scene unfold with bright, gleeful interest.
A low growl rises from Bossk’s throat. “You… won’t…make…”
A snap of blue-white light cuts the words off. Mirage’s right hand twitches and a bolt of lightning leaps from her fingertips into his chest. Bossk seizes, his limbs locking as the energy crawls through his body. His eyes roll back into his skull, his fangs bared in a silent snarl.
Smoke curls from his scales as Mirage steps closer, her breath shallow. The lightning dances along her fingertips as her gaze darkens.
“Try again,” she whispers.
Aurra’s smile sharpens. Boba stands stiffly off to the side, staring at the scene, his gloved hand holding his pistol aimed at Mirage’s back. He doesn’t speak. The energy stops. Bossk’s head slumps forward, twitching. Mirage’s hand lifts again—the energy hums louder beneath her skin, burning and eager.
“Enough.”
Boba’s voice is sharp.
Aurra’s smile widens. “Let her finish it.”
Bossk’s head lifts, smoke trailing from his mouth. A low, guttural growl vibrates through his chest. His pupils are wide slits, glazed with pain. Mirage’s hand is still raised. Then she feels it—movement behind her.
Boba.
She senses the shift in his stance, the lift of his wrist, the subtle charge in the power cell of his blaster—
Mirage drops Bossk.
Her body twists as the blaster fires—
SHHRAK!
A white-hot bolt tears into her left shoulder. The impact jolts her entire arm forward, and the raw pain sends a burst of cold fire down her side. Her breath stops, legs wobbling beneath her.
Aurra snarls.
Three quick shots slice through the air. Mirage ducks and rolls. One bolt grazes the hem of her clothes, leaving a smoking line across the fabric. She hits the floor hard, her left shoulder screaming as she pushes back to her feet.
Aurra steps in, raising her blaster again.
Mirage extends her hand.
Aurra’s thin frame jolts sideways. An invisible hand hooks onto her and yanks. Aurra's feet slide out and she crashes hard to the floor.
Scope whistles sharply. His domed head spins with a mechanical snap—
Click. Clink.
The compartment on his dome hisses open. The hilt of Mirage’s lightsaber launches from the socket, arcing cleanly through the air.
Mirage extends her hand.
The saber slaps into her palm with a satisfying thwack.
PSSSHHKT!
The blade ignites with a golden shimmer. No pulse. No flicker. Just a clean, perfect line of molten glass, humming smoothly in the dark amber light. A single blade this time—her left arm is useless, trembling from the shot. Even at half-length, the weapon is a work of art. The twice-long copper-gold hilt gleams under the beam, the detail etched into the metal catching the light like old fire.
Boba’s blaster rises again.
He fires.
Mirage’s blade twists in tight, precise arcs. The first bolt deflects high into the wall. The second scorches the floor by Boba’s boot. The third sears a smoking line inches from the side of his head. Mirage steps forward, blade cutting down at an angle that redirects the final shot straight into the paneling behind him. A molten dent smokes in the wall.
Boba’s fingers tighten on the grip.
Mirage growls.
Aurra’s finger dances on the trigger—
Mirage spins to the side as the first shot screams past her ear. Boba’s blaster barks a second later. She flicks her saber upward, the golden blade catching the bolt and sending it streaking back toward Aurra.
Aurra jerks to the side—too slow. The bolt slams into her right leg. Aurra snarls and drops to a knee, smoke coming from her singed suit.
Another shot from Boba, Mirage ducks and sweeps her hand toward him. The Force lashes out, knocking Boba’s aim off as his shot sparks against the wall.
Mirage’s side screams as her body twists, but the pain only feeds the surge of dark energy running beneath her skin.
Aurra fires—
Mirage throws her off-balance with a pulse of the Force, sending bolts wild. Two explode against the bulkhead and the third ricochets toward the deck.
Boba lunges forward, firing from the hip.
Mirage redirects the shot with a twist of her saber. It rips through Aurra’s arm, spinning her sideways with a hiss of pain. Aurra spits, clutching her arm. No weapon in hand.
Mirage breathes hard, chest rising and falling as the golden blade hums steady and bright in her hand. Sweat slicks her forehead. Her eyes, black as a void, snap toward Boba.
Boba squares his stance, smoke trailing from the barrel of his blaster.
Mirage lifts her hand toward him.
The Void lashes out again, and Boba skids backward, boots scraping against the deck.
Aurra’s eyes narrow. Helpless to stop her. Mirage is toying with him. Testing her limits.
Mirage pivots toward Boba just as he fires.
The golden saber meets the bolt in midair, sending it screaming into the wall behind him. Sparks shower the deck.
Mirage’s side aches. Her breath rasps in her chest. The anger crackles beneath her skin, driving her forward as she steps toward Boba, his blaster leveling for another shot.
Her mind lashes out this time—feral.
It slams into his wrist, knocking the blaster free. It clatters to the floor.
Boba stumbles backwards tripping over a loosened grate. Mirage stands over him. Lightning crackling at her fingertips. Her vision starts to fade to black as she draws the energy. Boba’s hair starts to stand on end with the static building.
Mirage’s breathing is ragged. Her body trembles with the surge of power pouring through her veins. The golden-yellow blade of her saber hums low and angry in her hand, the stained-glass glow casting fractured light across the dark metal walls of the Hound’s Tooth. The blue sparks light Boba’s face and the blinking red emergency lights illuminate Mirage’s back.
Her hand crackles with blue veins of lightning barely held back. Hungry.
Boba’s dark hair is slicked to his forehead, sweat and grime streaking down his cheek. His wide brown eyes are locked on Mirage—fear in them. Not fear of pain. Fear of her.
Mirage’s jaw tightens. Her fingers twitch—
Aurra slowly stands. Her injured hand cradled against her chest. Her red eyes are sharp beneath the pale white gleam of her skin, she opens her mouth.
“Stop.”
Mirage’s black eye snaps toward her. Her breath thins into a hiss. Lightning jumps between her knuckles.
“You’re going to kill him,” Aurra says quietly.
Mirage’s mouth twists. Her grip on the saber tightens.
Aurra steps closer. Her red eyes sharpen.
“And then what?” Aurra’s voice is soft, “Burn this ship to the ground? Kill everyone on board? Why waste our potential? You were the one wanting to hire us. So hire us. We can do great things. Become the greatest bounty hunters in the galaxy.”
Mirage’s heart slams against her ribs. Watching Aurra pace around the room.
“You think that rage belongs to you?” Aurra muses.
Mirage’s jaw tightens. The lightning in her hand glows brighter.
Aurra’s smile curves faintly. Knowing. “It’s feeding on you. Taking pieces of you. You think you’re in control of it?”
Aurra’s gaze hardens. “I know what this feels like,” she says softly. “That power—it makes you feel invincible. Untouchable.” Her red eyes narrow. “Until it burns you from the inside out. I’ve been there. I used to be you until I learned that I couldn’t control it.”
Her eyes look toward Boba—his wide-eyed, terrified expression.
Aurra’s gaze darkens. “That rage you feel—it’s right. You should be angry. But not at him.” Her eyes narrow toward the floor—toward Bossk’s motionless form. “He’s the one who did this to you.”
Aurra steps in closer, her voice sharpening. “That rage? It’s a weapon. If you let it control you—you’ll die with it.” Her voice lowers. “But if you learn to control it—”
Mirage’s black eye swirls. The hum of her saber stutters. The saber retracts, casting the room back into a dim glow of the backup lighting. Her breath shakes.
Aurra’s smile sharpens, “Burn him, not yourself, ” her red eyes gleam in the low light.
Aboard the Convor
Raul hears it—a jagged crack slicing through the dark, crackling like a living whip behind the walls of the Hound’s Tooth. It causes the lights to flicker, pulse, then die. A breath later, another burst of energy streaks across the ship’s interior. The residual power arcing through the Hound’s Tooth and into the Convor.
His gut twists.
Mirage tapped into something she won’t come back from.
Raul clenches his jaw.
Come on, Mirage. Snap out of it.
A third flash—longer this time. The cockpit of the Convor lights up and turns a ghostly blue.
Raul swears under his breath.
This isn’t just a fight. This is her losing herself.
A final blast erupts. The ship itself shudders.
Then—silence.
The hairs on Raul’s arms prickle.
He exhales slowly.
Raul waits.
Some time later.
Raul stands at the connected docking port of the Convor, blaster half-raised, when Mirage steps into view. Graves is slumped between her and a limping Aurra Sing, both of them keeping him steady as they haul him aboard. The man barely lifts his head, his face pale, his breaths short and labored. Rectangular pieces of skin missing from various parts of his face and body.
Mirage is bleeding profusely out of her scorched left side. Her face has three large gashes diagonally across it and her eye socket is stuffed with cloth. Her shoulders are ripped to shreds on one side and scorched on the other. She’ll succumb to blood loss any second.
Behind them, Boba Fett follows carrying an assortment of supplies, his steps slower, more cautious. His lip is split, and his face is tight with something Raul can’t place—something too raw to be just pain.
Raul tightens his grip on his weapon, gaze jumping between them.
“What the hell is this?” he asks, voice low. “Why are they coming aboard?”
Mirage doesn’t hesitate. “Aurra understands me.”
Aurra tilts her head, casting Raul a sly, knowing smile. The kind that makes his blood run cold.
He exhales sharply through his nose, looking past her to Boba.
The kid isn’t looking at him, not really. He’s staring at nothing, shoulders tense, fist clenched at his side after he drops the bag. Raul hesitates, then steps closer.
“You good, kid?”
Boba doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch. He just jerks his chin toward Mirage.
Raul follows his gaze, his chest going tight. Bossk didn’t do this to him.
He sucks in a slow breath and releases it. Then he nods, pressing his lips into a thin line.
The Convor feels cramped with this many bodies, the air thick with tension. Raul doesn’t like it, doesn’t trust it—but he’s not about to start something now.
“Strap in,” he mutters, pushing past them to the cockpit. He slides into the pilot’s seat, fingers dancing over the controls. The engines hum to life beneath his touch.
Outside, the Interlude floats in the dark, just beyond the Hound’s Tooth.
Raul grips the controls and guides the Convor toward it.
The Convor docks with a muted clang, the hull settling against the Interlude’s portside airlock. A hiss of pressurized air releases as the doors cycle open, revealing the dimly lit interior of Mirage’s ship. The place is a mess—rummaged through, drawers left half-open, a few things knocked over—but nothing too out of the ordinary. The systems hum as if nothing had happened, waiting for their captain to take control again.
Aurra steps in first, sweeping her crimson gaze across the ship’s interior. “Bossk trashed your droids,” she says offhandedly, peeling off her gloves.
Mirage barely reacts. Her fingers twitch at her side, but she doesn’t pause as she shoves Graves off onto Raul. The man stumbles under his own weight but Raul grips him tight, steadying the barely conscious Graves against his side.
“I’m taking a shower,” Mirage mutters. Her voice is raw, like her throat is filled with smoke and embers. She doesn’t wait for a response. “Use what we’ve got to patch up the crew. Then come find me.”
Raul just nods, keeping his mouth shut. There’s nothing to say.
Aurra sighs and slumps onto a crate, stretching her legs out and checking her wounds. Her leg still has a burned hole in it from the blaster shot and her shoulder took a blast as well. The tension in her frame unwinds slightly, but there’s a glint in her eye as she watches Mirage walk off. Something satisfied despite the pain.
Boba stands near the airlock, eyes dashing between Raul and Graves. He doesn’t say anything at first, but then, after a beat, he mutters, “I can help.”
His voice is empty. Hollow.
Raul studies him for a moment, then nods. “Alright, kid.”
With that, he hauls Graves toward what the Interlude deems to be a medbay, Boba following in silence.
Refresher Unit
Steam billows against the cold durasteel walls as the water hisses down over Mirage’s battered body. Her fingers press into the wall, steadying herself as she watches the red-tinged water swirl down the drain. The mirror across the unit is streaked with condensation, but she can still make out the ugly wound along her left side—deep, jagged, and oozing infection. The mix of dried blood and blackened carbon from the seared flesh clings to her skin like war paint. Her face…it’s mangled. The claw mark will forever be there. She pulls the cloth out of her socket. It burns while the dried blood tears free again. An empty hole next to her bright blue eye. She opens a light med kit in a nearby cabinet and sprays a burst of bacta over the areas.
She exhales through her nose, reaching up to touch her shoulder, where the blaster bolt had torn through from behind. It’s a mess of charred flesh, the edges puckered and cracked. She turns, twisting awkwardly to get a better view in the mirror, and immediately regrets it. The pain flares, sharp and merciless, sending a wave of nausea rolling up from her gut.
She vomits, bile burning the back of her throat. Her knees hit the cold floor as she vomits again, her body wracked with shudders. Every time her body tenses, it sends another wave of pain throughout her body, making her dry-heave. A self-feeding loop. The fever hasn’t broken. It’s only getting worse.
She grips the wall the best she can, pulling herself upright, and forces herself to clean the wounds. The water stings like hell, sending hot, searing pain through every nerve, but she doesn’t stop. She scrubs away the grime, the blood, the evidence of just how close she came to dying.
By the time she’s done, she’s shaking. Wrapping a towel around herself, she braces her arms against the counter, her breath coming in shallow bursts.
A knock at her door startles her.
“Mirage,” Raul’s voice is muffled through the metal, but there’s no mistaking the tension in it. “Aurra’s demanding to see your wounds.” A pause. “She’s got bacta patches, fluids… the whole medkit.”
Mirage drags a damp hand down her face, glancing at her reflection one last time. Sunken eyes, fever-bright. Bruises shadowing her ribs. The wound on her side still sluggishly weeping.
She sighs, then wraps the towel tighter around herself.
“Yeah,” she calls back hoarsely. “Let her in.”
The door hisses open, and Aurra Sing steps in, her sharp crimson gaze sweeping over Mirage in one slow, deliberate pass. The bounty hunter doesn’t hide her smirk as she takes in the state of her—soaked, fevered, barely upright, the towel clinging to her body now stained through with fresh blood.
Raul stiffens beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t trust her,” he says flatly, eyes darting between Aurra and Mirage. “I’m staying.”
Mirage exhales slowly, gripping the edge of the sink. “Raul, get out.”
He doesn’t move. “Not happening.”
She turns her head slightly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Her singular eye and bloody socket crystal clear to him. “That wasn’t a request. That was an order.”
Raul’s jaw tightens, his fists clenching at his sides. For a second, she thinks he might actually argue—but then, with a sharp inhale through his nose, he bites his tongue and steps back. His boots echo against the durasteel floor as he storms out, the door hissing shut behind him.
Aurra watches the exchange with amusement, then steps forward, arms full of medical supplies.
“He’s got fire,” she muses, setting the kit down on the counter. “I like that.”
Mirage doesn’t answer, just takes a breath and releases her grip on the sink. Her head swims as she turns toward Aurra, the fever pulling her down like a weight.
Aurra reaches for the towel.
Mirage hesitates but does as she’s told, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Aurra doesn’t react, only crouches slightly to inspect the wounds with the practiced efficiency of someone who has seen far worse. Her fingers probe the blaster wound on Mirage’s shoulder, tracing the edges of the charred skin, then move down to the infected gash at her side. Mirage barely registers the touch—her vision is already tunneling, the room swaying around her.
“Not pretty,” Aurra mutters, shaking her head. “You’re burning up.”
She pulls out a vial, flicks it with her finger, then presses a hypo against Mirage’s side. A sharp hiss. The sting barely registers before a wave of dizziness crashes over her. Mirage tries to steady herself, but it’s useless. The fever, the blood loss, the exhaustion—it all hits at once.
Aurra catches her before she hits the floor.
Then, everything goes dark.
Cockpit of the Interlude
Aurra walks up and leans against the cockpit doorframe, arms crossed, silently watching Raul and Boba hunched over the control panels. Raul’s voice is patient but firm, explaining the systems to Boba.
What is this guy up to? She expected Raul to ignore Boba or at least treat him like some unwanted tag-along. But instead, he’s taking the time to teach him. He actually seems to care.
Something unfamiliar twists in her chest, something she quickly shoves down. Softness isn’t her thing. With a scoff, she strides forward and pushes Boba out of the co-pilot’s seat. “Move, kid.”
Boba scowls but doesn’t argue, stepping aside with a quiet huff. Aurra settles into the seat, stretching her wounded leg out like she owns the place.
Raul glances at her, his expression unreadable. “That’s Mirage’s chair.”
Aurra smirks. “Yeah? She can fight me for it when she wakes up.”
Raul sighs, leaning back against the pilot’s seat. “How is she?”
“She blacked out,” Aurra says, inspecting her nails like it’s nothing.
“Where’s your guy?” she asks.
“Sleeping upstairs. He’ll live.”
He sighs, staring at the ship’s controls like they hold all the answers. “Did Mirage say anything about a plan?”
Aurra lifts a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Not a word.”
Raul shakes his head. Typical. He drums his fingers against the dash. “We should probably figure out what to do with that fighter she came in on. And the Hound’s Tooth.”
Raul stares at the readouts. “The Convor’s still docked to our portside. We can’t land in the top cargo deck out here, the air shield is broken. We'll have to enter Veelo's orbit to dock it inside.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“You'll have to have someone fly it down with you,” Aurra finishes, leaning back in the co-pilot seat with a smirk.
Raul shoots her a look. “Yeah, and who’s volunteering? ’Cause I don’t trust anyone on this ship but me, Graves and Mirage, and I’m not splitting us up.”
Boba steps forward, arms crossed. “I can fly it.”
Raul blinks, “Kid—”
Boba cuts in, his voice steady, “I know how to link the Convor to the Interlude as a command vessel.” He gestures at the ship’s systems. “The Interlude has the capability. Just give me the console for a few minutes, and I’ll set it up. If you need to override, you’ll have autopilot control to bring it back.”
Aurra watches in silence, her expression unreadable.
Raul leans back and narrows his eyes at Boba, arms crossed. “And what’s stopping you from turning the Convor’s guns on us the second you’re flying free?”
Boba doesn’t flinch. “The Interlude would rip the Convor apart before I got a second volley off.” His tone is even, calculated. “You know that’s true.”
Raul clenches his jaw because it is true. The Convor’s got stealth and speed but against the Interlude on open scanners? It wouldn’t last long. Still, giving a kid the reins of a ship that capable doesn’t sit right.
Before he can push back, the door hisses open, and Mirage limps in dragging her left foot. Her left arm is in a sling supporting the blown to pieces shoulder. Her right arm and shoulder are uncovered, exposing the bite mark from Bossk. Her damp, now stark white hair, is tied back, her skin more pale, and the fresh bacta patches covering her wounds barely hide the toll the last fight took on her. Her eye is covered with a stained red wrap. She stops, scanning the room with a sharp eye, darker blue than before. Her lightsaber, hanging on her right hip. Threatening anyone to argue.
“What’s going on?” Her voice is hoarse but steady.
Raul straightens, motioning to Boba. “Kid thinks he can fly the Convor till we can dock on Veelo. Says he can connect it to the Interlude’s command systems so we have an override.”
Mirage tilts her head, considering. Boba stands his ground, his expression unreadable but defiant. For a moment, there’s silence. Then, Mirage steps closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her grip is firm but not forceful. When he looks up at her, she gives him a soft, knowing look—not approval, not dismissal, just understanding.
Boba doesn’t move, but something in his stance shifts, tension easing just a fraction.
Mirage leans against the doorway, studying the gathered crew. "I'm flying it with Aurra." she announces. Her gaze sweeps across the group.
Aurra tilts her head.
Mirage nods slowly, considering. "If there's trouble before we can dock, the Interlude runs, and we fight alone. I'll pay crew rates with hazard pay for as long as you are loyal."
Raul, already sensing the shift, pulls a handful of credsticks from his jacket and hands them out. "These are linked to the crew’s exchange. Your pay goes straight here. You're with me, Boy."
Boba takes his and checks the balance. His eyes widen slightly, though he quickly reins in his expression. Aurra grins at her balance, then tosses a playful wink at Raul before pocketing the stick.
Mirage watches them, then lifts a hand. "One condition," she says. Her gaze lands on Aurra first, then Raul. "Boba is not to be called ‘boy' anymore," she glances at Boba, her expression firm but almost approving, "He’s part of the crew now. He’s to be called by his name."
Aurra raises an eyebrow, then smirks. "Fair enough."
Boba, silent for a moment, nods. There's something new in his stance now—maybe not gratitude, but recognition.
"Let's take these ships back down to the landing zone and swap out crew," Mirage orders, turning back toward the cockpit. "I want this done quickly. I have to turn in my bounty. Also, make me a necklace." She tosses something to Raul.
Raul looks down at a green scaly hand with three long claws.
Continue Vjun Medical
Meanwhile Voss runs into trouble
Previous Orbiting Veelo
