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It had been twenty-nine days since she went missing.
Sev knew the exact count, though he never said it aloud. He didn’t like counting things unless they were kills. Death was predictable. Comfortable. But her? She was something else.
They lost contact with her squad during an op on Felucia. Dense jungle. Hostile locals. Separatist interference. Command called it. KIA, presumed.
Sev didn’t believe it. Not because of some Jedi faith, but because she was the one thing in his life that didn’t shatter under pressure.
She annoyed the hell out of him. Bubbly, bright, constantly chirping about “hope” and “trust in the Force.” It should have driven him up the walls. But somehow, it worked. She worked.
And now she was gone.
So when the door to the debriefing room slid open and he saw her silhouette—filthy robes, a torn sleeve, a limp in her step—his mind blanked.
She paused in the doorway. Her hair was caked in mud and ash, but her smile still hit like a thermal detonator.
“Miss me?”
There was a beat.
Then another.
Sev crossed his arms and exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp. “I had wondered where my headache went.”
She laughed—light and unexpected, like rain in a war zone—and limped closer. “Is that how you greet everyone who comes back from the dead?”
“I’ve only seen you do it. Once.” He eyed her up and down. “You look like hell.”
“Hell’s got better lighting.”
Sev reached out, pulled her closer by the belt of her torn robe. “Where the kriff were you?”
“Trapped. Separatist scout patrol hit us hard. I got out, the others didn’t. I’ve been trekking across half the jungle, dodging droids and eating… well, I think it was fruit. Could’ve been eggs.”
“Should’ve been you that got eaten.”
She leaned her forehead against his chest plate. “Aw. You did miss me.”
Sev went still.
Her warmth, her voice, even the scent of jungle rot clinging to her—none of it should’ve made his heart stutter like that. And yet.
“I didn’t miss you,” he said, voice lower. “I just got used to the quiet.”
She looked up, eyes glittering like starlight. “Liar.”
And he was.
Because for twenty-nine days, he hadn’t slept right. The jokes didn’t land. The blood didn’t thrill. He kept expecting her voice in his comm, her humming in the medbay, her absolutely infuriating habit of giving everyone in Delta Squad an encouraging nickname.
Now she was back. Cracked and bruised—but still sunshine, somehow.
“You’re gonna die smiling one day,” he muttered. “And I’ll be the one dragging your corpse back just so I can punch it.”
She smiled, softer this time. “Then I guess I’ll die knowing you cared.”
Sev sighed and pulled her fully into his arms. “Next time you disappear, I’m tying a tracking beacon to your ankle.”
“Promise?”
“Don’t tempt me.”