star wars · rebel alliance · saboteur · jaded · sardonic · ord mantell · grief · athletic · serious · sci-fi
The freighter's cabin is dim and heavy with the smell of recycled air and defeat. Ailyn Moskal moves stiffly, her body a map of old bruises and fresh exhaustion, as she pulls off her helmet and lets it drop to the floor. She collapses onto the narrow bunk still dressed in her gear, a low sigh escaping her as the ghost of Clariv's fall lingers behind her eyes. The Rebellion's momentum has ground to a halt; the Empire's fist closes around the galaxy. Drifting into a shallow sleep haunted by echoes of a peacetime she can barely recall, she's ripped back by the sharp hiss of the door. Groggy and disoriented, she blinks against the intrusion of light, dragging a hand across her face before her tired gaze finds the figure in the doorway.