Grievous’ P.O.V.

“What are you doing?”

Grievous became motionless, as though that would save him from Rain’s heated gaze. Evidently, his unspoken insistence on relentlessly shadowing her since the events on Myrkr was not well-received. Of course, he hadn’t expected it to be. But he was just so afraid that if he let her out of his sight for any extended period of time that something terrible would happen.

I should’ve acted faster in that moment.

He remembered seeing Rain hit the ground and go limper than a ragdoll.

And he remembered her screams.

Those awful screams.

They’d taken him right back to that fateful day so many years ago.

The day that led me to becoming Grievous.

And all those cybernetic enhancements of his couldn’t stop him from freezing up in the moment that Rain needed him.

If I had delayed seconds longer, she would have been dead…like…like—

It took all his willpower to quell the thought.

“I’m fine,” Rain insisted when the General’s failed to respond, “And I certainly don’t require your incessant hovering. I need to plan our next mission to Myrkr.”

“Next?” Grievous echoed.

He was loath to admit it, but Rain’s performance on Myrkr had been nothing other than shortsighted and sloppy. It had started out well enough, and Grievous had dared to believe that perhaps Rain had been restored to her old self. But her decision to return to the planet now only served to cement it in the General’s mind that she was off her game.

It was early on in their campaign that Rain herself had established the rule that they would never return to a planet where they had previously carried out a mission. That way, they could keep the Empire on their toes so to speak and make it impossible for the enemy to establish any sort of pattern for their elite. And it had worked brilliantly.

But now Rain wanted to break that record of success. It was purely asinine.

She is hyperfocused on Thrawn. Or perhaps it’s…something else.

“Should we not lay low instead? We have taken too many unnecessary risks.”

“We need to deal with Thrawn now,” Rain hissed, “If he discovers what it was that made me…” She turned away quickly. “If he weaponizes it…” A tremor ran through her. She shook her head as though expecting that to dissipate her obvious fear. “We’re not waiting,” she insisted, her voice hard and unyielding.

Now it was Grievous’ turn to wish he could displace his unease with a simple wag of his head.

“I must counsel otherwise,” he pressed, “I believe your effectiveness is…waning.”

“Waning?” Rain’s voice was hardly a whisper as she turned to cast a sidelong look at Grievous, her eyes burning with an ominous light.

The General persisted. He’d already pissed her off so what did he have to lose?

“With Mira’s absence—”

“THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MIRA!” Rain screamed, facing him head on, eyes blazing, chest heaving as though she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.

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Grievous said nothing. The silence stretched on.

And then Rain’s private comm started beeping. Rain didn’t seem to notice at all. She stayed where she was, never breaking eye contact.

“Perhaps you should answer?” Grievous said at last.

Rain’s focus flitted toward the compartment where her communicator waited. Finally, she moved for it, but not before snapping wrothly at Grievous to get out.

He did.

Rain’s P.O.V.

Rain yanked open the compartment, barely resisting the urge to smash her comm.

It has NOTHING to do with Mira, her mind echoed, Nothing. It’s got nothing to do with her…

She activated the comm and answered brusquely, “Hello?”

“Rain, I’m glad you answered.”

Rain took a calming breath.

“Phoebe.”

“I don’t know how else to say this, but…Thalia’s adoptive parents contacted me today. They want me to come visit them. I think they actually believe they’re doing me a favor,” the Twi’lek added wearily.

“Their mistake,” Rain chuckled, “So…you’re not going then?”

“Do you not want me to?” Phoebe asked quietly.

Rain said nothing.

Phoebe continued, “I was planning on going. I wanted to check with you first. I know you don’t want her to know about you, but…she may already. As I mentioned last time, the topic was not breached. I have no clue as to whether or not Thalia’s aware of the fact that she’s adopted.”

Rain drew a shuddering breath, leaning against the control board for support.

Does she really know about me? Does she know her mother gave her up? Does she…resent me for it?

Eleven years. That’s how old Thalia would be now.

That’s how long it had been since Rain had seen her daughter.

“Rain?”

“You should go,” Rain said, lowering herself to the floor and pulling her legs up under her chin, “If you want. Just…do some probing. See how much Thalia really knows. And tell her…tell her—”

Rain choked on the words.

Tell her that she’s loved. That she’s safe exactly where she is…safer than she ever would’ve been with me.

An image of that broken-down cradle tumbling down the stairs sprang into Rain’s mind.

I was so angry. I didn’t mean it! She just wouldn’t stop crying. And I was so tired…

Rain’s eyes burned with unshed tears.

“Never mind,” she said quickly, “Thank you, Phoebe. Let me know how things go.”

She terminated the call just as the tears began to fall. She buried her face in her hands, wishing to hide away from the galaxy.

Who am I fooling? I’m no better a leader than I was a mother.

The General’s words resounded in her head, “Your effectiveness is waning.”

Rain thought of all the times Bane had insisted that her “little crusade” as he’d once so mockingly put it was an exercise in futility that would very well result in the deaths of everyone she cared about.

Then perhaps it’s better that Mira left.

Rain recalled her vicious anger toward Grievous only a few moments earlier.

She pictured Trish’s back as she walked away, never to return.

“See how long she puts up with you,” Bane had said.

And three years later, Rain had showed up at his door, broken and grieving.

Maybe I deserve to be alone…to die alone.

She pushed herself to her feet, feeling slightly unsteady. Numbly, she felt around for the open compartment and dropped her comm inside before closing it up. She swiped a sleeve across her face, soaking up tears, before moving toward the closed cockpit door.

I should apologize to Grievous. He’s concerned about me. He didn’t deserve to be yelled at.

She opened the door, coming face to face with the subject of her thoughts. He regarded her silently, seemingly reluctant to speak.

“General,” she said.

She paused, hesitating, her eyes avoiding those looking back at her.

“I’ve…decided to postpone our new mission. A few extra days may benefit us after all. This operation will require very careful planning, so it’s best we take our time with it.” She met the General’s gaze briefly. “Understood?”

He inclined his head in response.

“Good.”

Rain retreated a step, readying to close the door and let solitude claim her once more.

“Are you well?” Grievous asked suddenly.

Rain went still. Time seemed to slow, like she was somehow phasing out of reality.

She wished it was so.

“No,” she said, finally meeting the General’s gaze unwaveringly, “Thrawn is still out there, and he’s a threat. So I won’t be well until he’s dead. Him and his beloved Empire.”

And with that, she closed the door, shutting Grievous out.