They still didn't leave, couldn't leave. They observed the officer as he informed the others, and soon the imperial soldiers were moving through the crowd. But instead of evacuating the people like they should normally do, they were inspecting the crowd, searching through the sea of faces.

The officer Jomaira influenced was arguing with another two officers, wildly gesturing to the crowd before he was escorted away, yelling and kicking, Jomaira's influence still in effect.

“What should we do?” Jomaira asked.

Yahya was appalled by their blatant disregard for people's lives. Weren't they supposed to ensure people's safety? Weren't imperial soldiers supposed to be paragons of virtue and self sacrifice? The ones who stayed awake at night, vigilant for their protection? It was clear they didn't care so much about the people as they did finding whomever they were looking for.

At this rate, something horrible was going to happen.

Yahya silently cursed their incompetence and blatant disregard of the law.

“Do you know where they were planted?” Yahya asked.

“No.”

“When they will go off?”

“No.”

Jomaira's glistening eyes darted away, her teeth gnawing at her lower lip. She must be feeling guilty that she couldn't get enough information from the terrorist. But there wasn't much she would be able to do anyway. She did more than enough. Without her, no one would have known a disaster was waiting to happen.

Yahya squeezed her hand in comfort. She glanced at him and he smiled at her. “It's going to be okay.” He said again, but deep down he didn't know who he was trying to reassure. He looked at the sea of people who leisurely walked around, ignorant of the dangers surrounding them.

They had little to one hour before they had to get to the shuttle if they wanted to get to Marrakech. They had to leave. They already did what was required of them. Two teenagers could hardly stop a terrorist attack from happening.

A family of three passed by them. The little boy slamming into another passerby in his rush to drag his father to see the dancing lights in the square. The mother gently reproached her child and smiled apologetically at the man. At his mother's disapproving look, the child sheepishly apologized before dragging his chuckling parents away.

Yahya swallowed. They had to do something. There must be something they can do.

He glanced back at Jomaira whose eyes were tracking the joyful family, face drawn and taut.

Yeah, he sighed. They can't just leave these people to their miserable end.

“Can you use your powers again?”

Jomaira nodded.

“Then we have to find him,” he said, eyes scanning the crowd. “Do you know what he looked like?” At Jomaira's negative head shake, he asked, “Any hint?”

She paused, searching through her memories. She couldn't see people's features from reading their minds unless they, themselves, looked at a mirror. But sometimes, there were some hints, like gender, race or skin color. It wasn't much, but at this point, anything would do.

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“He had golden skin.” Her brown knitted thoughtfully. “His right hand didn't look normal. It was cold, always cold. He hid it with a clove.”

Yahya nodded. a male with golden skin and one hand gloved. It was a start.

They navigated through the crowd, searching for a man close to those descriptions. An hour passed, then two. Still, their search proved fruitless. Their shuttle had long left the planet, and with it, their chance to get back to Andor in time. The best they could do now was find the terrorist. The sooner they find him, the sooner they leave.

Jomaira was breathing in short gasps, her eyes wide in something worriedly near hysteria the more time passed. They had to pause for a few moments now and then before she worked herself to a full blown panic attack.

He nudged her shoulder, but she wouldn't look at him, her eyes still scanning the crowd, still looking for the man.

Yahya looked at the crowded square, at the 3D model of the citadel, tall enough that if someone stood atop it, all the people in the square would be able to see him.

He glanced at Jomaira's pale face, and with a renewed resolve, he tugged her toward the center of the square. Beside the small grunt of protest, she followed him.

“What are you doing?” She frowned at him.

He looked up at the model. “There might not be much time left,” he said. “We have to warn them.”

Realization dawned on Jomaira as she followed his line of sight.

“What? Are you crazy?! You're gonna get arrested!”

It was indeed a crime against the empire to vandalize one of its icons. But surely, the empire would prioritize its citizen's lives over the model. And Yahya had more pressing matters to worry about than spending an hour in custody.

Like a bomb, for example.

Ignoring Jomaira's frantic shouts, Yahya climbed.

The sight was spectacular. He could see the unlit decorations littering the side of the streets branching from the square. He could already see how beautiful it would be once the celebrations began.

He looked at the crowd. Some were already staring at him, whispering among themselves. A few were looking around, searching for officers to get the mad teenager down from the top of the citadel model. Jomaira's eyes were glued to him, her hands covering her slightly open mouth.

Yahya took a deep breath. There was no going back now. Without allowing himself to acknowledge the creeping feeling of doubt that was slowly starting to crawl at the back of his mind, he spoke.

“There are bombs in this place,” he yelled at the top of his lungs, to ensure the largest number of people heard him. “Leave to save yourselves and your loved ones!”

At first, silence reigned in the square. People stared at him, dumbfounded. Then, as if released from a spell, the place erupted into chaos. People started screaming and running to get away. Even the merchants abandoned their stalls to run to safety.

He glimpsed the family from earlier. The father was holding his son clutched in his arm and grasping the hand of his wife with the other, fleeing, face awash with terror.

He kept on repeating the sentence until he spotted a group of soldiers heading his way, face twisted in rage. He quickly got down, grabbed Jomaira's hand and sprinted away, using the mayhem to escape their clutches.

They navigated through the panicking crowd, the imperial soldiers hot on their heels. They didn't know where they were going. They just kept running. The transport shuttle had already left the surface hours ago, and they didn't know when the next one would be. Their best bet would be to stay hidden until all calmed down.

The worst was Yahya didn't know how long it would take, hours, days, weeks. That was if the soldiers did their job and found the bombs planted. Else, the whole planet would be in lockdown.

Yahya cursed. A distance ahead of them, a group of officers were threading through the crowd, searching. Yahya didn't know whether they were searching for the terrorist, or they were looking for them. But before he could think of a course of action, a hand darted around from an alleyway and grabbed him. The next second, he was slammed on the wall, hard, a tall figure obscuring his view. Jomaira landed next to him with a thud, his hand that was still holding hers scrapped against the wall.

Yahya struggled to get away but in vain. He looked up and felt the breath knocked out from him when his eyes locked into yellow ones surrounded with black sclera. He stopped, and willed his chest to take a deep breath and assess the man. The hand that was digging into his shoulder was gloved and hard, as if underneath wasn't skin and flesh, but something harder. His skin was golden with thin black threads extending a few inches around his eyes. He was an Aly'rian. The Aly'rian they had spent hours looking for.

It seemed they weren't the only ones searching.