The dark, twisting streets of some unfamiliar outer rim planet flashed by. They were too thin for speeders, the walls smooth brown stone with glassless windows. Coloured cloth hung down, blocking the alley. They were ripped down in disrespect by the trio who moved silently through the city; left crumpled on the sandy ground.

Two were zygerrians men, the third a human woman with a gaunt face, her greying hair mostly hidden under a ragged shawl. The zygerrians were in the prime of their youth, dressed more like smugglers than the slavers of their home world; but beside the blasters on their hips they both carried electro-whips. The woman carried a blaster as well, concealed within the folds of her tunic. Her hand hovered near it, trembling.

"This is it," she said, stopping in front of a building whose door was obscured by a curtain of bead.

"It better be," grunted one of the zygerrians. He was the taller of the two, with longer horns which grew towards each other, as if they were going to come to a point. "If not, don't forget we know where your family lives. Your pathetic whelps are nothing compared to a Jedi, but we don't intend to return empty handed."

The woman swallowed, then stepped into the building, holding open the beads for her two companions. "I'm sure."

They were in the darkened entrance area of a hostel. The only piece of furniture was a reception desk with a small, reptilian creature of some sort asleep behind it. Its head rested on the stone, a pool of drool forming beside it.

"Fine then," said the shorter zygerrian, "take your credits and get out of our sight."

He reached into an inner pocket of his pilot's jacket, and the woman held out her hands expectantly. Instead of handing her the trio of shiny rectangles, he instead hurled them to the ground, spitting where they landed. As the woman struggled to collect them they both laughed softly, even them subconsciously afraid to break the silence of late night. All the same they woke the creature behind the desk, who sat bolt upright, bulging eyes flitting around in alarm.

The larger zygerrian removed his pistol, pressing a single thin finger to his mouth. The receptionist sat frozen.

"You know who we're here for," said the smaller, in a whisper.

The creature looked around frantically, trying to think of some way to help the girl. She'd revealed herself for his sake after all, protecting the hostel from a drunken hoard of pirates the previous day. It had been foolish to hope news of a lightsaber user wouldn't have spread.

"Uh-uh-uh," scolded the zygerrian. "Try to warn her and my friend here will shoot you where you stand. We need her sleeping, though we want nothing else from you. Tell us what floor and we leave you, this fine establishment, and the rest of your guests unharmed."

The creatures let out a squeak which the zygerrians did not understand. At their confused expressions it held up three stubby fingers, burying its head in its hands as the pair moved further into the building.

The human woman, who still sat crouched in the entranceway pushed her credits into a pocket as she got to her feet.

"I hope she spears them through the head," she hissed, mostly to herself, but partially for the benefit of the receptionist who glared at her accusingly.

All four floors of the hostel were laid out in a similar manner. One large, low ceilinged room, cordoned off sporadically by curtains of different coloured cloth. Guests slept on bunks, which came in stacks of three, or in hammocks suspended from the ceiling. The air smelled slightly of incense, and the air was filled with the different breathing patterns of a plethora of sleeping species.

They found who they were looking for on a bottom bunk. She looked very small as she slept, just a child curled in on herself, but even the zygerrians were not so stupid as to think she wasn't dangerous. She was covered almost completely by a brown robe which was wearing thin in some places. Her identity as a togruta was discernible only from the tip of a montral, curling out from below her hood.

They stood for a moment before her, afraid—an emotion which was uncommon for them. They locked eyes. In the hand of the larger was a mechanical syringe. They moved at the same time. His partner pinned her shoulders at the same moment he held the cylinder against her neck. Her eyes flew open; confused and strikingly blue.

It took half a second for Ahsoka Tano to send the two assailants flying across the room. One smashed through the adjacent bunk, the other getting tangled in a group of hammocks. Ahsoka's force push had been made powerful by her panic. Fear—though a path to the dark side—was an unavoidable emotion for a padawan surviving all alone in the galaxy.

A choruses of yells and panicked voices had erupted, as Ahsoka attempted to get to her feet, but her knees buckled and she found herself on all fours. The room was spinning, the voices of frightened guests became the howls of beasts. Ahsoka's back was against the bed, her knees tucked up to her chest. She saw the shadowy form of the zygerrian as he picked his way out of the splintered remains of the bunk bed, whip in hand.

Hands trembling violently, she managed to get a hold of one of her lightsabers. She always slept with them now, just in case. It was the yellow one, and its blade seemed to waver in front of her as she activated it, distorting and swirling like the rest of the room. She could not stand but yet she held her lightsaber in front of her like a shield. However a few moments later even the desperation, which had been the last thread attaching her to consciousness, drained away and her body fell limp. Her hand, which had fallen to her side, still held the lightsaber.

"No!"

The word was screamed halfway across the galaxy, in the dark bedroom of a Coruscant apartment. Anakin Skywalker sat bolt upright, body sticky with sweat. The expensive silk sheets had been kicked off in his sleep. Still not fully awake, his mind kept replaying what he'd seen. Ahsoka had been alone, abandoned… He remembered the leering feline faces of the zygerrians and his anger only intensified. The slaver scum had taken her. He did not wish to think about for what.

"Anakin?" There was a soft hand on his shoulder.

His first reaction to stiffen and jerk away, his mind still swirling with rage and worry.

Padme let out a small, fearful gasp, and withdrew as if she was afraid he'd strike out at her. This guilt joined that which he felt over Ahsoka's predicament where it sat heavy on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, not even looking up at her.

Sensing something was wrong, Padme approached cautiously, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"A nightmare?" she asked, almost hopeful.

She'd seen the visions tear him apart before, and she was afraid, both for him and herself. His whole life had been war for too long, it had become war too young. The way he looked now, hair falling into his eyes, hands quivering slightly; it broke her heart. When she spoke to the senate she told them she did it to save the galaxy, but sometimes she thought that it would be enough just to save him.

"No, it's happening, I know it."

Anakin felt dizzy, and the city lights through Padme's half closed blinds blurred and ran, as if it was he who had been drugged and not Ahsoka, who knew how far away.

"Breathe…" She rubbed his back.

His breath had been coming in shallow gasps, like sobs without the tears. Suddenly he curled in, burying his head against her chest. It was almost childlike, though he was must bigger than her now. She held him, and after a few moments he told her.

"It's Ahsoka. She's in trouble, Padme. She's in big trouble, and she's all alone."

Padme felt it now, the fear and the guilt. She'd never told him, but Ahsoka being Anakin's padawan had made her feel strangely responsible for her as well. Her departure had broken her heart as well, though she'd had to bury her own grief to help Anakin with his.

"No…" she breathed, a quiet echo of Anakin's first scream.

She pressed her face into his hair, and they sat there together in the dark, silent but thinking identical thoughts. Ahsoka was not alone, not as long as they lived.