RUNNING INTO AN empty warehouse with blades bared for an absent battle has become too common an occurrence for Anakin’s taste. There’s no sign of the stolen shipments, nor of the Separatist garrison behind the attack. ❝ This is what happens when we go to Hondo for advice. Remember that time he drugged && locked us in a cell with Dooku? ❞ The room reeks of a black canal, of steel racketing steel beneath a rusting hover train’s tracks. The high vaulted ceiling of the structure sags precariously in one corner, exhaling dust fumes in the soft wind trails outside. But beneath that there’s something else, an alien edge to the cold air, a faint, pervasive hint of burning, of open fuels.
❝ Master, I think— No! ❞
The Force explodes in a warning around Anakin’s temples, && he barely has time to aim an instinctual Force-push in Obi-Wan’s direction before the building erupts into an explosion.
