Jedi Fugitive (The Bad Batch)

13

Crosshair glared after the retreating Marauder with his good eye, the other hidden under heavy bandages. He shouldn't have missed Hunter. Something had knocked his shoulder, and all of his squad had insisted no one was standing near him. He shifted against the side of the rusted ship with a scowl, stilling as the thought occurred to him.

The Mandalorian's hand had moved the same moment his shot had been thrown off.

It had been slight, a mere flick of the fingers. Any normal person wouldn't have been able to see it. But not Crosshair. His enhanced sight had caught the small twitch in her hand the instant his shot had gone wild. Like there had been some kind of force she was using in the great distance between them to jerk his shoulder.

It could have been a coincidence. A nervous twitch perhaps. They had been trapped in some serious circumstances. But Crosshair didn't think so. There was too much purpose in her movement. He had caught it all. He had been engineered with extra sharp sight for a reason.

The Mandalorian girl was a Jedi.

The next thing to do would be to report it in. There would be someone else to handle something like that, possibly even the Emperor himself. But something held him back from actually considering it. If he was wrong, the Empire would punish him severely for it. And while he was certain he was right, all he had to go off was the twitch of a hand.

Crosshair scowled again, letting the trooper treating him return to examining his injuries. He would find out if he was right. And it would be soon.

"Mobilise a ship after Clone Force 99," he ordered the nearest trooper, his voice distorted by the oxygen mask. "I want the Mandalorian brought back alive."