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Ran leads Din and Zoya deeper into the station. Crackling sparks and the sound of sharpening metal fill the air, and the scent of smoke lies in a thick haze. As they walk, Zoya pulls her hair up into a ponytail to keep it off her neck, the grown-out strands of her bangs falling free to frame her face. She messes with them in annoyance, and Din glances at her questioningly.
"I need to get these cut again or just shave them off," she says in reply. "They won't stop getting in my face."
"I have scissors in the ship," he tells her.
Zoya raises a brow. "Is that you offering to cut my hair for me?"
Din shrugs, feeling self-conscious. "If you want me to."
Her lips tug up into a half smile, and she looks down at her boots as they continue to follow Ran, trying to quell the nonsensical happiness that swells in her chest.
Get a grip, Vitaan.
"I'm not sure if I'd let you around my face with a pair of scissors," she says, trying to recapture her wit, frustrated that it keeps slipping out of her hands.
Beneath the helmet, Din rolls his eyes. Before he can shoot off a tactful reply, Ran calls out to a man standing with his back to them. He's silhouetted by showers of sparks, light gleaming off his bare head. "Hey, Mayfeld."
"Yeah?" he replies immediately, turning to face them.
Ran gestures to Din as the man approaches. "This is Mando, the guy I was telling you about. We used to do jobs, way back when."
Zoya's eyes scan over the harness strapped across the man's chest. It's outfitted with two blaster holsters, both of which are filled. His eyes are pulled into calculating slits as he examines Din from head to toe, and there's a ginger scruff on his lower face, nearly the same color as his skin. As he steps forward, his brows pull together.
"This is the guy?" he asks.
"Yeah," Ran says. "We were all young, trying to make a name for ourselves. Yeah, but running with a Mandalorian, that was . . . that brought us some reputation." He laughs as he reminisces, but it's clear Din doesn't look upon their memories together with the same sentiment, as he remains silent.
"Oh yeah?" Mayfeld says. "What did he get out of it?"
They're talking about him like he's not here. Zoya scowls, folding her arms across her chest as she steps up beside Din, feeling a hot, irrational surge of annoyance rise uncomfortably underneath her ribs.
