Korr Lo crouched beside the body of a dead man, studying it with interest. Judging by the state of decay, he had been dead for weeks, though the arid climate of the desert had preserved his remains well. He wore the traditional garb of a Mandalorian but lacked the signature helmet, weapons, and most of his armor – likely the work of scavengers. A conspicuous hole in his forehead indicated the likely cause of death, a blaster round fired at close range. Obviously, the man hadn't been wearing Beskar.

If he was indeed a Mandalorian, it was odd that his tribe had left him to rot in the desert instead of giving him a proper burial, as was their custom.

Korr stood up, sheathing the twin blades she had been holding, and gazed out at the empty expanse of desert before her. The looming mass of her starfighter sat at the periphery of her vision but other than the body of the Mandalorian and her ship, the surroundings were vast and empty, devoid of any distinguishing features. Above her, the night sky was moonless, punctuated by the light of a million stars.

Nevarro.

While Korr and her twin brother had been growing up in the relative comfort of their home planet, Coruscant, they had imagined a million different futures for themselves, had dreamed of countless adventures together among the stars and planets that she now gazed upon. Not a single one of those fantasies had included dying on a backwoods skug hole of a planet, alone and so far from home.

Korr turned and started walking in the direction of the nearby settlement. With any luck, she'd find the man she was seeking at one of the taverns there.

When she reached the town, she realized that there was only one cantina. That made her job easier. It was crowded despite the late hour, but she wasn't surprised. Because of the Guild's presence on-planet, bounty hunters made up a significant proportion of the local population; and bounty hunters kept strange hours.

Korr stood in the doorway of the cantina and scanned her surroundings. Live music issued from one corner of the tavern, only slightly louder than the animated conversations of its rowdy patrons. After a moment she spotted a man dining alone in a shadowy booth at the back of the cantina. He sat with his arms casually stretched out along the back of the booth, surveying the scene before him with an air of easy belonging, and he fit the description of the man she was looking for.

Korr headed for him. He watched her approach with an expression of mild interest.

"Greef Karga?"

He inclined his head.

"May I sit?"

He gestured to the bench and Korr sat down, aware of the gaze of several nearby patrons. An unfamiliar face meeting with the leader of the Bounty Hunters' Guild was sure to attract attention.

Greef Karga studied her. "Are you looking for work?"

"No. I'm looking for the Mandalorian."

"I know several. I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

"I'm looking for the one that killed a bunch of bounty hunters here a few months ago."

Greef's expression changed almost imperceptibly; a narrowing of the eyes. "I see. And you think I know where he is?"

"He works for you."

"It's true that he used to be a member of the Guild. But ever since his fiery resignation a few months ago, I have no idea what he's been doing to entertain himself these days – nor do I care." Greef took a sip of his ale. "What business do you have with him?"

"I want to talk to him."

"Well, I'm afraid that won't be possible here."

Korr had a brief moment of panic, supposing that the dead Mandalorian in the desert was the one she sought. She asked, "Why not?"

"He's not on Nevarro. He left the planet weeks ago after a confrontation with the Imperial remnant here."

Korr wasn't surprised to hear that there were Imps on the planet. It made sense that even now, the Empire had managed to maintain a presence on Nevarro. Despite its position along the remote Outer Rim, Nevarro had been an Imperial stronghold up until the very end of the Galactic Civil War.

She asked, "Do you know where he went?"

"No."

Korr pulled a sack of New Republic credits out of her cloak and tossed it on the table. "Look, if it's money that you want…."

Greef glanced at the credits. "If you're hoping to blend in around here, you should change those to Calamari Flan or druggats."

"Creds still spend."

He looked at her appraisingly, then asked, "May I offer you a bit of advice?" When she didn't respond, he continued, "Money will be the least of your concerns if you continue to seek the Mandalorian. I say that from personal experience. Mando made me more money than any other bounty hunter in my employ, but no amount of wealth makes up for the trail of death and destruction that he leaves in his wake." He leaned forward. "If your business with him is friendly, seeking him will be a waste of time because he works alone. And if your business with him is something else – well, I doubt you'll survive the encounter."

Korr wanted to tell the man, in as patronizing a tone as he had just used, that she had no choice in the matter.

She had felt the moment of her brother's death, thousands of light-years away on Coruscant. It had been a visceral dagger through the heart, a brutal rending, jolting her awake in the middle of the night and robbing her of sleep for weeks. It haunted her still, a phantom pain, forcing her to relive his death over and over.

In the months it had taken for news of his death to make its way to Coruscant, Korr had lived in a bleak world of uncertainty, keeping her horrifying premonition a secret from her family – hoping she was mistaken, knowing that she wasn't. And when her twin's death was callously confirmed by a passing courier ship, she'd watched the news devastate her parents, and grieved him all over again.

She had been in a dark vacuum ever since, and she knew that the only way out was to find the man who had gunned her brother down in cold blood. Even if it meant chasing a trail that she knew had gone cold.

Now she asked, "Are you protecting him?"

Greef scoffed. "Mando? The last time we met, we were trying to kill each other. He would have succeeded, if not for a particularly well-placed piece of Beskar. Believe me, there's no love lost between us."

Korr was silent. After a moment, Greef said, "I've provided you with quite a bit of information – free of charge, I might add – but I don't have the pleasure of your name."

"Korr Lo."

A flash of recognition. He said, "Ah. And Owen Lo…?"

"My brother."

"I see the resemblance. If you're as good with blades as he was, well – I'm always looking for more talent."

Korr took the satchel of credits from the table and stood up, knowing that she would get no useful information from this man. "Thank you for your time."

She turned to leave and Greef called after her, "What happened to your brother, and to a lot of other good hunters that night, was a shame. I mean that, truly. They got caught in the crosshairs of a particularly ugly moment in Guild history. But finding the Mandalorian won't bring you the closure you seek."

"I'm not looking for closure," she said, and walked out of the cantina.

The night was jarringly quiet after the raucous din of the cantina. Korr took a deep breath and started the long walk back to her ship. Frustration rankled her nerves, occupying her thoughts, and so she didn't immediately notice the three Trandoshans that had followed her out of the tavern and were now trailing behind at a comfortable distance.

They were after the money, she supposed. It had been stupid to pull the credits out at the cantina the way she had, but she had been desperate.

It had been a gamble that hadn't paid off, and now she was going to have to deal with the consequences.

She was nearing the edge of the town. There was a dark alleyway to her left and without a second's hesitation, she took a sharp turn and disappeared into it. It was narrow enough that the Trandoshans would have to enter one at a time.

Korr pressed her back against the wall and pulled her blades out as the footsteps drew closer.

"She went in there," she heard one hiss. He rounded the corner and she lunged at him, dragging the blade across his throat in a swift, decisive motion. Something warm splattered against her wrist and he made a gurgling sound as he tried to scream, one hand going to his throat as the other scrabbled at her face. Korr pulled away from him and he collapsed to the ground.

She pressed her hands and feet against the opposing walls of the alley and was six feet off the ground by the time the second Trandoshan entered the narrow lane. She leapt onto his back as he passed beneath her, knocking him to the ground, pushing the dagger in with a savage twist for maximum damage. The third pursuer advanced toward her, pistol in hand. Korr backed up further into the alley, keeping the body of the dying Trandoshan between them.

"You're quick with a knife," the third assailant sneered. "But I doubt you're faster than a blaster."

Korr let the dying Trandoshan fall. In a fluid motion, she flung one of her knives at the third assailant and dropped to the ground. A single shot rang out and she covered her head with her hands, knowing what pitiful protection it would provide against a ricocheting pulse of laser fire.

Miraculously, the pulse fizzled out without hitting her. Korr stood up and walked over to the third Trandoshan, now dead on the ground. Her knife was lodged firmly in his chest – it was off-center from where she had intended, and she made a mental note to practice that with her left arm. She pulled the blade free and wiped it off on his cloak. There was blood on her arm from the first one, and she used his cloak to wipe that off, too.

A shadow crossed in front of the alley, momentarily blocking the light coming off of the main thoroughfare, and Korr looked up in alarm.

It was an old man. He wore a heavy cloak and a large medal around his neck, and he appeared to be alone.

"Impressive," he said, in a thick accent that she couldn't place. "Where did you acquire such a talent with blades?"

Korr ignored his question and answered with one of her own. "Who are you?"

"I overheard your conversation with Greef Karga tonight. I believe that you and my employer may have overlapping interests."

"And what's that?"

"It would be best for you to discuss with him directly. I will take you to him."

"Thanks, but I'll pass," Korr said. She'd had her fill of unplanned encounters tonight.

"You want the Mandalorian," the man replied, and she looked at him. "So does my employer. And I believe that we may be able to reach an agreement that would benefit us both greatly."