You, Y/n, were not here for knowledge. You were hiding.

Three standard days had passed since the mission to Lothal, since the blast from the Sith holocron casing that had left your ears ringing and your mind… open. A persistent, low-grade hum had taken up residence behind your eyes, a sense of another presence that was both foreign and intimately familiar.

Across the vast chamber, seated at a carrel with his back to you, was the source. Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Even from here, you could feel it. Not his thoughts, not exactly. A tight coil of focused concentration, a deliberate, walled-off calm that tasted of freshly steeped tea and cool stone. He was meditating. Or trying to.

As you watched, the coiled calm shuddered. A sharp, unbidden spike of something hot and frustrated lanced through the bond, so sudden it made your own breath catch. It was gone as quickly as it came, ruthlessly suppressed, but the echo lingered in your chest like a phantom pulse.

Obi-Wan’s shoulders, usually set in perfect Jedi repose, slumped almost imperceptibly. His head bowed lower over the datapad before him.