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deliciousangelfestival · 1 day ago

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The Director's Obsession - Phase 4

Character: Director Orson Krennic x F!ISB Agent

Summary: Director Orson Krennic keeps one ISB agent under his thumb, pulling her from lunches, stealing her sleep, and destroying three dates. The project demands everything. Or maybe his obsession demands more.

Word Count: 6.926

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Phase 1 , Phase 2 , Phase 3 , Phase 4 , -

Phase 4 : Death Star

The private dining lounge was perched high above the city, wrapped in towering glass that offered a breathtaking view of Coruscant’s endless skyline. The lights below shimmered like stars trapped beneath their feet. It was the kind of place neither of you would have ever dared dream of when you were young.

Mia entered first, and to your surprise, two small shadows trailed closely behind her. Before you could speak, they rushed forward, their tiny shoes tapping excitedly on the polished floor.

"Auntie!" they both squealed in unison, their arms flung wide.

Their immediate joy washed over you like warmth you didn’t know you needed. You knelt instinctively, catching both girls as they wrapped themselves around your arms and waist.

"You didn’t tell me you were bringing them," you said softly as you looked up at Mia, blinking through the sudden warmth stinging your eyes.

Mia’s smile was soft, but full of quiet intent. "When I heard your voice earlier... You sounded like you were slipping. Like you wanted to give up. So, surprise."

You exhaled, your chest tight. "You always know when to show up."

The four of you settled into the plush booth by the window. The atmosphere was elegant but intimate, a place for Coruscant’s powerful and polished. The vast city stretched endlessly beyond the glass, the speeders slicing through the glowing traffic lanes below like silver darts.

Mia leaned back, gazing out at the view, her tone laced with amazement. "Who would’ve thought? If someone told me decades ago that one day we’d sit here, I’d say they were insane."

You smiled faintly, but your attention was stolen by her daughters, who had finished eating and were now spreading their coloring books across the table. You quietly reached to help them steady their pages, smiling as you guided the youngest's hand along the edge of her drawing.

After a pause, the question that had been pressing on you for days finally escaped.

"Do you think I’m selfish for joining the Empire?"

Mia’s gaze shifted to her daughters, her eyes softening. She spoke with quiet certainty. "If you're selfish for wanting to survive, then so am I."

She gestured subtly toward the large windows. Outside, down below, stormtroopers stood guard, their pristine white armor gleaming under the city lights.

"Look at them," Mia continued softly. "We don’t even have to protect ourselves anymore. They’re the first shield. If something happens, they’ll take the blaster first. That wasn’t our childhood. Back then, we were our own shield."

She ran her fingers through her eldest daughter’s hair as her voice lowered. "We grew up hiding under old transports, trading whatever scraps we could find, always hoping today wouldn’t be the day someone turned us in." Her voice trembled but never broke. "Being part of the good side didn’t protect us. The Rebellion... the Resistance... they were supposed to stand for something better. But what did they give us? Hiding. Starving. Running. Watching leaders argue while the rest of us suffered for decisions they made in safety."

You swallowed, your chest tightening at the memories that resurfaced. The cold nights. The stolen rations. The endless running.

Mia's voice grew bitter. "And what finally killed our parents wasn’t blaster fire from the Empire. It was a betrayal. The same commanders we trusted made choices that sacrificed entire camps for their escape. They left us behind to cover their retreat."

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting her words hit like old wounds reopening.

She continued, her voice steadier now. "That’s why I chose this life. That’s why I married into the Senate. I wanted stability. And now, because of your work, I feel safer than I ever have." She looked directly at you. "You helped the Empire become something more stable. And for that, I’m proud of you."

Mia smiled and gestured toward her eldest daughter, who was busy sketching in her coloring book, carefully copying a sleek version of your ISB uniform.

"Look at your niece," Mia said warmly, both of you are not related by blood, but the sisterhood is strong. For her, you’re the closest person she could see as family. "She’s proud to have an aunt who works for the ISB. Look at her hair — she even asked me to braid it like yours."

The little girl glanced up, cheeks flushing as she realized you were watching. You smiled, heart swelling with a strange mixture of pride and sadness, and gently patted her head.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Mia’s eyes softened as she looked at both girls. Her hand rested gently on her youngest’s shoulder.

"This kid's grandfather — my father-in-law — he’s greedy, arrogant, obsessed with power," she admitted, her voice low. "But even so, he cares about his family. He makes sure there’s always food, credit, and comfort. He ensures his grandchildren get the best education Coruscant can offer. He may chase power, but at least he knows how to protect his own."

You sat back, holding the drawing in your hands as the lights of Coruscant reflected in the glass around you. Her words lingered, pressing deep into places you hadn’t let yourself think about for years.

Mia exhaled one last time, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with conviction. "We made a promise when we were young. We said we’d never let our children grow up like we did. Starving under trees. Hiding in caves. Waiting for leaders who made speeches while leaving people to die. Even if the Empire isn’t perfect, at least it’s organized. At least someone pays for failure. The chaos we came from? That was far worse."

The city lights continued to blink silently beneath you as the quiet between you filled with shared, unspoken truths neither of you could deny.

"You’re good with words," you said softly, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Mia winked playfully. "Well, I learned from the best."

The rest of the evening unfolded gently, without tension, without weight. For the first time in weeks, the heaviness in your chest felt lighter. You walked side by side with Mia, guiding her daughters toward the waiting speeder at the curb. The city’s glow reflected off the polished surface of the vehicle as you helped the girls climb in, fastening their restraints carefully while they chattered, still excited from the night’s dinner.

Mia turned toward you, her voice warm. "I could drop you off."

You shook your head, exhaling softly. "I want to clear my head. The walk will help."

"Alright," she whispered, leaning in to hug you tightly. "Just… take care of yourself, okay?"

You returned the embrace before stepping back, watching the speeder lift off and disappear into the endless lines of traffic above.

Left alone beneath the towering skyline, you began walking, the hum of speeders above fading into a low, distant hum. The cool Coruscant breeze brushed across your face, threading through your hair. For the first time in days, you allowed yourself to breathe. No datapads. No reports. No ISB eyes are watching from across sterile halls.

Your boots clicked softly against the walkway, and for a brief moment, you let yourself remember why you came here in the first place.

You had once stood at the edge of survival, watching leaders speak of hope while your stomach ached from hunger. The Rebellion had promised freedom but delivered starvation, fear, and betrayal. The Empire was flawed, yes—but at least here, you had risen. You had power. You had stability. You weren’t sleeping beneath collapsed transports or begging smugglers for ration scraps. You had control over your life in ways you never thought possible.

For years, that was enough.

But now?

Your steps slowed. The distant hum of traffic suddenly felt… too distant.

You glanced behind you.

A man. Walking too close. Too steady. Not one of the civilians was hurrying home for the night. No hesitation in his pace. His face was down, but his attention was locked on you.

You quickened your steps. Slipping between crowds, crossing lanes, and ducking beneath pedestrian overpasses. Every turn you made, he followed. His distance remained constant. Close enough to see. Far enough not to confront.

Your pulse quickened, your breathing shallower. You turned sharply into one of the narrow service alleys running beneath the platforms, slipping between tall stacks of cargo crates. The hum of speeders was muffled now. The shadows wrapped around you.

Footsteps echoed behind.

He was still coming.

You didn’t wait any longer. Pivoting sharply, you darted down a smaller path, weaving between steel columns, pushing past maintenance droids and service lifts. The noise behind you faltered. You ducked under a scaffold, pressed yourself into a dark recess, and held your breath.

The footsteps slowed. Hesitated. Then faded.

Gone.

You waited several minutes, your heart hammering against your ribs. Only after you were certain the man was gone did you finally slip out of hiding, your pulse still racing, the cold sweat clinging to your back.

Whoever he was, he hadn’t been random.

You straightened your coat, forced your breathing to calm, and continued your way back home with sharp, alert eyes.

Tomorrow, you will report this.

Whoever was watching you tonight… wasn’t done yet.

******

The following morning, you walked with purpose into Partagaz’s office. His sharp eyes glanced up as you entered, already sensing the weight you carried.

"You have something to report?" he asked calmly, setting down his datapad.

You inhaled, keeping your voice steady. "Last night, I was followed."

Partagaz’s brow lifted slightly, his face unreadable. "Followed?"

"At first I thought it might be random," you said. "But it wasn’t. Someone was tracking me deliberately. I evaded them, but it wasn’t an accident."

He leaned back, fingers steepling beneath his chin. "I’ll assign additional security. You’ll have an escort until we locate the source."

"Thank you, Major."

A thin smile crept across his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "So. They’ve heard it completely, and now they’re panicked."

Your brows furrowed. "What?"

Partagaz exhaled softly, as if reminding himself to choose his words carefully. "Oh, it’s nothing." He waved his hand lightly. "Director Krennic’s larger project… it has reached completion ahead of schedule."

Your breath caught for a moment. The realization sank deep, twisting something inside your chest. So that’s why Krennic hadn’t appeared these past days. The secret project. The one no one spoke of openly. The one you were never allowed to ask about, even as your propaganda had helped secure resources for it. Even now, you didn’t truly understand what you had helped him build.

Partagaz noticed your silence and studied you for a beat longer. "I assume Director Krennic hasn’t personally informed you." His tone was neutral, but not without a hint of quiet observation. "Regardless, congratulations, Agent. Your contribution will not go unrecognized."

"Thank you, Major," you replied quietly as you stepped out, the door hissing shut behind you.

He nodded once and returned to his datapad. As you turned to leave, his voice dropped into a low murmur, meant only for himself. "Good thing she told me. If not, he would have my head."

*******

The days passed. You resumed your assignments as usual, filing reports, attending briefings, reviewing propaganda drafts. But the absence remained. No visits. No sharp remarks. No sudden orders from Krennic sweeping into the office with his cape billowing behind him.

The silence was unsettling.

Had he grown bored? Or perhaps he no longer needed you. With his project completed, maybe you had served your purpose. That thought sat heavier on your chest than you cared to admit.

Several days later, you made your way home as the evening descended. Heavy rain fell across the city, droplets pelting against your coat as you walked beneath the towering skyline. The distant hum of traffic blended with the soft slap of your boots against the slick durasteel walkway.

But even beneath the rain, you felt it again.

The sensation crept along your spine. That same shadow pressing behind you, silent but unmistakable.

You quickened your pace.

Behind you, faint footsteps quickened as well.

Your breath came faster as you slipped between market stalls and pedestrian bridges, weaving through the narrow back corridors of the district. The rain made every step slicker, every turn more dangerous. You glanced back.

Three figures emerged from the shadows, closing in.

You ran.

They followed.

Your lungs burned, your pulse roaring in your ears as you pushed through side streets and low alleys, but they stayed on you. There was no escape route this time.

Rough hands grabbed at you from behind, yanking you backward as you struggled. The cold wetness of the rain soaked through your uniform as they forced you into a dead-end corridor. One pinned you roughly against the wall while another blocked your only exit.

"You Empire filth," one of them hissed, his voice venomous. "You think your lies keep you safe? That propaganda you spread? You’re as guilty as the ones pulling the trigger."

You struggled against their grip, but the third man shoved you harder against the wall.

"Rebel scum," you spat, though your voice wavered.

The man snarled. "You chose the wrong side. And tonight, you pay for it."

You clenched your eyes shut, bracing yourself. Three against one. There was no winning this.

But instead of pain, you heard it — a single sharp scream. Then another. A blaster shot cracked through the rain-soaked alley, followed by another. You opened your eyes just in time to see one man drop lifelessly to the ground, then another falling hard beside him.

The third barely had time to react before his chest was hit squarely, his body collapsing against the wet durasteel.

Your breath froze as you turned toward the alley entrance.

There, standing like a shadow in the rain, a Death Trooper held his blaster steady, scanning the bodies with cold precision.

You knew immediately who had sent him.

Only one person.

Only one man ever placed his Death Troopers this close, this quietly.

Even when absent, his reach never truly left you.

******

The report had spread through ISB faster than you expected. You should have known the moment it happened, but still, when Heert and Jung arrived unannounced at your quarters early that morning, you hadn’t fully prepared yourself.

Heert’s eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of you. His gaze swept over the faint bruising along your jawline and the darkening mark beneath your cheekbone. "Are you alright?" he asked, voice low with concern.

Jung, always less subtle, winced openly. "You look dreadful."

You rolled your eyes. "Thank you for the honesty."

Heert shifted awkwardly. "We’re here to bring you in."

"For what?" you asked, irritation prickling under your skin.

He glanced at Jung for a brief second before answering. "Interrogation orders."

The word hit heavier than it should have. "Interrogation? You’re serious?"

"Orders are orders," Jung said, avoiding your gaze.

No further explanation came as they escorted you through the stark white corridors of the ISB Headquarters. They led you deep into the restricted levels, past areas you rarely visited, until you reached one of the isolated basement interrogation rooms.

The door slid open. You stepped inside, and the air shifted instantly.

The room was blindingly white. No corners. No shadows. No furniture beyond the single chair where you now sat. The scent of sterilization clung to every surface — sharp, clean, unnatural. It was as if nothing had ever lived inside these walls.

You sat still, your shoulder aching from the bruises left by last night's assault. The questions circled in your mind with increasing weight. Why bring you here? Why now?

Then you saw it.

Through the glass panel ahead of you, a familiar silhouette emerged.

The white cape flowed behind him with slow, deliberate grace. His gloved hands were folded behind his back, his head tilted ever so slightly as he watched you from the other side. Krennic.

His stare was impossible to read. Cold. Calculating. Yet behind that mask, something else flickered. You couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or something far more dangerous.

The door hissed shut behind him, sealing you both inside the blinding white room.

Krennic advanced slowly, his cape trailing behind him like a shadow that refused to let you breathe. He circled you without speaking, the faint click of his boots against the polished floor marking every beat of your racing pulse.

He stopped directly in front of you, standing close enough that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with rain and sterilized air. His gaze traveled downward, stopping briefly on the darkening bruise along your jaw. His lips twitched into something that was not quite a smile.

"You seem to attract danger far too easily," he murmured. His voice was smooth, almost gentle, but that only made it worse.

You kept your posture firm. "I do not control who chooses to attack me."

He tilted his head slightly, as if amused. "No. But you control what information might make you desirable to certain people."

You met his gaze fully now, refusing to blink under the pressure of his stare. "There is nothing I could give them." Your voice was steady but low. "I do not know what they wanted."

Krennic's eyes narrowed, though his voice remained calm. "You underestimate your value. Your work touches far more than you are allowed to see. You forget how many eyes are watching the ripples you create."

He took a step closer, closing the already narrow space between you. His gloved hand lifted slightly, hovering near your chin for a heartbeat as though he might touch the bruise, but he did not. He simply let the air between you thicken.

"I protect my assets, Agent," he whispered, his tone silk wrapped in steel. "And make no mistake, you are one of my most valuable."

You swallowed hard but refused to look away. His proximity, the weight of his voice, the quiet certainty of his control, it pressed against your chest like gravity.

"I only write words," you said quietly. "The Rebels know that."

"Words," he repeated softly, almost savoring the weight of it. "Words that have reshaped the Empire’s image. You have made entire sectors bend willingly to Imperial order. Citizens trust what they once feared. Systems that might have resisted now offer loyalty before resistance can even form."

He let the silence linger, his gaze cutting straight through you.

"The Rebels see you as a threat. Not because you carry a weapon, but because you have weakened their voice. Their influence fades while ours grows stronger."

His voice dipped lower, more personal.

"And because of you, I secured every resource necessary. Not by force. Not through costly suppression. But freely. Efficiently. Without a single drop of unnecessary blood. You gave me order without the chaos."

"I did not choose to become this important," you whispered.

"No," he said, his voice almost like a caress now. "I chose you."

His words hung between you, heavy and intimate. For a moment, the room did not feel like an interrogation chamber anymore. It felt like something far more dangerous.

You forced yourself to steady. "Thank you," you finally said, breaking the tension just slightly.

"For what?" he asked softly, though he already knew.

"For sending the Death Trooper."

His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "Of course. You are mine to protect."

The weight of his words was deliberate. Possessive. And yet somehow gentler than you expected.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could speak, his voice dropped again into command.

"Stand up."

You blinked, your pulse jumping again. "Where are we going?"

He did not answer. He simply turned and walked toward the door, his voice calm but absolute.

"Follow me."

Your feet moved before your mind could fully process. The ache in your shoulder pulsed with every step, but the ache was nothing compared to the pulse pounding in your chest.

You followed him out of the interrogation chamber, into whatever awaited you next.

*******

You followed him silently across the landing pad toward his shuttle. The Juggernaut. It was only the second time you had ridden inside the vessel, but the sight of it still left you momentarily breathless. Sleek, imposing, and more advanced than anything you'd ever been permitted to board within the ISB. Of course, as Director of the Imperial Department of Advanced Weapons Research, Krennic had access to the finest craft the Empire could construct. Every piece of metal, every inch of polished surface, radiated raw power.

You climbed the ramp behind him, your boots echoing softly against the steel flooring. As you settled into your seat, your voice finally broke the long silence.

"Where are you taking me?"

He barely glanced at you, his tone smooth and almost indulgent. "I am going to show you how effective your words have been in securing my life’s work."

The shuttle engines roared to life as it lifted off the landing platform, breaking through the dense traffic layers of Coruscant and into open space. The stars unfolded around you as the Juggernaut soared higher, faster, leaving the planetary surface behind like it was nothing.

You watched silently as the stars twisted into lines, the ship entering hyperspace. Moments later, the shuttle emerged from light-speed. Before you stretched a view you could never have imagined.

Suspended against the emptiness of space loomed a colossal structure. Its enormous, moon-like sphere dominated the void, its surface covered with docking bays, exposed superstructures, and blinking lights that spread endlessly across its surface.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The shuttle slipped easily into one of its many docking ports. As the ramp lowered, Krennic stepped forward, motioning for you to follow. You descended behind him, eyes scanning the countless Stormtroopers standing in perfect rows along the hangar bay.

"Follow me," Krennic ordered calmly.

You kept close as he led you through the gleaming corridors, passing officers and specialists who straightened their posture the moment he passed. As you followed behind him, you noticed something strange. One by one, many of them nodded slightly toward you, as if acknowledging you personally. You frowned, confused by the unexpected attention.

"Where are we?" you asked finally, your voice quieter now.

"This," Krennic said with deliberate pride, "is called the Death Star."

The words landed with a weight you could not immediately process.

The Death Star.

Your steps slowed, mind spinning as you tried to grasp the enormity of what you were seeing. You had heard whispers in passing over the years, but nothing more than vague rumors. Now you stood inside it.

He led you deeper until you entered a vast observation platform. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the planet of Jedha below. The room was filled with high-ranking officers and officials, all wearing their pristine uniforms and polished rank badges. The air itself seemed heavier under the collective weight of their presence.

As you entered, a cold voice greeted you. "Director Krennic."

You turned toward the speaker and immediately recognized him from briefings and files. Governor Tarkin. His sharp cheekbones and pale eyes were as cutting as his reputation. He stood at the edge of the platform, arms folded behind his back.

"I see you are late," Tarkin continued, his voice cool. "Bringing company, no less."

Krennic’s smile was thin but controlled. "She is the reason this project was completed ahead of schedule." His voice carried with it something strange, almost like pride. "Her contribution was... crucial."

For a moment, you froze. It was the first time you had heard him speak of you that way in public.

Tarkin’s eyes shifted to you, studying you like a specimen. You straightened instinctively and spoke. "Governor," you said with a formal nod.

"At least she possesses better manners than you, Director," Tarkin said without a trace of humor, his gaze returning to Krennic.

You watched the brief flicker of tension between them. It was unmistakable. A subtle battle of egos played out silently between their glances. There was bad blood here, and you could feel it.

"Shall we proceed, Governor?" Krennic said calmly.

"By all means," Tarkin answered.

Krennic turned toward the technicians standing at their stations. The mood shifted instantly as his voice rang out with quiet authority.

"Prepare the weapon."

You followed his gaze to the massive superlaser slowly aligning toward the distant planet of Jedha.

"Target locked," one of the technicians confirmed.

Krennic’s voice was cool, almost casual. "Fire."

The chamber vibrated softly as the giant green laser beam erupted from the weapon’s dish, piercing the darkness like a god’s judgment. The beam struck Jedha’s surface, burrowing deep before erupting into a massive explosion that consumed the horizon. The planet’s crust tore upward into the sky, collapsing into itself as waves of dust and debris billowed into space.

The room fell silent.

Even you could not breathe. You had seen power before, but nothing like this.

"Ooh... it’s beautiful," Krennic whispered, almost reverently. His voice seemed to bring the others back to life. There were collective breaths, but no one dared speak first.

"Dear stars," you whispered under your breath, barely able to process what you had just witnessed.

Tarkin broke the silence next. "I believe I owe you an apology, Director Krennic. Your work exceeds all prior expectations."

"It is impressive, is it not?" Krennic replied, though his eyes first met yours before shifting back to Tarkin.

Tarkin’s expression remained neutral, but his words held weight. "The Emperor himself was briefed on today’s demonstration. He was most pleased."

Krennic allowed himself a faint smile. "His Excellency has authorized a formal celebration to honor those who contributed to the project’s success."

Tarkin gave a nod, his voice cutting as always. "Quite fitting. After all, stability must be recognized as well as enforced."

The tension between them simmered beneath every word. It was clear neither man intended to surrender control easily.

Without another word, Krennic gestured for you to follow him once again. You obeyed, still dazed, your mind struggling to keep pace with what you had just witnessed.

He led you away from the observation deck, the hum of the blast still ringing faintly in your ears. The corridors of the Death Star were pristine, cold, and humming with restrained energy, but you could barely focus. You followed behind him, still trying to process what you had just witnessed.

Then Krennic stopped, turning to face you fully. His voice was calmer now, but thick with the kind of pride that made your pulse catch.

"You saw it." His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you. "But what you do not fully see is how it was made possible."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice, his words deliberate and sharp.

"The Death Star is my creation. The culmination of years spent pushing against incompetence, interference, and delays." His tone darkened for a breath before softening into something far more intimate. "But your work, Agent… your words allowed me to silence all of it."

He let that hang in the air for a moment, watching your reaction.

"Your propaganda campaigns stabilized the sectors that resisted my resource allocations. You gave the governors and the civilians comfort while I took what I needed behind their backs. The materials. The labor. The funds. No questions. No rebellions. No blood spilled."

He gave a small, almost pleased smile.

"While others fought with weapons, you fought with language. Your words became my secret weapon long before this superlaser ever fired."

You felt your stomach tighten, his words hitting heavier than you expected. You had always known your assignments were important. You had never fully understood how close to the center of his war you truly were.

Krennic’s voice lowered even more, like a quiet confession meant only for you.

"And that," he whispered, "is why they will never replace you."

******

The shuttle descended toward Scarif’s glittering coastline, where glass towers cut into the sky and pale blue waves lapped rhythmically against the shore. This was Krennic’s domain, far removed from Coruscant’s politics and shadows. Unlike the polished marble of the ISB, Scarif pulsed with quiet, absolute authority.

You followed him as he disembarked. The moment you stepped into the facility, you could feel the difference. The personnel moved with precision, efficient and almost reverent. Each time you walked behind him, you noticed it again. Officers and technicians nodded toward you as you passed. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

You leaned slightly closer, your voice quiet. "Director, is it just me, or are they nodding at me?"

Krennic did not slow his stride, but the corner of his mouth curled faintly. "They are."

"Why?"

"They acknowledge the one who made this project move forward." His voice was smooth and controlled, as if the statement required no further explanation. "Your work allowed this station to exist."

The statement struck deeper than you expected. He said it so matter-of-fact, like discussing routine supply manifests. But you knew the weight behind it.

As you continued, the two of you stopped before a medical suite. The durasteel doors hissed open, revealing pristine examination rooms within. The faint scent of sterilization lingered, cool and sharp.

Krennic signaled the physician with a small gesture of his hand. "Examine her." His head tilted slightly toward you, eyes briefly meeting yours.

You blinked. "Me?"

"I am treating my assets with appropriate care, Agent."

The physician nodded briskly and gestured for you to sit. The medical scans passed over your shoulder, the familiar whirring sound filling the quiet. A soft blue light pulsed across your skin, reading beneath the surface.

The doctor spoke after a moment. "The soft tissue in her shoulder is strained from impact trauma. She should minimize upper limb activity for a short duration to avoid further damage."

"But she may continue her duties?" Krennic asked, voice as calm as ever.

"Yes, Director. With caution."

"Good. Very good," Krennic said, almost pleased, as if the outcome had been preordained.

When the examination concluded, you rose once again and followed him out of the sterile room into open air.

The beach stretched endlessly before you, waves glittering under the pale twin suns. White sand glistened at the water’s edge while Scarif’s massive shield array shimmered faintly above like a second sky.

Krennic stopped at the edge of the platform and raised his hand, pointing upward.

"See that?" His voice was quieter now, but carried the same weight it always did.

High above the clouds, like a second moon, hung the silhouette of the Death Star. Even from this distance, it radiated silent dominance, its superlaser dish casting a faint shadow against the stars.

You stared up at it, your breath catching. That massive sphere, capable of destroying entire worlds in seconds. You had seen it fire, seen Jedha reduced to ash. And now, here it hovered, its size dwarfing everything beneath it.

Krennic spoke again, his voice distant with memory. "I have spent almost twenty years building that."

He exhaled softly. "Years of setbacks. Delays. Sabotage. And endless pressure from the Emperor and Tarkin." His jaw flexed at the name, but he let it pass.

"I nearly lost it all more than once. Resources dried up. The Senate grew restless. The Rebels attacked supply lines." He paused, then looked directly at you, his voice turning deliberate.

"Until I recognized the simplest truth. Words."

He took a slow step closer, lowering his voice into something more personal. "Words are a weapon far more efficient than any blaster or starfighter. They can reassure the frightened, enrage the loyal, and bury opposition beneath waves of false comfort."

He let the weight of it settle for a moment before continuing.

"Your propaganda was my weapon long before the Death Star’s superlaser. While others fought in the Outer Rim, I secured the resources quietly. The ore, the labor, the funding, all came willingly. You drowned their doubts before they could speak."

For a heartbeat, his voice softened, more honest than you had ever heard. "I carried the weight of this station for years. And in doing so, I failed to see how much of that weight was crushing my right hand."

You stared at him, the words hitting heavier than you anticipated. "So you see me as your equal, Director?"

Krennic smirked faintly, recovering his usual confidence. "Do not get ahead of yourself, Agent." The sharpness returned to his voice. "I said I acknowledge your work. The Emperor does as well. Together, we have built the greatest weapon in the galaxy, unlimited power delivered with flawless precision."

Your stomach tightened as you stared once more at the massive sphere in the sky. The reality of it all pressed hard against your chest.

Krennic spoke first, his voice softer than usual but still edged with pride. "It is magnificent, is it not?"

You kept your gaze on the death star. The weight of its existence still pulsed inside your chest. You answered simply. "Yes."

So this is the result of the propaganda you created. Your sleep and rest had been stolen for the sake of this deadly weapon. No wonder Krennic had made your life so stressful. He had been under pressure to finish it.

Krennic turned his head slightly, almost as if he had expected resistance, or at least hesitation. But you offered none.

"The Empire will be stronger," you added. Your voice remained even, almost cold, as if you were stating a fact rather than expressing any excitement.

For a brief second, Krennic studied you. The admission caught him off guard. He had anticipated the usual careful neutrality you often carried when he spoke of his work. But not this.

"You surprise me," he said finally. "I half expected you would quietly disapprove. That you would fear what it represents."

You exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving the massive sphere above. "The Empire. The Republic. It is the same story, Director. War. Death. Chaos. Shifting sides, new banners, different names. The outcomes rarely change."

He gave a small nod, watching you with renewed interest. "So you understand how politics work."

Your voice lowered, a small flicker of something more dangerous beneath your calm exterior. "I learned long ago that morality does not feed you. Righteousness does not shelter you. And loyalty to a side only matters when you hold the power to protect yourself."

Krennic’s eyes narrowed as if studying a rare specimen. "That is a very Imperial perspective."

You allowed yourself a faint smile, though it did not reach your eyes. "I grew up beneath insects, Director. Hiding. Starving. Waiting for leaders who spoke of hope while sacrificing those beneath them. That is what the rebellion gave me."

The wind shifted slightly, carrying the salt air between you.

"Now," you continued, "I have a name. A position. Influence. I am not that girl anymore. I will not go back to being powerless."

Krennic's lips curled, both pleased and intrigued. "You are full of surprises tonight."

"Survival changes people," you said. "Ambition keeps them alive."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Only the soft crash of waves filled the silence. The Death Star loomed above as a symbol of everything both of you had become part of.

Krennic finally broke the pause, his voice regaining its smooth, commanding tone. "I have arranged something for you. Since the Emperor wishes to celebrate our success, there will be a formal gala. I have already secured an appointment for you with one of the finest tailors in the capital district."

You turned your head toward him, mildly surprised. "Why?"

His smile was faint but calculated. "Because when you stand beside me that evening, I expect every eye to see precisely what you have become. And perhaps I owe you something for what you have given me."

The way he spoke made your pulse tighten once again, though you kept your face composed.

And once more, Krennic studied you in silence, as if savoring every moment of your quiet acceptance.

You slowly nodded, your voice soft but steady. "Alright. I will go with you. At least this time you asked nicely."

Krennic allowed himself a small smile, one that was less sharp than usual, almost genuine beneath his polished exterior. "Consider this a moment for you to finally stand where you belong. You have played a far greater role in this project than most in that grand room ever will. It is time they see that."

For a brief moment, you felt a strange shift in him. The usual weight that always hung over his shoulders seemed lighter. Perhaps now that the Death Star was finally complete, the burden he carried for years had started to lift. The man standing before you still carried his arrogance, but there was something else now. Relief. Satisfaction.

Then his voice softened again, almost contemplative. "I realize something. Both of us share a trait."

You lifted an eyebrow, already preparing for whatever twisted comparison he intended to draw. "I am not narcissistic, heartless, or an egomaniac," you replied, your tone cool but edged.

He let out a low scoff, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. "No. Though your courage in saying so has grown." His voice lowered, turning thoughtful. "What I meant is this. We both started at the bottom. Neither of us was handed anything. No family legacy. No favor. No safety net." He paused, his eyes holding yours. "We had to claw our way here. Alone."

You exhaled slowly, the truth of his words sinking deep. "Yes. We did."

For a moment, the wind whispered between you, carrying the scent of saltwater and polished metal. And in that silence, you both stood there, beneath the shadow of the very thing your sacrifices had built.

******

Next day, you arrived at the exclusive boutique in Coruscant. Elegant, quiet, expensive. The kind of place without a name on the door, only invitations.

The assistant greeted you with a respectful nod. "Ah, Miss. Director Krennic informed me you would arrive. Please, come in."

Inside, the boutique gleamed with shimmering fabrics, subtle lighting, and holographic displays projecting design options. You tried not to gawk. This was far above your usual world.

"It is my first time here," you admitted awkwardly.

"Not to worry, Madame," the tailor said with a grin. "The Director brings only the most special clients. First time he has sent a lady."

You blinked. Lady. Special. The words made you hesitate.

Before you could respond, the tailor continued, smiling as he prepared his tools. "Such a lucky man, your husband. Shall we begin the measurements?"

You froze. Husband. Your mind screamed to correct him, but your mouth failed to respond. The fluster settled over you like a fog. And then, the door chime rang softly.

You turned.

Krennic entered, white uniform pristine, cape swaying behind him, gloves removed, hands folded behind his back. His eyes locked onto yours immediately, the smug satisfaction clear in his gaze. He planned this.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. "What are you doing here?"

His lips curved faintly as he stepped further into the room. "I construct the greatest weapon in the galaxy. I oversee advanced military engineering beyond anything this Empire has seen. You would be surprised how easily I can also oversee the design that will make you the most… commanding presence in the room."

You exhaled quietly, biting back the remark forming on your tongue.

"Ah, Director," the tailor beamed. "We were just starting with Madame’s measurements."

Krennic’s gaze flicked briefly between you and the tailor. He heard the word Madame. He could have corrected it. He chose not to.

"Excellent," he said smoothly, his amusement barely restrained. "I trust you will ensure my wife looks flawless."

You inhaled sharply, shooting him a glare that he met with quiet satisfaction. His eyes glinted as he basked in your discomfort.

As the tailor worked, taking your measurements, Krennic circled like a predator observing its prey. His gaze trailed along your neckline, your waist, your hips. It never turned vulgar. It was calculated. Territorial.

"We will want something that commands attention," he instructed the tailor. "She must be the star of the event. Not gaudy. Powerful."

"Of course, Director," the tailor responded with enthusiasm. "Understated dominance. Grace with impact."

"Exactly," Krennic whispered, his eyes locking with yours.

Your pulse quickened. You tried to focus on the tailor’s measurements, but you could feel Krennic’s gaze on your skin like a slow, burning heat.

When the tailor excused himself briefly to retrieve fabric samples, the heavy silence returned, thick and charged.

"Wife, huh?" you asked softly, testing him.

Krennic stepped closer, entering your personal space. You felt the heat radiate from his body without a single touch.

"You did not correct him," his voice lowered into a velvet murmur.

"Neither did you," you countered, challenging.

He tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping even further. "There are worse assumptions. And perhaps not entirely inaccurate. Professionally, of course. After all, who else polishes you, shapes you, perfects you like I do?"

Your breath caught sharply in your throat, the heat rising under your skin. The air between you grew electric, heavy with the unspoken tension neither of you dared to fully acknowledge. Your defiance met his authority in a silent collision, neither backing down, both dangerously aware of the invisible line being drawn between you.

His voice dropped lower, slipping into a whisper that laced every word with quiet possession. "When you walk into that gala, they will not see you as mine because of a ring. They will know it by how you shine."

The words wrapped around you like silk, both intoxicating and suffocating. Your pulse quickened, your chest tightened, but you forced your face to remain composed, unwilling to give him the full satisfaction of seeing you unravel beneath his gaze.

At that moment, the tailor returned, completely unaware of the charged atmosphere hanging between you. He beamed, his voice cheerful as he broke the silence. "Perfect. The final design is ready. You both will be the stars of the gala."

Krennic’s smirk was slow and deliberate, full of satisfaction, like a predator savoring a silent victory. You kept your posture still, your eyes carefully avoiding his. But despite your best efforts, you could feel the heat in your cheeks, the subtle flush betraying you.

And Krennic watched, drinking in every flicker of your restraint, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

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