By the time the second message found Aittera, she had fallen into an almost predictable cycle. Wake up. Clean up. Hop worlds. Hide her ship. Drink herself into oblivion, usually getting herself into one or two good bar brawls in the process. She'd become a shadow of her former self.
In a dingy little cantina somewhere on a dingy little planet she hadn't even bothered to learn the name of, she spied some oddball news item speculating about the meaning of the strange message and who its intended recipient must be. (Darth Ragious's face had been easy enough to recognize, of course.)
She narrowed a cobalt gaze at the Imperial uniform hung behind Kol. She wasn't sure what infuriated her more – that he really thought he could lure her out of hiding by returning to the charade that he ever cared about her at all or that he kept reminding her that she'd ever fallen for it in the first place.
A few days (and too many credits) later, she had a slicer send an untraceable email directly to the Sith.
"The woman you seek is dead. Let her rest in peace."
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