Haven ━ Ezra Bridger

[ 002 ] THE NATURE OF VIOLENCE

2

THE NATURE OF VIOLENCE

"He is a weapon, a killer. Do not forget it. You can use a spear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature."

— Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

ZOYA HASAN was not fond of ships. Wherever she was concerned, bad things always seemed to happen on them: that familiar, grudging hum against the still silence of the courtyard on Inusagi; the urgent, pounding beat of her heart against the engines of her father's old Republic ships he used to store out in the countryside—all sounding moments before her life tilted on its axis, upending the careful calm she had learned to build. Build, break, bend, repeat. A smaller Zoya had learned to associate that sound with rubble and destruction. The Zoya standing behind Hera in the cockpit of the Ghost had never learned otherwise.

The Ghost—though Hera's ship through and through—had been Zoya's home for two years, but it still felt alien and wrong to her: whether she was the impostor or the ship, Zoya didn't know. Even after so much time, she had the distinct sensation of being a fish out of water inside its walls.

In those first few numb hours after she left Inusagi, Zoya had wandered the halls out of bored curiosity, cataloging it all in her mind. It had been a good way to ignore Kanan and Hera's hushed voices in the cockpit, the unanswered questions she knew burned in their throats. She'd memorized it by now, and somehow, that had only made her feel less like a resident and more like an enemy—resident seemed like a title for someone who found their way around after years of practice, not someone who had to register it to memory.

But the cockpit—relatively sparse and undecorated save for the seats that made up two separate aisles, Zoya's farthest from the pilot's seat so she could see straight through the large, round window out into the expanse of space beyond.

Occasionally, when they stayed overnight on a planet, Zoya would come here to count the stars outside—a habit she'd picked up from her youth, when her father had invented names for the constellations speckling the sky above Inusagi. The Convor, Zoya's personal favorite, had been visible from her bedroom window, alongside the woman next to it. (Lux had never named that one.)

Hera shot her a grim look now, hands flying over the console faster than Zoya could keep up. "Chop, jam their tractor beam!"

The Ghost rumbled as it detached from the transport. Chopper chirped loudly, buzzing around the cockpit as the voice of an imperial officer came over the radio. "Attention, rebel ship. Surrender or be destroyed. This is your first and last warning."

"Blow it out your exhaust vent," Hera muttered. "Literally. Sabine?"

Zoya spun toward the window, pressing her face against the glass in time to see the transport erupt in a fiery kaleidoscope, lighting up the hull of the star destroyer and sending shrapnel flying. Her breath caught as the gleaming metal passed underneath the gargantuan ship, reflecting its grey underbelly—a million tiny mirrors reflecting the hide of a metal monster back at her.