The interrogation room was cold and silent, its walls bare save for a single dim light hanging above the two bound prisoners. The shadows cast by the flickering light stretched long and deep across the floor, like dark tendrils creeping toward the two rebels sitting in the center of the room. They were slumped in their chairs, their faces bloodied from the earlier skirmish, their clothes torn and stained. But they were alive—though for how much longer, they weren’t certain.

  Cassandra entered the room with a soft, almost playful hum escaping her lips. Her cloak whispered against the stone floor as she walked, her boots tapping rhythmically, the sound echoing against the chamber walls. She was calm, smiling even, as she approached the two prisoners—an unsettling kind of calm, the calm of someone who had absolute power and knew it. She stopped just short of the man and woman, her presence filling the room with a palpable, heavy dread.

  Na’la followed silently behind her, standing near the wall, datapad in hand. She glanced at the two rebels, noticing the way their eyes darted between each other, panic beginning to creep into their expressions. They knew what was coming.

  "Well, well," Cassandra said lightly, her voice almost sing-song, as if she were greeting old friends. "Look at the two of you. How brave you were back on the battlefield. How fierce. And now... look at you." She chuckled softly, her amber eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Bound, bloodied, broken. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it?"

  The male prisoner, a grizzled man in his thirties with a deep cut across his forehead, glared up at Cassandra through swollen eyes. His body was tense, his fists clenched despite the restraints. "You think you can break us?" he rasped, his voice hoarse but defiant. "We’ve faced worse than you."

  Cassandra tilted her head, her smile widening. "Oh, really? Worse than me?" She leaned in closer, her face only inches from his, her eyes narrowing with delight. "I find that hard to believe."

  Without warning, she lashed out with her fist, striking the man across the jaw with a sickening crack. The sound of bone hitting bone reverberated through the chamber, and Na'la winced as the man’s head snapped to the side, blood splattering against the floor. He groaned, spitting a glob of blood onto the ground, but he didn’t scream. He didn’t even cry out.

  Cassandra chuckled, straightening up, licking the blood from her knuckles as if she were savoring a sweet treat. "I love when they act tough," she said softly, her voice almost affectionate. "It makes it so much more fun when they break."

  The female prisoner, younger and with sharp, defiant eyes, sneered at Cassandra, her lips curling in disgust. "You won’t break us. We’ll never give you what you want."

  Cassandra’s gaze shifted to her, her smile never faltering. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed, stepping over to the woman’s chair, her fingers brushing lightly against the rebel’s cheek. "It’s not about what you want. It’s about what I want. And I always get what I want."

  The woman flinched at Cassandra’s touch, but her eyes remained locked on the Sith Lady, burning with hatred. "We’re not afraid of you. We know what you are—just another slave to the Emperor’s will. You have no power beyond what he allows you. You’re nothing."

  Cassandra froze for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, her grin returned, wider than before. "Oh, you poor thing," she said softly, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You really don’t understand, do you?"

  She stepped back, twirling in place as if she were on a stage, her black cloak swirling around her. "This isn’t about the Emperor," she said, her voice rising slightly, filled with a dangerous cheerfulness. "This is about me. This is about what I can do to you. How I can make you scream. How I can make you beg for death, and then deny it to you."

  Her eyes gleamed with something darker now, something monstrous. "The Emperor... he simply allows me to have fun."

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  She moved quickly then, almost too fast for Na’la or the prisoners to react. Her fist slammed into the woman’s stomach, hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. The rebel gasped, doubling over in her restraints, wheezing for breath as Cassandra stepped back, watching with an amused gleam in her eyes.

  "See?" Cassandra said, her voice light and airy, as if they were discussing the weather. "You rebels are always so eager to martyr yourselves. So ready to die for your cause. But you know what’s funny?" She crouched down in front of the woman, grabbing her chin and forcing her to meet her gaze. "I don’t want you dead. Not yet. I want you to feel everything."

  The woman coughed, spitting blood, but still managed to glare at Cassandra. "You’ll never... break me."

  Cassandra’s smile widened, and she leaned in, her lips brushing the woman’s ear as she whispered, "You’re already broken. You just don’t know it yet."

  With a flick of her wrist, Cassandra called the Force to her, and the woman’s body jerked violently, her head snapping back as invisible tendrils of power wrapped around her like a vice. The air crackled with dark energy, the room growing colder as the Dark Side pulsed in the chamber. The woman’s breathing grew shallow, her body convulsing as Cassandra tightened her hold, squeezing the very life from her.

  But still, the woman did not scream.

  "Impressive," Cassandra mused, releasing her grip. The woman slumped in the chair, gasping for air, her body trembling, but her eyes remained locked on Cassandra, filled with defiance. "You’re stronger than you look."

  The male prisoner, who had been watching in horror, suddenly growled, straining against his restraints. "You monster! You’re nothing but a—"

  Cassandra moved faster than a blink, her hand clamping around his throat, silencing him instantly. She lifted him from the chair with one hand, his feet dangling off the ground as he struggled to breathe.

  "I love when they call me a monster," Cassandra whispered, her voice sweet and dangerous. "It makes me feel all warm inside."

  She squeezed harder, watching with delight as the man’s face turned red, his eyes bulging from the lack of air. He kicked and thrashed, trying in vain to free himself, but Cassandra’s grip was unrelenting.

  "Do you know what the best part is?" she whispered, leaning in close, her lips brushing against his ear. "The more you resist, the more fun I have."

  With a sudden motion, she threw him across the room, his body slamming into the wall with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the ground, gasping and wheezing, barely conscious.

  Cassandra laughed softly, the sound low and almost melodic. "You rebels are all the same," she said, turning her back on the man as if he were nothing. "So quick to fight, so eager to die. But so, so weak."

  Na'la watched in silence, her eyes flickering with a mix of awe and unease. Cassandra was in her element, relishing in the fear, the pain, the power. This was what made her terrifying. Not just her strength in the Force, but her ability to break people both physically and psychologically.

  The woman in the chair, still shaking from the effects of Cassandra’s Force grip, spoke again, her voice raspy but determined. "We won’t tell you... anything. You can kill us, but you’ll never stop the Rebellion."

  Cassandra turned to face her, her smile softening into something almost... fond. She crouched down in front of the woman again, tilting her head to the side.

  "Kill you?" she whispered, her voice dripping with mock surprise. "Oh, no, no, no. I’m not going to kill you. Not yet."

  She reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from the woman’s face, her touch unnervingly tender. "I want to see how much you can take. How long before your mind shatters. How long before you beg for mercy."

  The woman’s eyes filled with fear then, true fear, and Cassandra’s smile widened. "Yes," she whispered, leaning closer. "Now you understand."

  She stood up, her voice cold and commanding. "Na'la, bring the tools."

  Na'la nodded quickly, moving to a nearby table where an array of instruments lay in neat rows. Cassandra moved to the male prisoner, who was still groaning on the floor, and nudged him with her boot.

  "You’ll talk eventually," she said softly, almost sweetly. "They always do. And when you do..." She trailed off, a dark, sinister smile creeping across her lips. "I’ll be there to hear every word."

  The man, barely conscious, managed to look up at her, his bloodshot eyes filled with hatred. "You’ll... you’ll never win."

  Cassandra crouched down beside him, her hand resting on his head in a mockingly gentle gesture. "Oh, darling," she whispered, her voice soft and deadly. "I already have."