The Whistler
Aiden's gaze lingered on Kinsey for a beat. When she offered him the choice — no pressure, no challenge, just trust — it settled something in his chest. He gave a quiet breath of a laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes this time.
"Nah," he said, voice low. "We've already seen too much to walk away now." He turned, eyes drifting across the wreckage and dim light of the lab. "We can't just leave it for someone else to stumble into. Some poor explorer, refugee kid, hell — even a Sith who wants to pick up where these monsters left off." He glanced back at Kinsey with a faint smile — not cocky this time, just resolute.
"We push ahead. Careful. Quiet. In and out if it gets too weird."
With that, Aiden stepped forward, crossing the lab toward the far door. It was partially sealed, a faint glow flickering along the edges like the last breath of a long-dead generator still clinging to life. He pressed his hand to the control panel beside it, and the mechanism gave a strained whirr, slowly beginning to part open.
Then—
A screech.
It didn't sound human. It didn't sound like anything should. A guttural, twisting, echoing howl that bounced off the walls of the tomb and made Aiden freeze mid-step. The datapads on the counter flickered. Dust trembled off the ceiling in little showers. Whatever it was… it had heard them. And it was close.
Aiden turned his head toward Kinsey, a flicker of worry in his eyes now.
"Okay," he muttered, hand dropping fully to his blaster. "I swear this place is trying to get us to turn around..."
