She knocked lightly on his chest plate, echoing his earlier gesture.

"It’s not the armor or the weapon. It’s what you do with it."

"You say you’re just a guy with a sword and a blaster. But I’ve known generals with starfleets who’ve done far less for the helpless than you have with a beat-up ship and sheer will."

"Good. A little flirting is harmless."

"Besides, I’d be worried if you weren’t slightly overwhelmed by the presence of a tall, robe-clad force ghost in training."

"That deserves more than thanks. It deserves respect."

"And you're wrong about one thing."

"You should be thanked. For not letting the galaxy harden you. For seeing beauty where others see only robes, or reputations. For still choosing honesty, when it costs you comfort."

But with recognition.

"A rare offer—from someone rarer still."

She tucked the token away into a hidden fold of her robes, just over her heart.

"I accept. Not because I expect to call on you… but because I believe you’d come if I did."

Elysia caught the coin-shaped object with a gloved hand, her movements fluid, almost ceremonial. She turned it between her fingers, studying its texture, the weight, the history etched into something so small. Then she looked up.

Not with amusement. Not with skepticism.

"Besides, Jedi robes aren’t exactly known for their allure. You might need your vision checked."

"But thank you, J. For seeing me. Even for a moment."

She stepped past him slowly—graceful, deliberate, the scent of her cloak faintly laced with desert incense and temple stone—and added without looking back.

"But if your eyes wander, make sure your focus doesn't. Intent matters more than instinct."

"Not the first time someone’s gotten distracted mid-philosophical conversation. Though most don’t announce it out loud."

Her tone wasn’t scolding. If anything, it was dryly amused, like a storm far off on the horizon.

"And for the record... awareness of beauty is not a crime."

"Now. If you ever sneeze in front of Ithorians, tuck your chin. Their plants are emotionally sensitive."

"You smile easily. But you carry enough grief for ten men. I see it. Not because I’m probing—but because I’ve been that kind of smile before."

"Still... I’m glad you’re here. Scarred, loud, impossible, and real."