Sal has to chuckle a little at his words, compulsory stay. She can't find any way to argue that; she knows why others feel such anger and frustration at being sent here. Removed from their purpose, their home, their loved ones. A vagrant learns to survive without those things.

"When people heard my name, just like with any other fucking vagrant, it meant destruction was coming," she says, "like some force of nature, a wave of fire sweeping through a city and leaving ashes behind. That sounds like some back-alley opera, but it's true. Once I found something to chase after, nothing was going to stand in my way."

She moves the bottle in her hands, watching the amber liquid swirl inside.

"But on this world, I don't know who people see when they look at me. I don't know what they expect of me, and maybe I'm worried they'll come to realize the truth. I can handle a little temporary exile, but not being sure of...who I am here?"

Sal scratches at the scar on her cheek, looking back to the Sith. "Maybe it's just the same shit as knowing we don't really belong here, after all."