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“Jysella. Right on time,” she said, her gravelly voice warm.

Jysella offered her a weak smile in return and slipped into the seat across from her. Even though this was the arranged time for them to meet, it was clear that Cilghal had been here for a while already. There were piles of datapads on the table beside her and curious objects she had obviously signed out in order to examine.

“I …” Jysella sighed and reached out for a datapad, holding it in a limp hand. “I'm sorry, Master Cilghal. I don't even know where to start trying to help.”

Cilghal regarded her sympathetically, slightly turning her head to fix Jysella with a single large, bulbous eye. “You know everyone is doing everything they can. It is important to us all that your brother recover fully—and that we understand what happened to him. With understanding will, we very much hope, come a cure, and the ability to negotiate his release from the GA.”

Jysella winced and brushed back a lock of reddish brown hair that had escaped the haphazard bun she'd pinned up this morning.

“I know. It … it's upsetting that this is only serving to damage the Jedi in the eyes of the public. Valin—he would never have wanted that.”

“Of course not,” Cilghal soothed. “This is no way a reflection on your family, Jysella. It is simply a tragic and, temporarily I hope, an inexplicable event.”

Cilghal sounded utterly earnest, and Jysella believed that the Mon Calamari healer meant every word. She knew that Cilghal was, to some degree, against the idea of Jedi having attachments. And yet she was still so kind and supportive to Jysella. It meant a lot.

Still … She wished Master Skywalker were here. Although Luke had done everything he could to make sure the transition of power was smooth, the Jedi Order had been thrown into tumult upon his departure. She knew Master Kenth was doing his best in the thankless role of trying to make everyone happy, but also knew he wasn't succeeding. The last thing the Order needed was a nutso Jedi Knight running around claiming that people weren't who they were.

Jysella closed her eyes for a moment, feeling again the sickening pain as her adored big brother stared at her and demanded in a cold voice, “Where's my sister? Where is she? What have you done with her?”

And now he was encased in carbonite in a GA prison, unable to be with those who loved him, to even comprehend that those who loved him were trying to help him. Sympathetically feeling the cold that enshrouded Valin, Jysella wrapped slim arms around her own body and shivered slightly.

Oh, Valin. If only you could tell us what had happened … why you looked at Mom and Dad and thought they weren't them. How could you not know us? Not know me?

Tears leaked past her closed lids, and she brushed them away angrily. Stop it, 'Sella, she told herself sternly. Grief and worry would not serve Valin, or the Order, now. Only calmness and knowledge would. She opened her eyes and reached for the discarded datapad.

“That looks like a very old record,” she said, lifting her eyes to Cilghal. “Do you have any theories on—”

And felt the blood drain from her face.

The Mon Cal was apparently done with the old flimsi and now was intently studying the information on a datapad. Her large eyes were fastened on it, unblinking in her concentration. The alcove was quiet, save for soft voices talking and the sound of footfalls some distance away. All was as it was just a moment ago.

Except everything—everything—had been turned upside down.

Valin had been right. She saw it now …

Jysella inhaled swiftly. It looked like Cilghal. Whoever had done this had not missed a detail. It even moved like the Mon Calamari healer. And it had certainly acted and sounded like her. But Jysella suddenly and sickly understood exactly what her brother had meant.

The Not-Cilghal turned her head to regard Jysella, cocking her head curiously. “Jysella? What is it?”

“N-nothing. I … you know what?” She gave a shaky laugh. “I think I may be too upset to help you out much,” Jysella