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Jango's breath stuttered as the whip was brought down on the slave next to him. He tried not to listen to the man's cries as their slave master hit the man again for perceived disobedience.
Two and a half years he'd been here, bending to someone else's will.
Bending, but somehow not broken.
Ner atin ad'ika, Jaster had always called him: My stubborn son. Jango took a deep breath and, throat shaking against the slave collar, let it out before picking up another box and loading it onto the spice freighter.
He knew he should be broken, from everything he'd gone through. Maybe it was only his stubborn will that allowed him to hold on. But he'd try... no, he would hold on until the time was right. They would slip up eventually. Already they thought him broken. Let them continue to think that. Let his determination, his wilful Manda spirit be invisible until then.
He would bide his time until he could escape.