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They found him in a trunk. Surrounded by trash cans and heaps of black and green bags, it was locked with a thick metal chain and a golden lock ; if Kanan hadn’t been able to track Ezra’s force signature, they would’ve walked passed him every time.
Burned, scraped, and shattered, his arms were forced around his waist and his legs were hunched to his stomach. Blood matted his hair and oozed from his ears and mouth, while dried tears laminated his bruises ; he looked dead, but Kanan knew better. There was a slight rise and fall of his chest and although weakened, his force signature beamed like a lighthouse in the dark, begging for someone or something to bring him home.
They found out later that ribs were cracked, there were multiple broken bones in his arms and legs, and his eardrums had burst. Attached to bulky machines and webs of cables, Ezra didn’t look like Ezra in the small white bed. They should’ve found him faster. He shouldn’t have been left for dead in that leather trunk.