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    Summary

    Anakin wasn’t pleased to see him.

    He did a good job of hiding it, on the surface—better than he might have years ago, which made something tighten oddly in Obi-Wan’s chest. But Obi-Wan could still read it on his face, even here, even now, and beneath that irritation bristled in the Force.

    Irritation, and an acrid twist of fear. A queasy feeling wound its way through Obi-Wan’s veins. Such emotions seemed to suit this place, with its obsidian walls and suffocating presence. He wondered if this room had ever known anything else, but the answer rose even as the question whispered in his mind. There was no room for light here—no light but the fires of Mustafar through the windows at Anakin’s back and the golden burn of his eyes. Not for the first time, Obi-Wan considered just what Anakin had made himself do beneath the shadow of darkness to earn those eyes.

    Or, Obi-Wan pays a visit to Anakin—on Mustafar.

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