Ben stops long enough to look at Ibani, to soak in the feelinf of more familiarity than he expected.

He should have predicted this, should have realised the specific way she felt. But they're here now, and it might be even more fortunate.

He offers a faint smile and shakes his head. "They're distrustful. But I'm a friend."

His hand squeezes hers, thumb pressing into her palm. He's not going to let go now.

He lets go of her hand a short distance from the warehouse, and holds up his own to indicate she should stay, before knocking on the door.

"It's Ben," he says.

A hatch in the door slides open, and a pair of eyes set in an orange face peer out at them.

"Were you followed?" The language is Galactic basic, but the accent distinctive to anyone who's met a native Rylothian.

Ben spreads the hand not loaded with melons. "When am I ever?"