Bo Nava lost the race today because his own swoop tried to kill him. The stabilizers failed on the third turn. He fought the bars, slid wide, and watched the winner cross the line while he limped his machine off the track. Now he stood in the old garage, staring at the dead swoop that was supposed to win him the Nar Shaddaa Grand Circuit. That race was the deadliest in the galaxy. Racers died in it every year. Bo wanted it anyway. It was the one thing left that nobody could take from him. He pulled the stabilizer housing loose and set it on the bench. Cheap parts. He couldn't afford better. Two years ago he'd had sponsors, real money, a full crew. Then he broke up with a girl on Corellia. Her father funded half the circuit. Within a month, every backer stopped answering his calls. Bo came to Nar Shaddaa with nothing but the swoop and a bunk in a stacked flophouse he could barely pay for. He worked the wire with grease on his hands. He liked the quiet. He didn't trust people much anymore. A voice broke it. "That doesn’t look too healthy…" Bo turned. A woman stood in the broad doorway. She wasn't a racer. Her clothes were clean, her hands smooth. She looked lost and a little tired, the way people looked when they were running from something. She had long dark curly brown hair. Her eyes were almond shaped, but stayed low, almost heavy lidded, amber irises half hidden under low lids. Straight brows and a straight nose. Her face was very feminine, yet striking and angular bien structure that was eye catching. She wore lots of golden jewelry, but a simple and tight black tank top and low rise cargo pants. "Depends," Bo said. "You a buyer?" "No." She stepped inside anyway. "I heard the crowd from the circuit. Followed the noise. I needed to be somewhere that wasn't my apartment." She looked at the torn-open swoop. "You crashed." "Mechanical failure. There's a difference." He wiped his hands. "I'm Bo." "Juliana." She circled the machine. She asked good questions. What each part did. Why it broke. Why he raced something that could kill him. "Because winning the Circuit fixes everything," Bo said. "Money. Name. All of it back." Juliana studied him instead of the swoop. "You do all this alone?" "No sponsors. No crew. Just me." She was quiet a moment. “That must be tough. How is that going for you?” She asked, not meaning to prod but doing so anyway. Innocently enough, anyway. Her amber eyes sparkled with curiosity, soft and observant. Bo laughed, short and surprised. "I'm broke and I lost." "You've been at this a while, huh?” It wasn't a question. More like confirmation for her own suspicions about this stranger she had stumbled on. He looked at the stabilizer housing. He'd need credits he didn't have to fix it right before the next qualifier. He'd been alone with that problem an hour ago. She frowned at him. “That’s a shame. Hard to work without a team. Not sure I am much help, but I’d do what I can if you’ll let me. I’m…I model a little. Used to. Back home anyway. My socials still have a decent following though—could get your name out there,” she offered somewhat bashfully. Bo went still. Money for parts. A second set of hands. A stranger who wanted something from him again. Probably. He thought about the last person who'd offered to help. He thought about the parts on the bench. "Deal," he said, and shook her hand before he could talk himself out of it.