It was a bitter thing, to admit failure. Werrin Youta had not been trained to fail. He had studied countless textbooks on human and alien psychology, observed first-hand the biochemical changes the mind and body went through whilst under stress or duress and, to top it all off, conned a Corellian sabacc dealer out of near a million credits. Deception, misdirection, and deceit had been his tools before being recruited into the Rebel Alliance, and since becoming a member of the Intelligence branch he had found a great many opportunities to keep those tools sharp. Regretably, it seemed that no matter how well honed they were, in this particular instance they simply would not do.

“This is bantha-shit,” he muttered, watching as the door to the interrogation room slid open once again. Arms folded tightly across his chest, he ignored the presence of the others crowded around him, also peering through the two-way mirror. “If he is a Jedi, what difference is it going to make having her in there?”

Silence was the only reply, as they watched the redhead come to a halt, just within the threshold. “She's blind, for frell's sake.”

“You know what they say about the blind, though,” another voice ventured, with an air of mysticism. “Their other senses get sharper...”

As if on cue, Daria's head turned slightly towards the mirror. Her profile was dispassionate, the exact focus of her white-white eyes indeterminate. She wore the gray robes of her ilk, well-worn fabric pooling at her feet as she sat down opposite the only other person in the room. He had claimed her attention and though she could not see him in any traditional sense, she felt his presence, and the energy that moved in ebbs and flows around him, in a way that was entirely unique.

“...Doctor Ollisen.”