Despite himself, Cassian wound up a little relieved that she’d gracefully declined. Theirs was a fragile network, interlocking webs of names and connections and vetted contacts — it wouldn’t be the worst thing to pass on a name, some senator with money, some friend of the rebellion who could benefit from her attention — but at the end of the day, the Rebellion wanted those friends to spend their money on munitions and supplies. It wasn’t fun, but neither was war.

That tilt of Inara’s glass, however, made him crack a small smile. Isn’t that what you have Captain Reynolds for?— he almost asked it — but managed to bite back the words. By some implicit agreement, he knew to sidle away from the subject of the other man. Every time he’d been in a room with both of them simultaneously, there had been some undefinable complicated tenor and history to their dynamic that he didn’t want to meddle with.

“I could give you lessons, if you want,” Cassian said instead. He rapped his trigger finger, once, twice, against the stem of his own glass. “It’s a useful skill.”