"If you call reception you can get in contact with the PRT and the Protectorate," he informs them, "as well as request any services you might require. Do you need anything else right now?"

"I'm going to need to recharge within the next few days; Master Deskyl can make a charger for me, but she'll need parts and tools."

"You can request them at the reception and we will provide you with them."

"Yes, sir."

He nods. "I'll leave you be, then." And he does.

DZ familiarizes herself with the room, then calls down for a change of clothes, a menu, and some books.

They are soon brought up.

She thanks the delivery person. A few hours later she puts in a food order, followed by an order for electrical components once Deskyl has had a chance to eat.

They settle in quickly; Deskyl tends to eat at odd hours, but they're otherwise quiet and undemanding guests, especially after DZ gets a laptop and stops wanting books every few days.

A week later, in the middle of the night, Deskyl goes out to practice with her 'saber on the beach.

The city isn't completely dead at night but it's not New York, either. It's mostly silent and deserted, with the occasional car passing by the street. The Protectorate HQ can be seen in the distance, mostly visible by the faint glimmer of the forcefield around the structure over the ocean.

She goes down nearly to the water, where the wet sand makes for better footing, and begins with one of the easiest forms she knows; it's still distracting, after this long without practice, but not so much that she's likely to miss anyone's approach.

No one approaches; she's far enough away from the streets that almost no one even sees her.

She stays out for an hour, retreating up the beach as the tide comes in.

No one bothers her during this time.

She finishes up her practice - she's tired, leaning on the Force for enough energy to keep herself going, not that it'd be obvious to anyone watching. Still, she takes a moment to stretch out her senses; she can't do it during the day, the crowds are too overwhelming if she takes in more than a block or so at a time, but with most everyone asleep, she can expand her awareness to the full half-mile or so that she can achieve without meditating.

Or... more than that? Definitely more than that. Odd.

Well within the range, but beyond what she mentioned as her telepathy distance, there are two people watching her inside a room with binoculars and laptops. Their emotions are mostly calm and professional, as if they don't expect what they're doing to be wrong or weird and they're just doing a routine part of their job.

...well then.

She heads back to her room, not giving any sign that she's noticed them, but continuing to pay attention to their mood as she leaves their sight.

As soon as she walks into the hotel, they stop watching her.

A few days later, she goes out again; this time she pays more attention to the hotel staff as she leaves.

Receptionist is paying a bit more attention to her than she should, and uses her phone to call someone as soon as she leaves.

That'll be easy enough to do something about, if she needs to. Good.

She gets her practice in; she doesn't do anything much more impressive than last time, and she still gives no sign that she knows she's being watched, this time or any of the subsequent ones: she goes out to practice a few times a week, slowly but visibly recovering her strength and stamina and reflexes.

Six weeks later, DZ reports that Deskyl has recovered enough to talk to the Protectorate again.

That can be arranged! What's the best location and time for her?

There's a café a few blocks from the hotel that has a private room; that should be good enough, given they probably don't want her to visit the Protectorate again. Any time is fine.

That sounds good! Tomorrow at two, then?

Yes, they'll be there.

And they are, DZ with her laptop, Deskyl calm but alert.

The same suited guy from before—Norman—shows up again. "Good afternoon!"