Hera doesn't answer at first. The Twi'lek keeps approaching, his guard still following. His eyes pass over Hera and in Kanan in their corner, as well as the patrons around them, his face impassive as he takes in these surroundings. Then, he turns, and slips into a seat at a nearby table. The guard with him remains standing.

It's a table within earshot, and Hera can't think of a language both she and Kanan speak that's unlikely to be understood. So she does the only thing she can think of. She shifts over, leaning against Kanan, tilting her head into his shoulder and facing into him so that she can whisper, as though with affection.

"He works for the Hutts."