The tower room was silent now, except for the faint clinking of chains as Quinlan leaned forward against his cuffs. Tech tried to look down at his own wrists. He was not cuffed, and neither were Hunter or Crosshair, but they may as well have been. He could breathe, and move his eyes, and blink – but apart from that, he could not manage to make a single motion, no matter how hard he tried. After a while, he couldn't even tell if he was trying anymore, or if he only thought he was.
Wrecker and Zenaya had been gone for three minutes and twelve seconds.
Nobody in the room was speaking. Most likely, nobody could. When Wrecker left, Tech had tried to yell his name, despite knowing he couldn't move his lips, but it was no use. He hadn't been able to make the slightest sound. It was as though he did not even have a voice.
Tech sent another quick glance around the room. Crosshair was only just visible, because the sniper stood directly to Tech's left and slightly back. Hunter knelt, eyes closed as though he were resting. The gold light in Quinlan's eyes was finally fading, which seemed to indicate that the Jedi had not been able to find a way to escape. Perhaps Zenaya was not even allowing him to truly reach the Force.
Only a few seconds later, Tech heard footsteps ascending the stairway – but they were the footsteps of only one person, and they were too light to belong to Wrecker.
Just inside the door, they stopped.
Several seconds passed before Tech sent a reluctant glance at the door. Zenaya stood there, holding a dagger in her right hand. Tech stared at it, and at the blood that dripped from its gleaming surface.
Then he looked up at the Sith's eyes and waited.
He felt absolutely nothing.
She blinked slowly at him, as though considering something; then her dark gaze slid to Crosshair. She flicked the dagger once, making a few drops of blood spatter against the wall.
"Come," she said, and Crosshair moved.
A shrill ringing started in Tech's ears, and his vision darkened abruptly. When it returned, Crosshair was gone.
There was nothing he could do.
Tech stood and stared at the polished marble of the floor between Hunter and Quinlan. His mind kept erasing the memory of the dagger, and the knowledge of what Zenaya must be doing.
For some reason, at some point, Tech thought, At least she didn't use the ceremonial dagger.
Then he blinked against the increasingly dry ache in his eyes.
A picture of Zenaya, standing behind Wrecker and holding the dagger to his throat, appeared so strongly in his imagination that he could hardly see the floor anymore. The image faded from left to right, just as she started to move, so he didn't see her actually cutting his throat. Then it appeared again, with Crosshair this time, and faded from right to left. Then himself, fading from left to right. Then Wrecker again, right to left. Then Crosshair. Then Hunter. Then Wrecker. Then Crosshair. Then Quinlan. Then Wrecker. . .
Sweat prickled against his ribs, and he tried to bite his lip. He often did that, when sequences of thoughts wouldn't leave him alone. Usually, those sequences were numbers, or equations, repeating in his head until he could see them. When that happened, he had to find something else for his mind to occupy itself with, to break the sequence.
He couldn't distract himself this time, though. He couldn't make himself look at his two remaining companions. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't ask Quinlan if he had any way out, or if the Jedi knew whether or not Wrecker and Crosshair were dead, or if they were bleeding to death.
And he didn't want to look at Hunter or Quinlan.
Instead, he stood where he was, uselessly staring at the floor near the doorway. A few bits of stone were scattered across it from the statue that had once been a Twi'lek.
Wrecker. Then Crosshair. Then himself. Then Hunter. Then Quinlan.
Footsteps approached on the stairs again. Zenaya was coming back.
His vision blurred again, but all too soon, her black eyes pierced the fog and he was pulled back to awareness.
Ignoring the sudden rattle of chains as Quinlan jerked on them, Zenaya held out a hand to Tech. "Come."
Tech obeyed without choosing and walked towards her, unable to truly consider anything at all. Her dagger was dripping again. She should clean it.
"Tech!"
He paused, coming out of his strange daze slightly at the sudden shout. Hunter was still on his knees, but the expression in his eyes was one of frantic desperation.
Tech could only stare back at him, unable to answer.
Zenaya cast a thoughtful look at Hunter, but her hand was still reaching towards Tech. She studied the sergeant, then Quinlan, whose eyes glinted with furious gold.
"Not yet, Quinlan," she murmured, and twisted her fingers.
The Jedi slumped, hanging limply from his chains, and the Sith woman turned back to Tech. "Come."
For some reason, Tech obeyed and followed her down the stairway.
He'd only made it a few steps when Hunter shouted his name again. Then his voice cut off with a gasp, even though Zenaya was allowing him to speak.
Tech knew why he fell silent. There was nothing to say. Or . . . there was everything to say, and no time to say it.
He had never really considered that. It kept him numb for a few seconds longer.
Suddenly, he realized that he was walking side by side with Zenaya in the main hallway of her palace. He started to shake badly, but there was no option, except to keep moving. Some part of his mind knew he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings anymore. It hardly mattered. Had she brought the others outside before killing them? Had they been able to fight at all, or had they just stood meekly and waited for death?
As they neared the open doorway, his knees finally gave out, and he stumbled.
Zenaya caught his elbow with one hand, dragging him upright again with astonishing strength, and turned her dark gaze on him. "You are afraid."
Her words were just audible through the high-pitched ringing in his ears, but he could still make them out. Tech stared back at her, with nothing to say in response.
Zenaya gave an almost secretive smile and led him out of the palace and onto the windswept mountainside.
Immediately, Tech looked towards the Havoc Marauder, so that he wouldn't see where the others had been killed, but it was pointless. Two motionless figures were lying on the ground beside the Marauder's doorway.
When Tech's mind caught up with what his eyes were seeing, a sudden, cautious hope made him internally dizzy. There was no blood visible around them, and if she had cut their throats there would be blood everywhere.
The relief vanished as quickly as it had come. Maybe she had killed them somewhere else and then dragged them back to the ship?
Zenaya stopped walking a few meters away from them and stepped in front of Tech, partially blocking his view of the others. Something tugged at his left arm, but he hardly noticed. He was trying to observe what he could of the others.
Wrecker and Crosshair were lying on their backs, and wearing their helmets, but now Tech could see that neither of them had sustained an injury to the neck . . . or, as far as he could tell, to the heart. Their armor was intact. They might almost have been sleeping. In fact . . .
Tech stared hard at the lower edge of the Havoc Marauder, then allowed his eyes to unfocus. He was not imagining it. The distance between Wrecker's chest plate and the edge of the shuttle had just decreased and then increased. He was breathing! And although it was much harder to tell with Crosshair, Tech was suddenly sure that he also was alive – at least for now. They had been injured in some way. . .
Only then did Tech finally observe that both Wrecker and Crosshair were missing their left vambraces.
. . . Oh.
He looked down just in time to see Zenaya rest her dagger against the inside of his left forearm. Narrowing his eyes, Tech shifted his gaze up to her face.
The Sith woman was watching him, eyes glittering with a strange intensity.
Tech took a slow breath, trying to ignore the feel of metal through the sleeve of his blacks. Then he pressed his lips together and stared unblinkingly back at her as he waited.
A slow, sharp ache in Quinlan's wrists and hands broke gradually through the deep sleep that had surrounded him. He continued to drift, only just at the edge of awareness, until the realization that he was being called hovered through the dark eddies of the Force.
He shifted, flinched at the throb in his left forearm, and woke abruptly. How long had it been –?
Blinking the fog of sleep from his eyes, he looked up. Zenaya was in the room again; she had just woken him. Quinlan carefully ignored her. Moving stiffly, he got his legs beneath him again and straightened, looking at the silent figure who knelt only a few meters away.
Hunter didn't seem to have changed position at all since the last time Quinlan had seen him – whenever that was. He was still sitting back on his heels with his hands clenched in his lap, shoulders and head bowed as he stared bleakly at the floor. His face, or what Quinlan could see of it, was blank and still.
Quinlan took a deep breath, suddenly remembering what had happened. Wrecker, Crosshair, and then Tech. . . Hunter must think they were dead . . . Had he been thinking about that, all this time?
"Hunter," he said, then coughed against a dry throat. "Hunter?"
Instead of answering, the sergeant sent him a tired, sideways glance that didn't even meet his own and then went still again.
Quinlan tried to tell him the others were alive, but the words snagged in his chest and died before they could reach his mouth.
I have not said you may tell him, Zenaya's low voice said in his mind.
Quinlan dragged in another breath, anger removing the last blurs of fog from his mind as he glared at the Sith woman.
Zenaya was standing in the middle of the floor, forearms resting lightly against her waist as she watched him with low, flickering intrigue in her eyes. "It has been some hours," she said.
"Since you –" He coughed again. Pretended to kill them.
"Since I killed them." Zenaya drew a dagger halfway from its sheath. The silver blade was streaked and dulled with dried blood.
Quinlan narrowed his eyes and straightened more fully, testing the cuffs even though he knew they were unbreakable. What did she hope to gain by pretending the others were dead? Did she really think he couldn't feel their lives in the Force?
No, she thought, then gave him a faint smile and spoke aloud. "In Trayus, you hesitated to use the dark even to find those who were missing and in peril. Now, you use it easily in an attempt to ascertain whether they are alive."
Quinlan shook his head once – not in denial, but because he suddenly realized he didn't care anymore. And it didn't bother him. He'd tried to kill her, when she caught them, and he couldn't use the light, so he'd used the dark . . . or tried to.
No. . . what bothered him was that he couldn't reach even the dark side fully, no matter how much he wanted to. Why not? It had been so easy, outside of Trayus, when he finally killed the leviathan.
As he looked at Zenaya, he suddenly understood that she was keeping him from truly accessing the power of the dark. A jolt of adrenaline rushed through him, making his heart pound. The Sith woman could tear him to shreds if she wanted to, and yet, for some reason, she was keeping him – and the others – alive.
"What is it you want?" he snarled.
She gestured, and even through his anger he was struck by how unlike to Vythia her tone and movements were, despite her physical appearance being the same. "If you could see the future as I perceive it, you would kill me immediately . . ."
Hunter stirred and looked up, gaze flickering between the Jedi and Sith.
". . . no matter the cost to your Jedi beliefs," Zenaya went on, moving a step closer.
Quinlan hesitated, caught off-guard, and twined his fingers around the deceptively delicate-looking chains. What was she after?
"I don't have to see the future," he said at last, meeting her eyes. "I already tried to kill you."
"And you failed." Zenaya finally sheathed the dagger. "You did try, to an extent, but you have not managed to truly break the barrier between light and dark . . .though you came close with the leviathan. Emotion adds strength to the abilities of any Force-user."
Quinlan shut his eyes, took a breath, and opened them again. "You –" His voice felt numb with confusion and a creeping fear. "You want me to kill you?"
Instead of answering him, she slid a wide gold bracelet off her wrist and held it out. Quinlan didn't remember ever seeing Vythia with it.
"You cannot see into the future," Zenaya said. "But you can see into the past."
Hunter finally looked at him, a hint of something like alarm entering his eyes, but Quinlan hardly noticed. He was staring at the bracelet, fear pulsing through him at the powerful memories he could feel hovering inside, even from a meter away. "And – you can't?" he asked, too quickly. "You want me to describe the memories to you?"
"There is no need for that." She smiled that odd, half-tilted smile again and moved closer, unclasping the golden band. "I know exactly what history this contains. After all, I was present for the incident that my master Ghant stored inside it."
Quinlan laughed sharply and pulled back. "And you received it as an inheritance, is that it?" he asked, even though he knew he should be quiet. His heart thudded in his stomach.
"Not as such." Zenaya turned the bracelet over, showing him three runes etched into the surface. "I tried to kill my master, and failed. After his anger was spent, he gifted me this memory that even a non-psychometric could view. It was a warning, as well as a mark of his regard for my abilities. I wore it when I killed him."
"Nice," Quinlan gritted out. He leaned back against the wall, the metal cool through his tunic, and tried to stop trembling. "Why didn't you gift it to Lothal?"
She traced the runes with one finger. "Tyûk kots shâsot. Translated to your tongue, they read, 'strength to break passion'." Zenaya unclasped the golden band and looked up at him. "And Lothal had very little passion."
"Sorry to hear he was such a disappointment."
Shut up! he thought, even as he said it. Every time he got trapped, he spoke recklessly . . . and it almost never turned out well.
Zenaya only continued to gaze at him. "You have more passion and strength than Lothal ever did, though it is untrained."
She wants me to Fall -!
Quinlan grabbed at the chains above his wrists and straightened. "No!" he snapped harshly.
"No . . .?" Zenaya reached for his wrist, looking amused when he tried to pull away. "You misunderstand, Quinlan Vos. I will not attempt to try and make you my apprentice."
Quinlan reached for the Force, dragging the dark side towards him yet again in an effort to hurl her away. It responded, but only weakly.
She brushed aside the Force-push with a mere look to the side. "You will never succeed this way. You do not have the abilities. . . But I will instruct you." She closed the gold band around Quinlan's wrist.
Zenaya knelt motionlessly before his throne, utterly calm and unmoved in appearance despite her defeat. The black of her long dress melted into the shadows of the chamber, and only the faint glint of the gold on her necklace showed that she was even breathing.
Ghant sought her mind in the depths of the Force and was pleased that her resolve held even in her mind and emotions. He had chosen his apprentice well. . . very well. It had been many years since a Sith woman had attempted to kill her master openly, and already his own honor among the servants of the dark had risen as a result of her actions.
She possessed a resolve he had never seen before. Ghant knew that eventually she would succeed in killing him. . . unless he killed her first. Now, having momentarily broken her strength, it would be a simple task to execute her, or perhaps sacrifice her.
Ghant leaned back on his throne, deliberating as Zenaya continued to kneel, her head inclined in defeat but not bowed in submission.
Long, silent minutes passed, the sounds of voices penetrating the chamber but making no true impression. Zenaya never raised her eyes or changed her expression. Her mind remained serene, any fear at his eventual and inevitable anger held so completely under her control that even he could sense only the faintest awareness of it.
The minutes stretched into an hour, and still Ghant sat and watched her, meditating in the depths of his mind, weighing his options.
His former apprentice's ambitions reached farther than the positions of power that most Sith desired. Her goals were clear to him, and he approved. Tanis was a fool. In defeating the Jedi, he would destroy the Sith. Of those who disagreed with his plan, only a few had challenged him openly, and their bodies now adorned his fortress walls.
Instead of killing Tanis, and risking the wrath of the entire planet, Zenaya was creating a way to survive, and carry on the teachings of the Sith.
Ghant did not understand the details of her plan . . . she would be a fool to tell him, or to leave her mind open enough for him to read them, lest he kill her and enact those plans himself. But he was aware that her attempt on his life had been to feed a ritual that would further her purpose.
Ghant stood, lekku trailing against the floor as he stepped towards Zenaya, who did not look up. He knew his limits. He was powerful, and honored, and feared by worlds, but that could not last much longer. No Sith lord who gained such heights would live long, unless he gave himself so completely to the dark that he lost himself entirely.
There were many who wanted him dead, now that he had served his purpose as an instructor to future generations. And it would be better to die at the hands of a Sith such as his apprentice than to die caught unawares, thus according to his killer honors unbefitting of a mere assassin.
Ghant gazed at his former apprentice a moment longer, then decided.
No. He would not kill her. Her life would carry the Sith far longer than his would, and her death would serve for nothing, except as an example to others who wanted to kill him.
And he could give that example without killing her.
Zenaya had failed in her attempt on his life due to his own skill and vigilance, not through a lack of intent. Nevertheless, she had failed, and the punishment for failure was severe.
"Rise," he said, finally allowing his anger at her attempt on his life to rush to the forefront of his soul. "Rise, and accept the price of your failure."
She stood without speaking, face expressionless.
Ghant stared at her, hating and admiring how she controlled her emotions. She was the perfect Sith, and he had taught her . . . and yet she had failed – failed when it mattered the most.
Enraged, he held out a hand and flung her back against the wall of his meditation chamber. "You may be a master among the Sith," he spat. "But you have not truly earned the right to be called Master."
Her cool, silver-blue eyes met his, and the faintest hint of mockery shone through for a brief instant. No fear, no hatred, no anger. And yet he knew she hated him.
Ghant straightened fully. He would ensure that the next time she tried to destroy him, her hatred would be so great that she could not fail no matter his strength. . . no matter his own will to live.
"I have not taught you everything, my apprentice," he said, stepping closer. "I will give you a final instruction now."
Clutching at the dark, he flung it at his apprentice in bolts of the severest agony his fury could muster. The harsh light enveloped her, but she did not scream or even move, except to close her eyes. Her face remained utterly impassive.
Yes . . . she had far outreached him in everything but brute strength. Ghant snarled and flung Zenaya to the ground, shouting with fury as jagged bolts of lightning popped and seared against the floor and walls of the chamber.
Zenaya knew that mercy did not exist. She would not beg. If she did, he would torture her all the longer.
But he would not stop until her self-imposed silence broke.
Hunter clenched his fingers and . . . waited. Somehow, he'd lost nearly an hour to a strange, half-awake sleep. When he recovered his senses, a glance at his chronometer told him that it had been almost seventy-five minutes since Zenaya made Quinlan enter whatever vision he was in.
The last time he'd looked at Quinlan, the Jedi had been standing motionless, eyes lightly shut, not moving or responding at all, the band of polished gold closed tightly around his wrist just below the cuff.
He was still in the same position now, but his face was set and hard, and his fingers twisted oddly – almost like he was reaching for something.
A few meters away, Zenaya knelt, eyes closed in meditation.
Hunter tried to move, then gave up. If he didn't fight against the invisible restraints, at least it felt like he was kneeling here of his own accord. It would have been easier if he had been chained. At least with physical bonds, he could work at freeing himself. But here, he had nothing to work with.
He'd been trying not to look at Zenaya, but now his gaze drifted back to the knife on her belt. She'd used it against the others . . . but had she killed them, or only injured them?
There was nothing to occupy himself with, and within instants, his mind slid back into the spiral of thought that had occupied it for hours after his teammates had been brought from the tower room.
Quinlan had been angry at the Sith woman when she held up the blood-streaked blade, but he hadn't looked sad.
Hunter thought he knew the Jedi pretty well by now. Quinlan wasn't all that good at hiding his emotions, and if the others really were dead, he'd have looked much more upset . . . wouldn't he?
Or would he?
Maybe it was just wishful thinking on Hunter's part. It was easier to think about how Zenaya really had no reason to kill them than it was to consider that she didn't need a reason. It was easier to assume they were just in another room in the castle, safe, than it was to think that maybe, this time, their luck had run out. Easier to imagine that she wouldn't kill him or Quinlan than it was to face the fact that they might very well be dead in the next half hour.
He glanced at the Jedi again, but he still hadn't moved.
Hunter decided to start listing all the times he'd thought the others were severely injured, or even dead, and when he'd found them completely safe. There was the time when . . . the time when . . .
He swallowed. There had to have been at least one time where he thought his teammates were dead – otherwise, the terror wouldn't feel so familiar – but he couldn't remember what it might have been. Maybe there hadn't been anything. Maybe he was only remembering the time he'd been promoted to sergeant, and how for the first time he'd truly thought about what that position meant. . .
Maybe he was remembering the fear of having to face the situation at all. Surviving while the others were killed.
Hunter ground his teeth to distract himself, then squeezed his eyes shut until he could see nothing but small shapes and flickers of light. You're not finished yet, he thought to himself. And neither are they. You don't know they're dead – but they will be if you don't get it together. Focus, trooper.
Opening his eyes determinedly, Hunter stared at the dagger again. Zenaya was so close – if he could just manage to grab it. . .
No, he'd tried that already. Whatever material the vest she wore was made with, the knife couldn't pierce it.
Zenaya opened her eyes and stood, hands clasped at her waist as she moved towards Quinlan.
The lightsaber Quinlan had been carrying hung on the opposite side of Zenaya's belt, next to her lightwhip. Maybe there was still a chance to get out.
If he could manage to move, if he could get the lightsaber, if he could kill her. And Hunter knew he could move if Quinlan managed to free him, even for a couple of seconds, from whatever mental control Zenaya had over him.
That was probably why she'd chained Quinlan, and knocked him out after taking the others. She didn't want him to test the limits of her strength. Hunter knew he couldn't break the paralysis – he'd tried for a long time, after she left with Wrecker, but he couldn't move any of his limbs.
But Quinlan was a Jedi. There had to be something he could do with the Force to fight Force-powers.
A faint clank of chains made Hunter look up. Quinlan was staring at Zenaya, a look of absolute hatred burning in his eyes. For a moment, he looked as unlike himself as Zenaya looked unlike Vythia.
Then Zenaya took the metal band from around his wrist. As she replaced it on her own, Quinlan blinked and shuddered violently.
"Quinlan?" Hunter said through a dry mouth, suddenly afraid that it wasn't the Jedi anymore.
Quinlan jerked his head, as though tossing away a thought, and looked back for a long moment before seeming to recognize him. "Hunter . . ." he muttered. His eyes focused, and suddenly he turned back to Zenaya.
"Yes." She inclined her head approvingly. "You perceive my intent more clearly now."
The silence stretched . . . and stretched.
Hunter clenched his hands. "Quinlan! What is she –?"
"She's . . . going to let us leave." Quinlan was still watching her face. "She doesn't mean to kill us."
Then why capture us at all? If anything, Hunter only felt more scared now than he had before, especially when a second thought occurred to him.
She must want them to help her leave Malachor – and they couldn't, no matter what she did. If she escaped the planet and the Jedi Council didn't act promptly, they might never find her again no matter how many victims she left in her wake.
"Yes, I will release you." Zenaya stepped back. "But not yet. You have seen through the eyes of my master . . . You understand what it takes to use such a skill."
Quinlan's gaze darkened with doubt, but he didn't answer.
"But only from one end." Zenaya lifted a hand. "The quickest way to truly learn a Force-ability is to experience it both as the one employing it and as the one on whom it is employed."
A snapping bolt of intensely purple and white light leaped from her hand and pinned Quinlan to the wall for a mere second before vanishing.
Hunter jerked slightly, aware all over again of his invisible restraints, but Quinlan didn't even flinch. He just stood there, watching her, something like surprise crossing his features.
"That was a mere instant," Zenaya told him. "The knowledge of how it feels makes it hard to imagine a Jedi using it against another."
Quinlan dragged in an unsteady breath. "I don't . . ."
"And yet," Zenaya went on, "at the same time, that knowledge makes it far easier to continue using it, once the decision has been made."
She looked directly at Hunter.
The Jedi's expression twisted with horror as he followed her gaze. As though suddenly coming out of a daze, he wrenched violently against the chains and shouted, "I don't want to use it! I won't –!"
Another burst of light cut him off, and this time Hunter felt and heard sparks and snaps of electricity shoot through the room.
Then Vythia's words in the Core returned to him. "Zenaya had the ability to produce some of the most intense Sith lightning ever recorded."
And she wanted Quinlan to . . . learn how to use it? For Force's sake, why? She was giving him a weapon – an incredibly dangerous weapon – that he might turn against her at any moment.
What is she thinking?
The buzzing in his mind stopped, and at the same moment Zenaya stepped away from Quinlan, who was breathing quickly.
"I did not demand that you use it on Hunter," she reprimanded, expression and voice more animated than before. "I have promised to release you, after all . . . Perhaps it will be unnecessary, though. Perhaps you can free yourself."
Quinlan gasped, clenching his fingers.
"You do not understand how to use lightning yet." Zenaya's black eyes swirled briefly with red and purple. "Why not?"
The Jedi only stared at her, gaze frightened and confused.
"Is it that you cannot summon in yourself the level of hate Ghant possessed?" She moved closer. "It can take some time to learn how to hate . . . but you should not have to learn, Quinlan. You have hated before."
The Jedi's eyes went blank and cold.
"Zenaya!" Hunter couldn't keep quiet any longer. He tried again to kneel upright, then fell forward, caught off-guard as she finally let him move. His legs were almost completely numb from cut circulation, and he had to brace one hand against the floor to keep from falling on his face.
Zenaya's eyes half-closed as she turned to regard him, disinterestedly waiting for him to speak.
"Do you have a death wish?!" he demanded through gritted teeth.
The Sith woman watched him thoughtfully for a moment, then spoke almost warningly. "Do not imagine that I am unaware of the risks."
Hunter shook his head, thoughts so blurred and confused that it seemed like he was falling. "What – what are you doing?"
Instead of answering, she turned back to the Jedi, who was gazing unseeingly at the wall opposite him. Somehow, Hunter could tell that Quinlan was trying to understand how to use Sith lightning.
Could he manage to use it, though? And would it even work against Zenaya?
Hunter leaned forward on his hands and knees, letting his head hang for a few seconds as he tried to steady himself. Focus on one thing – the easiest one was the tingling and burning from his knees down as his circulation returned.
His head cleared, and he knew he'd be able to move within half a minute. Cutting out all other distractions, Hunter glanced again at the lightsaber on Zenaya's belt, judging the distance between it and himself. It would have to be fast, but she was letting him move. He could reach her. Get the lightsaber. Kill her.
Casting a quick look up, Hunter managed to meet Quinlan's wandering gaze. Keep her distracted, he thought, hoping that the Jedi would understand.
If he didn't stumble, it would only take a couple of seconds to grab the lightsaber, ignite it, and stab her.
Adrenaline coursed through him, but Hunter made himself relax in an effort to keep from looking like a threat. Forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths, he waited.
