After Wrecker and Zenaya left, the tower room was silent, 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 make even 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 almost as though he did not have a voice.
In an effort to distract himself, Tech glanced around the room and tried to meet the others' gazes. He couldn't quite see Crosshair, because the sniper stood directly to Tech's left and a little behind him. Hunter was kneeling, eyes closed as though he were resting; Tech was certain he was trying to track Wrecker through the slight vibrations that only he could feel. 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.
A few moments later, Tech heard footsteps ascending the stairway. He could only hear one person, and the footsteps 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. The Sith woman stood just inside it, holding a dagger in her right hand. Tech stared at it, and at the blood which 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; then her dark gaze slid to Crosshair and she flicked the dagger once, making a few drops of blood spatter against the wall closest to her. "Come," she said, gesturing, and Crosshair moved.
A shrill ringing started in Tech's ears, and his vision darkened. 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, he thought, At least she didn't use the ceremonial dagger.
Inhaling sharply, Tech blinked against the increasingly dry ache in his eyes.
An image of Zenaya, standing behind Wrecker and holding the dagger to his throat, appeared so strongly in Tech's 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 Tech tried to bite his lip. He often did, 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.
But this time, he couldn't distract himself this time. He couldn't make himself look at his two remaining companions. Even if he'd wanted to talk, 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 currently bleeding to death, or choking on their own blood.
Instead, Tech stood where he was, uselessly staring at the floor near the doorway. A few bits of stone were scattered across it from the crumbled statue that had once been a living Twi'lek.
Wrecker. Then Crosshair. Then himself. Then Hunter. Then Quinlan.
Footsteps approached on the stairs again. Tech's vision blurred once more, but all too soon, the Sith woman's black eyes pierced the fog and he was pulled back to awareness.
Ignoring the sudden rattle of chains as Quinlan wrenched against them, Zenaya held out a hand to Tech. "Come."
He obeyed without choosing and walked towards her, unable to truly consider anything at all. Her dagger was dripping again. She should clean it.
"Tech!"
At the sudden shout, Tech paused, coming out of his strange daze slightly. Hunter was still on his knees, but the expression in his eyes was one of desperation.
Tech could only stare back at him, unable to answer.
Zenaya cast a thoughtful look at Hunter, her hand still extended towards Tech. After studying the sergeant, she looked at Quinlan, who was watching her, his eyes glinting with a furious gold.
"Not yet, Quinlan," she whispered, and twisted her fingers.
With a gasp, the Jedi slumped to hang limply from his chains.
Turning her attention fully back to Tech, Zenaya tilted her head towards the door.
Tech followed her down the long 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.
Then, suddenly, he realized that he was walking side by side with Zenaya in the main hallway of her palace. He was shaking, mostly because he could not resist her, and there was no option except to keep walking. 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.
Catching his elbow with one hand, Zenaya dragged him upright again with astonishing strength, then turned her dark gaze on him. "You are afraid."
Her words were just audible through the high-pitched ringing in Tech's ears, but he could still make them out. He glared at her, but had nothing to say in response.
With an almost secretive smile, Zenaya 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 his efforts were pointless. Two familiar, 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; surely, if she had cut their throats, there would be blood everywhere.
The next instant, the relief vanished as quickly as it had come. Maybe Zenaya had killed them somewhere else and then dragged them back to the ship? No . . . there were no trails of blood.
Zenaya stopped walking a few meters away from the Marauder 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 his teammates.
Wrecker and Crosshair were lying on their backs, and wearing their helmets. As far as Tech could see, neither of them had sustained an injury to the neck – or 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. There was blood on the ground at their left sides. Only after he saw that did Tech finally observe that both Wrecker and Crosshair were missing their left vambraces.
. . . Oh.
Tech glanced down just in time to see Zenaya rest her the tip of 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 narrowed his eyes, staring intently back at her as he waited.
A slow, intense 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 slowly. Zenaya was in the room again, watching him as she waited for him to wake up. Quinlan tried to ignore her. Moving stiffly, he got his legs beneath him again and straightened up painfully as he focused on 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 as he remembered what had happened. Wrecker, Crosshair, and then Tech. Hunter must think they were dead . . . Had he been thinking about that, all this time? And how long had it been?
"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 calm 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 stood 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 them in the Force?
No, she thought, then smiled faintly and spoke aloud. "In Trayus, you hesitated to use the Dark Side, even to find those who were missing and in peril. And now, you use it easily to ascertain whether they are alive."
Quinlan shook his head once; not in denial, but because he suddenly realized he didn't care anymore. He'd tried to kill her, when she caught them, and he couldn't use the Light Side, so he'd used the Dark Side . . . or tried to. But no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't reach it fully. As he studied Zenaya, he suddenly understood that she was keeping him from truly accessing its power.
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.
A rush of adrenaline jolted through him, making his heart thud heavily in his chest as he leaned forward. "What is it you want?" he snarled.
"What is it I want?" She gestured, and once again he was struck by how unlike to Vythia her tone and movements were, despite her physical appearance being the same. "An interesting question. If you could see the future as I do, you would kill me immediately . . ."
Hunter stirred and looked up, his gaze flickering between the Jedi and Sith as Quinlan tensed, staring back at her.
". . . no matter the cost to your Jedi beliefs." Zenaya moved a step closer.
Quinlan 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.
"Why do you say that?"
"I didn't need to see the future to try and kill you. I already decided to – I already tried."
"Yes, but you failed." Zenaya sheathed the dagger with a gentle motion. "You did try, to an extent, but despite your time on Malachor, you have not managed to truly break the barrier between light and dark . . . though I admit you came close with the leviathan. Emotion adds strength to the abilities of any Force-user."
"You –" Quinlan's voice felt numb with confusion and fear. He shut his eyes, took a breath, and opened them again. "You want me to kill you?"
Instead of answering, Zenaya slid a wide gold bracelet off her wrist and held it out towards him. "You cannot see into the future, but you can see into the past."
Hunter finally looked at Quinlan, a hint of something like alarm entering his eyes, but the Jedi hardly noticed. He stared at the bracelet, fear pulsing through him at the powerful memories he could feel hovering inside, even from a meter away.
"And – what, you can't see the past?" he asked, too quickly. "You want me to describe the memories to you?"
"Oh, 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 as far as he could. "And you received it as an inheritance, is that it?" he asked, even though his mind was screaming at him to keep quiet.
"Not as such." Zenaya turned the bracelet over and showed him three runes etched into the inside surface. "But once, 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," he gritted out. "Why didn't you gift it to Lothal after that?"
She smiled and traced the runes with one finger. "Tyûk kots shâsot."
Quinlan leaned back against the wall, the metal cool through his tunic, and tried to stop trembling.
"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 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. Grabbing the chains above his wrists, Quinlan straightened, terrified. "No!" he snapped.
". . . No?" Clearly amused by his struggling, Zenaya reached for his wrist. "You misunderstand, Quinlan Vos. I will not attempt to try and make you my apprentice."
Quinlan clutched at the Force, dragging the Dark Side towards him in an effort to hurl her away. It responded, weakly, and 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."
"Zenaya!" Hunter protested, suddenly getting fully to his knees.
"But do not worry. I will instruct you." With a glance back at Hunter, she closed the gold band around Quinlan's wrist.
Zenaya knelt before his throne, utterly calm and unmoved in appearance despite her defeat. 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, without the use of poisons or trickery. Already, his own honor among the servants of the Dark Side had risen as a result of Zenaya's actions.
She possessed a resolve he had never seen before, and he knew that eventually she would succeed in killing him, unless he was forced to kill her first. At this moment, since he had 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, but she never raised her eyes or allowed her expression to change. Her mind remained serene, and if she felt any fear at his eventual and inevitable anger, it was held so completely under her control that 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 and questioning the dark as to her fate.
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 of them. Darth Tanis was a fool. In his zeal to destroy the Jedi, he had crafted a plan that, should it succeed, would destroy the Sith as well.
And, as it turned out, many of the other Sith were fools as well. Rather than risk defeat, they asked for death. By agreeing to Tanis and his plan, they doomed themselves, and perhaps their entire way of life.
Ghant himself had considered killing Tanis, and still held it as a possibility, should all else fail. But Zenaya was far more clever than he. Instead of risking the wrath of the other Sith, many of whom would finish Tanis' plan all the same, she had crafted a strategy that would allow her to survive, and to carry on the teachings of the Sith. Darth Ghant did not understand her plan, and did not expect to. After all, she would be a fool to tell him, or to leave her mind open enough for him to read them. But he was aware that her attempt on his life had been to feed a ritual that would further her purpose.
As he withdrew from the Dark Side, 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.
Now that he had served his purpose as an instructor to future generations, there were many who wanted him dead. And Ghant knew it would be better to die at the hands of a Sith such as his apprentice than to die caught unawares, thus granting to his killer honors unbefitting of a mere assassin.
No, he decided. He would not kill Zenaya. Her life would carry the Sith far longer than his life 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 or willpower on her part. Nevertheless, she had failed. For that, the punishment would be severe.
"Rise," Ghant said, finally allowing his anger and betrayal 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 and faced him, her expression clear of every emotion.
Ghant stared at her, hating and admiring how controlled she was. She was the perfect Sith, and he had taught her . . . and 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.
Now, Ghant would ensure that the next time Zenaya tried to destroy him, her hatred for him would be so great that she could not fail, no matter his strength.
"I have not taught you everything," Ghant said, stepping closer. "I will give you a final instruction now, my apprentice."
Clutching at the Dark Side, he channeled it through his fingers, flinging it at Zenaya in bolt 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 . . . In everything but brute strength, she had far outreached him.
Snarling, Ghant flung Zenaya to the ground, and the jagged 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 Ghant 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-aware 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.
Hunter had 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?
When the silence stretched on, Hunter's mind slid back into the spiral of thought that had occupied it for hours after his teammates had been brought out of the tower room.
Quinlan had been angry at the Sith woman when she held up the dripping 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 maybe she didn't need a reason. It was easier to assume that his batchmates 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.
Hunter tried to list all the times he'd thought the others were severely injured, or even dead, and he'd ended up finding them completely safe. There was the time . . . the time . . .
Hunter 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 think what it might have been. Maybe there hadn't been anything. Maybe he was only remembering when he'd been promoted to sergeant, and how for the first time he'd truly thought about what holding that position meant.
Maybe he was remembering the fear of having to face the situation at all – where he survived, and 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.
At that moment, Zenaya opened her eyes and stood, hands clasped at her waist as she moved towards the Jedi.
The lightsaber Quinlan had been carrying now hung on Zenaya's belt, next to her lightwhip. Hunter stared at the black hilt. There was still a chance they could get out. . . If he could get the lightsaber, if he could kill her.
Hunter knew he'd be able to move if Quinlan could just manage 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 from the tower. She didn't want him to test the limits of her control over him. Hunter knew he couldn't break the paralysis – he'd tried for a long time, after she left with Wrecker, but hadn't managed. 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 had straightened and was staring at Zenaya, a look of absolute but distant 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 and replaced it on her own, and the Jedi blinked and shuddered violently.
"Quinlan?" Hunter said, suddenly afraid that the Jedi wasn't Quinlan anymore.
Quinlan jerked his head, as though tossing away a thought, and gazed back for a long moment before saying, "Hunter . . .?"
Then he blinked and turned to Zenaya, eyes searching hers.
After a few moments, she inclined her head approvingly. "Yes. You perceive my intent more clearly now."
The silence stretched . . . and stretched.
At last, unable to take the silence, Hunter clenched his hands. "Quinlan!" he said, throat dry. "What is it?"
"She's . . . going to let us leave." Quinlan was still watching Zenaya's 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 . . . And now, you understand what it takes to use such a skill."
Quinlan's gaze darkened with doubt, but he didn't answer.
"And you must truly learn it." Zenaya lifted a hand, her fingers straightening out towards Quinlan. "I have always found that the quickest way to learn any Force-ability is to experience it – both as the one employing it and as the one on whom it is employed."
As she finished speaking, a snapping bolt of intensely purple and white light leaped from her hand and pinned Quinlan to the wall for a couple of seconds before vanishing.
Hunter jerked slightly, becoming aware all over again of his invisible restraints, but Quinlan didn't even flinch. He just stood there, frozen, watching her.
"That was only a moment," Zenaya told him. "The knowledge of how it feels makes it harder to imagine a Jedi using it against another, does it not?"
Quinlan dragged in an unsteady breath. "I don't . . ."
"And yet," Zenaya went on, "at the same time, that same 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. Wrenching against the chains again, he shouted, "I don't want to use it! Why –"
Another burst of light cut him off, and he flung his head back. This time, Hunter felt prickles of electricity shoot through the room. At the sensation, 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 now Zenaya 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. Hunter glanced down at the floor as the Jedi jerked against the onslaught of electricity. What was it Zenaya wanted?
Then 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, her expression and voice more animated than before. "I have promised to release you, after all . . . But perhaps that will be unnecessary. Perhaps you can free yourself."
Quinlan gasped, clenching his fingers.
Zenaya's black eyes swirled briefly with red and purple as she watched him. Then she tilted her head. "I see you do not understand how to use lightning yet. Why not?"
The Jedi only stared at her, frightened and confused.
"Is it that you cannot summon in yourself the level of hate Ghant possessed?" She moved slowly closer. "I understand that it can take some time to learn how to hate . . . but you should not have to learn, Quinlan. You have hated before."
As if a switch had been flipped, 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 when 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.
The Sith woman'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.
She watched him for a moment longer, then spoke almost warningly. "Do not imagine that I am unaware of the risks."
Hunter shook his head, thoughts so blurred and confused that he felt 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. But using it might not work.
Hunter leaned forward on his hands and knees, letting his head hang for a few seconds as he tried to steady himself, and focus on one thing. The easiest one was the tingling and burning from his knees down as his circulation returned. He'd be able to move soon enough.
Cutting out all other distractions, Hunter glanced again at the lightsaber on Zenaya's belt, judging the distance between it and himself. He would have to be fast, but he could move – or would be able to soon. He could reach her, get the lightsaber, kill her.
Casting a quick look up, Hunter met Quinlan's gaze. Keep her distracted, he thought, and hoped that the Jedi would understand.
If he didn't stumble, it would only take him a couple of seconds to grab and ignite the lightsaber, then kill her. Adrenaline coursed through him, but Hunter made himself relax in an effort to keep from looking like a threat. Breathing slowly and lightly, he waited.
