Zenaya was going to set them free – she didn't intend to kill them – she wanted him to use lightning –

Quinlan, wavering between confusion and fright and anger, tried to ask why.

Maybe he did ask, but he didn't hear himself. When Zenaya lifted her hand, a clash of intense flames and cutting ice shocked through him, drowning out his hearing and sight as his muscles seized.

The next instant, everything stopped, then seemed to skip and fade, leaving him with nothing but dull, bone-deep aches that vanished even as he straightened.

I don't want to use it! Quinlan shivered, breathing quickly as Zenaya stepped away from him. The sudden shock of agony had cleared his mind from one web of confusion only to replace it with another. He was almost sure that she wanted him to use Sith lightning, but why? What did she really want him to do?

I don't want to use it –! His own words kept ringing in his head, and he swallowed hard against the strange, bitter taste of smoke that lingered in his throat. I don't want to use it –

"I did not demand that you use it on Hunter," Zenaya chided, delicately raising an eyebrow at him. "I have promised to release you, after all . . . But perhaps that will be unnecessary. Perhaps you can free yourself."

Quinlan clenched and unclenched his fingers against the lingering burn and wished he knew what she wanted.

The woman's black eyes met his, and a swirl of reddish-purple brightened them for an instant. "I see you do not understand how to use lightning yet. . . Why not?"

He only looked at her without answering. He knew how. Zenaya's master had hated so strongly in the vision that his greatest desire in that moment had been to cause excruciating pain to his own apprentice, and his will had been completely focused.

Zenaya's gaze flickered over Quinlan's face. "Is it that you cannot summon in yourself the level of hate Ghant possessed?" she asked softly, moving 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 by her demand, Quinlan's memory jerked back to the thing he'd tried for years to forget: the gang leader, struggling on the ground as Quinlan fired four times into his chest and stomach . . . the scorched grass drenched with a spray of blood . . . his own sudden, horrified realization at what he was doing, and how fast he had shot the man through the head, as though by killing him quickly now he could erase what he'd done . . . the words he'd whispered to himself, all during the cold, silent flight back to Coruscant, in a frantic attempt to subdue his burning conscience: But he deserved it . . . he deserved it . . .

"Zenaya!" Hunter's shout cut through the memory of his own muttered words.

Blinking free of his thoughts, Quinlan looked up hesitantly.

The sergeant was on his knees, one hand braced against the floor as he glared up at Zenaya, who had turned to watch him.

"Do you have a death wish?" Hunter snapped at her.

Quinlan didn't understand why he'd asked that. Maybe Hunter was trying to distract Zenaya. Maybe he'd been hoping Quinlan would get angry, like he had with the leviathan, and manage to blast Zenaya through a few walls.

If only. His best attempts so far had hardly made her blink. But maybe he hadn't really tried. Was she keeping him from reaching the Force? He had chosen to use the dark . . . so why couldn't he call on it as powerfully as Zenaya?

Quinlan clenched his fingers and breathed slowly, trying to think. Maybe he didn't really want to use the Dark Side. After all, he'd been tricking himself for days, ever since they entered Trayus. Nothing in the galaxy had scared him more than the idea of Falling, but he'd been lying to himself, only hoping that he was unwilling to use the dark.

So maybe now, when he thought he'd freely chosen to use the Dark Side, he hadn't actually chosen. . .? No. The moment he'd made the decision, the power in the Force around him had become more obvious and accessible. But even now, it was impeded by something that muted his attempts to reach it.

Zenaya was speaking to Hunter. "Do not imagine that I am unaware of the risks."

The sergeant answered, but Quinlan barely heard his words through the sudden flare of disoriented hope. He was a risk to Zenaya? She had indicated that he and Hunter could escape, but would she really risk his killing her? Why come back to life only to die?

Quinlan turned his head to stare at her, feeling cold all over as his instincts caught up with him. That was why he didn't want to use the lightning – not because of the dark, but because she wanted him to use it, which meant that she had some ulterior motive. Everything she'd done so far had another motive layered on top of it. She'd shown him a vision through Ghant's eyes to teach him a Sith power. There was no reason that she could want him to have such a dangerous ability unless it would gain her something, and – what could possibly be gained by his attacking her with Force-lightning?

Quinlan didn't want to find out.

Her words kept running through his head.

'Do not imagine that I am unaware of the risks.' Zenaya's power had been completely overwhelmed by that of her master, but in the end she had become stronger than Ghant, and Quinlan was nowhere near even Ghant's level of power.

'You have hated before'. Yes, he had. And yet . . .

While in the vision, Quinlan had understood how to use the lightning, but a strange pity for Zenaya kept him from fully entering Ghant's mindset, even at the end. And something told him he wouldn't be able to use the lightning against her without hating her.

Never again, he'd sworn to himself a month after his return to the Jedi Temple following that mission. I'll never kill out of hatred again. . . I'll never act out of hatred again.

At the time, the desire to never again commit such an awful act had been so fervent that he'd been convinced he would never be capable of doing it again. But when Zenaya escaped Trayus, he'd been so furious that he'd destroyed the leviathan with an unnatural level of Force-strength. It was easy. So why couldn't he do it now? Because the leviathan had not been a Force-user? Because Zenaya truly was powerful enough to block his strongest attempts?

. . . Or did he only think he'd been using the Dark Side to its fullest extent? Did he have to be under the influence of a strong emotion before he could actually access the twisted power all around him? Were the emotions snaking through him too weak to use against Zenaya? Why did it matter? What was she waiting for? Was she trying to make him Fall, or just attack her? Was he – was . . .

Quinlan jerked all over, then went limp against his chains in sudden exhaustion. The days-long weariness that had been clinging to him was worse, making his thoughts leap from point to point with almost frantic speed. His mind couldn't settle on anything; it spun and glitched until at last he shifted, unable to keep still beneath the growing fear and nausea.

The worst part was the feeling of helplessness, and the confusion of not knowing what Zenaya really wanted him to do, or why. She hadn't told him whether to use the first form of lightning or the second. . . He hadn't even known there was more than one form, until she hit him with them. The first had been nothing but pain – severe, but short-lived. The second had been electricity. . . true lightning, he suddenly realized, a long-forgotten memory of some phrase he'd read returning to mind.

There were two kinds. Of course there were – there had to be. Zenaya wouldn't have survived a quarter of an hour beneath an onslaught of continuous true lightning. . . Surely, Zenaya didn't want him to kill her?

A sudden sensation of amusement from Zenaya interrupted his thoughts, and Quinlan looked up in alarm. The Sith woman was facing him, but her head was tilted slightly towards Hunter, and her eyes were half-closed as though she were listening to a distant voice.

The sergeant was on his hands and knees, head hanging; he looked exhausted, but the expression on his face was determined. He was planning something, and there was no way Zenaya would not see it coming.

Quinlan watched him, trying to catch his eyes, but Hunter's gaze was focused on the lightsaber that hung from Zenaya's belt, opposite to her lightwhip. There should be two lightsabers, but when Quinlan reached out, he couldn't sense the padawan's saber, which he'd brought with him.

When Quinlan glanced around the room, he noticed for the first time that Tech's and Crosshair's and Wrecker's weapons, which had been scattered around the room following their attack on Zenaya, were gone. And Hunter's knife and blaster were missing, as well as his pack and helmet.

At that moment, Hunter looked up and met his gaze. The sharp look in his eyes, followed by the slightest head-tilt towards Zenaya, was a clear order: distract her.

Quinlan shook his head, trying to warn him that she was expecting an attack, but the sergeant had already looked away.

A flash of adrenaline woke Quinlan a little from the half-doze his mind seemed to have been in for some time. Straightening, he drew on the Force to sharpen his mind and perception. Anything he or Hunter tried against Zenaya would most likely fail – then again, the only other option was to wait passively for her to act.

Zenaya continued to stand between them, her eyes still vaguely unfocused as her awareness rested equally on both of them. The seconds passed slowly; still, she neither moved nor spoke.

With a silent intake of breath, Hunter glanced at the Jedi again, as though asking if he were ready. Quinlan lowered his chin in an inobtrusive nod and grasped at the Force. The dark responded immediately, despite his bound hands, and he sent a probing Force-push at Zenaya. A mere look from her redirected it into the wall.

The Sith woman half-turned, watching Hunter but speaking to Quinlan. "You have noticed that you cannot fully reach the Force, have you not?"

Instead of answering, Quinlan clenched one fist, levitating a group of stone shards from the ground. The sharp pieces of the statue hovered in the air behind Zenaya, just at the level of her head – but the instant he flung them at her, she dispelled the attempt with a flick of her fingers.

"You have noticed." She still wouldn't turn fully to face him. "But you have not yet discerned why . . .?"

"I assumed it was your doing," he said through a dry throat.

"You assumed." She let out a faint hum of disappointment, then moved closer, reaching towards his chest.

Quinlan jerked back and came up against the wall, and she slipped her hand inside his tunic to withdraw the yellow crystal.

"This," she said, lifting it between two fingers. "This crystal still limits you."

Behind her, Hunter started to kneel carefully upright, his gaze fixed warily on Zenaya.

. . . Limits, or protects? Quinlan wondered. For some reason, he heard the thought in his old master's voice. It sounded like something Tholme would have said.

Whether the crystal limited or protected him, though, the effect was the same – if Zenaya was telling the truth, Bastila's crystal was what kept him from killing the Sith.

"The crystal's dead," he said, mostly to keep Zenaya's attention on him and not on Hunter, who had just wavered.

"It is drained. And yet, it remains a partial shield against the Dark Side." Closing her hand tightly around it, she shut her eyes meditatively. "Bastila Shan – a Jedi, a Sith, and then, unfortunately, a Jedi again. Had it not been for Lord Revan, she would have been renowned."

Behind her, Hunter shifted his weight and got cautiously to one knee.

Then, something barely present but fog-like seemed to blink suddenly out of existence, and for the first time since the Core, Quinlan felt the open, unhindered presence of howling darkness. For the first time since the ritual, he was fully awake and alert, the long-lasting confusion and exhaustion banished for as long as he continued to draw on the dark. Now he could act.

Unconcerned by his sudden grasp of the Dark Side, Zenaya opened her fingers again, letting the kyber fall heavily to the ground. Not a glint of its former color remained.

"A strong presence indeed, though ultimately futile," she said coolly. "Without significant meditation, I cannot channel the dark through it or make it bleed; but at least now, it will no longer serve to shield you . . . and neither will the other crystal."

In a quick motion that made Hunter freeze in place, Zenaya drew and ignited Quinlan's lightsaber. The blade flared blood red. For the moment that it burned, the previously familiar hum was gone, its tone now harsher and lower in pitch.

Then, Zenaya replaced the hilt on her belt and turned towards Hunter.

Wrenching forward with a clatter of chains, Quinlan used the Force to drag her attention towards himself. "Enough with the games, Zenaya," he spat.

She paused, then turned to face him directly, clasping her hands before her as she studied him. "Patience . . . " she chided.

"Patience?" Quinlan mocked, half his focus on the thrumming surge of the Force all around him. He had to keep her talking. "You've spent thousands of years here, Zenaya. I'd have thought you'd be in a hurry to leave."

"Why would I be?" She stopped speaking, as though listening to something, then continued. "A day more or less will make little difference. The Sith are in hiding. The galaxy, in the throes of a strange war. I must learn my way through it. Patience is an invaluable skill, Quinlan – one that I have perfected, insofar as that is possible."

Quinlan was hardly listening. Out of his peripheral vision, he'd just seen Hunter nearly lose his balance again. What was taking him so long?

Maybe the fact that he's been kneeling still for five or six hours.

The Dark Side hovered around him, waiting for his command, and Zenaya was distracted by her own thoughts for the moment – but she would notice if he directed any sort of Force-attack at her. He had to be less direct.

Quinlan reached out through the Force and tried to steady Hunter. But his efforts were clumsy and unrefined, the sudden power too much to handle, and he stopped, afraid of throwing Hunter off-balance. After taking a slow breath and letting himself adjust to the strength of the Force, he tried again.

Without appearing to notice him, Zenaya reached out and effortlessly paralyzed his hands despite his new strength. She had noticed him using the Force – but maybe not what Hunter was doing.

When she spoke, her tone was one of disinterested instruction. "Many Sith died because they miscalculated the abilities of their enemies and prisoners," she said. "A fellow apprentice of mine was killed because he allowed himself to be goaded into attacking his victim. Had he waited, and reserved his anger until the prisoner was properly bound, he could have employed it then. But his death was not entirely pointless. It taught me that patience and self-control are essential to success."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind next time I'm about to sacrifice someone," Quinlan retorted sarcastically, hardly noticing his own words. Hunter, get up –!

"Hmm." The Sith woman lowered her gaze with a secretive smile, as though she disbelieved him. . . almost as though she knew something about Quinlan that he didn't.

Before he could speak again, she looked up and gestured slightly, as if dismissing the previous topic of conversation. She had been diverted, but now she was focused again. Some of that focus rested on Hunter, who had finally gotten to his feet and was straightening without a sound.

"What do you want, Zenaya?" Quinlan demanded sharply, hurling a mental attack against the paralysis that kept him from moving his hands. "Just tell me!"

"So that you can refuse again? No." Zenaya studied him silently for a moment before adding, "You know what I intend for you to do."

I do . . . ? A fearful, half-formed flicker of understanding crossed Quinlan's mind, and he took a breath, wanting to answer but not sure what to say.

Then, with the speed of a snake, Hunter attacked. Quinlan hardly saw him move as he dove across the short distance between himself and the Sith woman and grabbed for her lightsaber.

The sergeant's fingers had just brushed the hilt when Zenaya jerked her hand to the right. Hunter was thrown several meters and slammed violently onto his side, nearly cracking his head against the floor.

"Patience," Zenaya repeated calmly, smoothing her skirt down at the sides as she regarded him. Her focus drifted purposefully from Quinlan's hands, allowing him to move again.

Hunter flipped onto his back and braced himself on his elbows as he glared at her, angry fear only too obvious in his expression – until he looked uncertainly away.

"You were not truly prepared for your attempt," she told him, lowering her chin. "And more importantly, the Jedi was not prepared for his."

She tilted her head and took a step closer to Hunter. With a sudden effort, Quinlan grabbed at his lightsaber in the Force with one hand and sent a blast of energy at the side of her head with the other.

Zenaya deflected both attacks with scarcely a glance, then reached out, freezing him in place yet again. "Such futile attempts are hardly worth your energy," she reprimanded. "They are certainly not worth mine."

Then what do you want?! he shouted internally, hurling his will against her overwhelming control. The panic he'd been able to suppress while able to move was growing fast now that he was helpless again. How was her level of control even possible?

Instead of answering, she extended her other hand towards Hunter. Sparks flickered on her fingertips.

No –! No! Quinlan struggled against her forbidding thoughts, fighting to speak.

"Hatred can move anyone, with time," Zenaya told him. "However, we do not have unlimited time."

Hunter stayed where he was, fearful realization glinting in his eyes as he stared at the thin purple filaments that arced incessantly between her fingers.

Zenaya observed Hunter for several long seconds. Then a faint, cold smile touched her lips, and she shot Quinlan a brief look. "Fortunately, Jedi, there is something that moves you far more easily than hatred. Pity."

"Don't!" The swelling panic let Quinlan speak at last, the words forcing their way through his throat. "Zenaya, you'll kill him!"

"Will I?" Zenaya mused, interested. "Hm . . . I suppose that will depend on you. I have given you the necessary knowledge to act."

Extending her arm, she tensed her fingers. Streaks and bolts of white-violet light flared and burst, lending an angry flavor to the Force as Hunter collapsed with a sharp cry.

Quinlan winced and clenched his fists. A single, powerfully focused attack shattered the paralysis, wrenched the lightsaber from Zenaya's belt, and ignited it. But as he flung it towards her, a cool pressure against his mind froze the attack, leaving the crimson blade of the saber humming centimeters from her neck.

Straightening his fingers above the cuffs, Quinlan willed the blade to move itself closer, but he couldn't make it respond.

Sending him a reproving look, Zenaya lowered her hand, leaving Hunter struggling to get to his hands and knees. "You will have to do better than that, Quinlan," she scolded, closing her hand around the lightsaber.

She replaced it on her belt, then gestured. Quinlan was slammed back against the wall, the breath knocked out of him. Coughing against the sudden lack of oxygen, he caught his balance and straightened to meet Zenaya's eyes.

Raising her eyebrows in a silent question, she reached out again. Hunter hadn't fully made it to his knees when the lightning hurled him back to the floor and pinned him there.

With a snarl, Quinlan clenched his fists, summoning tendrils of dark energy to wrap around Zenaya's throat in a violent stranglehold that would have brought even someone like Wrecker to his knees in seconds. The Sith woman grimaced slightly, but didn't attempt to break the Force-hold. She only kept it from tightening further.

Jagged arcs of lightning snapped and seared against the floor and walls, and a sense of overwhelming agony from Hunter burned in Quinlan's mind. He gritted his teeth and tightened his mental grip, intent on taking the Sith down. He had to ignore what she was doing for a few seconds . . . just a few seconds . . .

But those few seconds passed, and nothing changed. Zenaya should be unconscious by now – she certainly wasn't breathing – but her eyes were fully alert as she gazed mockingly at him.

A strangled scream tore into what was left of Quinlan's focus. Faltering, he looked down at Hunter, who was writhing and jerking beneath the tangle of violet light.

That moment of distraction was all Zenaya needed. Too late, Quinlan flung a shield around his thoughts. She was already in his mind, ripping through the remnants of the chokehold as though they were cobwebs. Before he could repel her, she had withdrawn of her own accord.

"Failure again," she said, voice taut for only an instant before reverting back to its usual calm iciness. She looked slowly down at Hunter, who was curled on his side and panting for breath. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I will end by killing him after all."

"No!" Quinlan's heart slammed against his sternum, sending angry energy jolting through his limbs.

"No?" She gestured gracefully, turning one hand palm-up in a questioning gesture while the other, pointed at Hunter, tensed. "Then . . . stop me."

Gritting his teeth, Quinlan tried – again. The Force surged and obeyed as he clamped it around her throat, but then it slipped away, like he had tried to clutch water in his fingers.

Zenaya tilted her head in clear disappointment and closed her eyes. Lightning streaked into existence all over again, and Hunter arched violently backwards, shouting.

Abandoning his attempt to throttle her, Quinlan hurled two powerful bursts of energy against her – they dissipated on impact.

Furious, he threw himself against the chains and raised his voice over Hunter's continuing cries. "ZENAYA!"

Her eyes remained tranquilly closed, and her voice was soft – almost gentle – as she answered. "Stop me, Quinlan Vos."

Breathless with anger and terror, Quinlan snatched at everything around him and hurled it at Zenaya's head. The lightsaber, the dagger, the splinters of stone – but the Dark Side obeyed her far more readily than it obeyed him. Everything he threw swerved aside at the last instant. The dagger came closest, passing within a centimeter of her face, and finally Zenaya opened her eyes . . . but the lightning continued.

With a furious shout, Quinlan flung the blade again. This time, she stepped aside and shoved him against the wall with a flick of her left hand, while lightning continued to leap from her right. A second passed – another –

He tore himself free from her control and threw attack after attack at her. They slipped past Zenaya without touching her. Quinlan stopped attacking in shock when Hunter let out a horrible, high-pitched scream, his voice and Force-presence frantic with agony.

Twisting to face him, Quinlan constructed a Force-shield between Hunter and Zenaya, but the lightning burned through it within a second.

Still watching Quinlan almost patiently, Zenaya continued to torture Hunter, who twisted weakly on the floor.

Closing his eyes and reaching out to the Force, Quinlan understood that there was nothing that he could do to defeat or even stop Zenaya. She could counteract everything he tried – so he clutched at the raging power surrounding him and ordered it to stop the Sith woman. He didn't attempt to guide the Dark Side, but let it guide him. His hands and instincts moved almost of their own accord, and before he even realized what was happening, he had dragged the dark energy emanating from Zenaya into himself.

Sharp, icy flames slashed at his arms and hands and the inside of his head, filling him with a rush of astonishing strength that abruptly muted the unbearable pain. With a quick breath, Quinlan opened his eyes and met Zenaya's gaze directly. Her eyes gleamed with surprise, faint wariness – and approval.

Bolts of splintering light arced between their hands as he continued to drag the Force towards himself. She didn't let up, but the power that coursed through him dulled his recognition of the agony to almost nothing as he gathered the Dark Side and readied another attack.

She continued to watch Quinlan, who kept his eyes fixed unblinkingly on hers, even when the lightning reached upward to sear paths of light into his vision. The longer she continued to send lightning at him, the more he would have to send back at her.

They both knew that, but Zenaya refused to stop summoning the lightning, despite knowing she was giving him more power; and Quinlan refused to release it, despite knowing that if he failed, he might receive the full power of her attack.

Then Zenaya's still expression shifted, and a sudden flash of thought in Vythia's familiar voice leaped straight into Quinlan's mind. There were no words – just her voice and intent. She was waiting for a chance to help.

As if she had also heard Vythia, Zenaya's focus faltered. Instantly, Quinlan reversed the lightning he was drawing into himself and hurled it outwards in a single, searing bolt.

Zenaya opened her arms, not even attempting to block the attack, and the lightning struck her full in the chest and arced outwards in all directions. Even as it enveloped her in a web of violet anguish, the Sith thrust both hands into the vicious surge of amplified energy.

Keeping her hands in the center of the attack, Zenaya shifted her attention to Hunter, who was lying motionless a few meters away. Too late, Quinlan recognized her intention. As he tried to take back the control he'd given the Dark Side, she twisted her hands and redirected the lightning.

Hunter choked, writhing and shouting beneath the crackling onslaught for several endless seconds before spasming so violently that he nearly sat up. As Quinlan reached towards him, Hunter flung himself down hard in a desperate attempt to escape the lightning, then twisted onto his back with another scream that cut off just before the purple light did.

A piercing stillness fell.

For a long moment, Quinlan could only stare down at Hunter in silent horror. The sergeant lay utterly motionless, one arm twisted beneath his back, legs bent sideways, head flung back and up, eyes half-open and face bloodless.

The Sith woman hummed thoughtfully and stepped forward, stooping to touch Hunter's temple with two fingers. Straightening, she clasped her hands in front of her and turned to observe Quinlan. "I was mistaken," she said. "I did not have to kill him after all."

She did not say 'but you did', but Quinlan heard those words all the same. He didn't believe them . . . he didn't want to. The lightning hadn't killed Zenaya, or himself. Why would it kill Hunter? It wasn't true lightning – it was a feeling only, not electricity –

Pain can kill.

Quinlan wrenched his gaze away from Hunter, hating his own cowardice. He could reach out, try to sense the sergeant's Force-presence . . . but he wouldn't. He was too afraid of finding no presence at all. Cold sweat prickled down his collarbone and back as he stared numbly at the floor. He hadn't summoned the lightning, but he may as well have.

Zenaya's pale shadow drifted away from him. She didn't say anything.

The room was too quiet and still. Now, Quinlan could hear every sound – the material of the Sith woman's skirt rustling against the stone as she seated herself on the floor, his own too-harsh breathing and the faint clinking of the chains above him as he trembled, and silence from Hunter. The silence was the loudest.

Quinlan's breath hitched. Twisting his fingers, he wrapped them around the cold links of metal above the cuffs. The chains numbed his hands a little, but not the fear and pain and hopelessness.

Zenaya was kneeling quietly, sitting back on her heels with both hands resting on her knees. Her expression was serene.

A minute passed, and Hunter still hadn't moved or made a sound. Quinlan glanced at him – he looked exactly the same as before. Turning back to Zenaya, Quinlan tried to hold back the sudden stinging in his eyes.

"Why suffer?" Zenaya asked him, her voice a mere murmur in the dead stillness of the room. "Use it, Jedi. Turn it into something that will serve you instead of eating away at your heart."

Sickened by how calm she looked and sounded, Quinlan turned his head sharply to the side.

"What prevents you from using true lightning of your own accord?" she asked after a moment. "You understand how."

Quinlan stared at the pale white of the torch flames and didn't answer.

"Your refusal cannot be a matter of Jedi scruples. You freely use the Dark Side . . . And you allowed it to use you." Zenaya got to her feet. "Is it that, despite my actions, you somehow lack motivation to kill me?"

Quinlan gritted his teeth hard to keep his control from snapping – he had every motivation to kill her – but he knew she had no intention of letting herself be killed. He wouldn't give her whatever it was she really wanted.

"Ah . . . you wish to kill me some other way, is that it?" She moved closer. "I should warn you, I will not allow that. Why not take the choice I am giving you?"

When he still refused to answer, Zenaya laughed softly and touched his cheek with cool fingertips. Leaning closer, she said, "Perhaps you have forgotten that there are three more of your companions outside the palace."

When he jerked around to face her, the Sith woman stepped back as he stared at her, unable to speak.

"But I will only need to torment them if Hunter dies," she went on, searching his face thoughtfully. "For his sake, Jedi, do not test me much longer."


Despite how Vythia wanted Quinlan to use true lightning on the Sith woman, she understood why he refused. He wasn't foolish enough to attempt killing her that way when Zenaya wanted him to. He knew she would not have returned to life only so that she could be killed.

Carefully, Vythia locked her knowledge away in case Zenaya decided to search her mind for answers yet again. The Sith woman had already rifled most of her memory for information about the current galaxy, the Jedi, the Sith, the planets Zenaya had known – even those which no longer existed – and all the planets that Vythia had visited in person. Zenaya had even searched for things that Vythia took for granted, like the ability to speak and read Basic, and then taken that knowledge for herself.

Vythia had let her, only pretending to resist; in reality, she was studying her enemy just as closely as Zenaya studied her – but unlike the Sith woman, Vythia was learning about her enemy so that she could destroy her. The plan she had, though, depended on Quinlan, and he was all but useless at the moment. She would have used Hunter, because his hands were not chained, but he was still senseless . . . and would be for some time. Even when he woke up, he might not have the ability to act.

No, Vythia had to use Quinlan, but how could she let him know her plan? She couldn't talk to him without Zenaya's instant knowledge. . . the Sith woman had almost caught her a few minutes ago, when she communicated through the lightning that leaped between her hands and Quinlan's.

But maybe it is better that he does not know my plan after all, she thought. If he knew, he might hesitate, despite everything.

Vythia wasn't entirely sure what to make of the Jedi's sympathetic nature – but she did think that Quinlan had shown that particular trait too many times. It was admirable in one sense, and yet it kept him from his goals to such an extent that during the two weeks she had known him, she had wondered several times why the Jedi Council had ever appointed him as a Shadow. From what she knew, being a Shadow was one of the hardest assignments a Jedi could have. They were more isolated than most, and worked in the lowest and most pitiless areas in the galaxy. And, what seemed to be even harder, there were many times where their circumstances demanded they go against their Code. She had read of Jedi Shadows who had switched to being Guardians after having to work with criminals for months and even befriend them, only to betray them to arrest and imprisonment later . . .

Suddenly realizing that she had lost her train of thought, Vythia jerked herself back to the present. Her mind was wandering again. It had happened more and more often in the past few hours – too often – to the point where she did not actually see or feel everything that went on before her eyes.

Steadying herself, Vythia dragged her attention to the room in front of her. Zenaya was taunting the Jedi, asking if he lacked motivation to kill her . . . and Hunter still hadn't woken up or even moved. He would eventually, though – he would be made to wake up. Zenaya intended to keep using him against Quinlan until the Jedi gave in.

That would likely take some time, but Vythia could not delay her actions for too much longer. The longer the torture went on, the less capable all three of them would be. Hunter would get weaker, Quinlan more and more unstable in the Force, and as for Vythia herself –

She had no doubts as to her own resolve. It would last. But one could never trust the body to fully comply with the will. Self-preservation was a powerful instinct, and Vythia did not want to underestimate it; she would only have one chance. She would have to catch Quinlan off-guard, presenting him with the opportunity to kill Zenaya in the hopes that he would see and take it. For her to do that, the circumstances had to be correct.

Forcing her mind to be cold and analytical, Vythia tried to think through the steps she would take, if and when the opportunity arose. Quinlan or Hunter would have to be free to move and capable of movement – and in reach of a weapon. In Quinlan's case, that would not be as difficult. Zenaya would have to be distracted; her focus could be drawn by the necessity of blocking Force-attacks. . . And Vythia would have to give the Jedi a clear signal that now was the moment to kill Zenaya.

Going for her neck would be by far the easiest, but he had tried that and failed several times, and Zenaya was protecting herself constantly against further attempts at strangulation.

But when Vythia imagined herself reaching up to unclasp the cortosis vest she wore, which had protected her so far, a blinding fear muted her thoughts. She struggled to repress it, so Zenaya wouldn't know.

An indeterminate amount of time passed . . . perhaps seconds, perhaps minutes.

When she finally regained her awareness, it was to find herself kneeling a few meters from Hunter, who had finally woken. He was sitting, leaning sideways against the wall with his knees drawn up as he curled in on himself. Zenaya must have been speaking to him, because Hunter was glaring at her, eyes dark with pain and fear.

Vythia's senses were not correctly aligned yet; although she felt Zenaya's amusement and heard Quinlan shouting in the background, she couldn't make out his words. It sounded as though he were begging.

That will get you nowhere, Quinlan, Vythia thought, with a twinge of pity, and a sudden resolve to carry through with her plan dampened the fluttering panic that had been beating against her soul for so long. She had been convinced that sympathy was a weakness – and yet here, it was strengthening her failing courage.

The realization was so sudden and strange that it made her withdraw abruptly in an attempt to hide it from Zenaya's constantly hovering awareness. Anger and humiliation and fear at her own imprisonment were no longer the only things driving Vythia's decision to kill the Sith woman. During the hours she'd spent observing her former teammates since their capture, especially since Wrecker and Crosshair and Tech were supposedly killed near the Marauder, a sense of compassion had eaten quietly at her – and now, it had made its way to the surface.

It was . . . foreign. Vythia did not enjoy causing others pain. She never had, but she'd stood by many times, unbothered as the Prince's men beat and interrogated enemy agents unlucky enough to have been caught. Then again, the same would have happened to Vythia herself if she was ever captured by the crimelords who lived in a constant state of war with the Prince.

Perhaps that was why it had been so easy to ignore.

When Vythia felt her mouth move, she shivered internally at the realization that her body was speaking while – once again – she had no idea what was being said. Again, her mind had wandered. Burying her previous line of thought, Vythia returned to the surface of her awareness and waited. There could be no more distractions.


Hunter had recovered consciousness slowly while Zenaya knelt nearby and Quinlan watched, fear and relief warring against each other.

No sooner had Hunter opened his eyes than Zenaya turned to Quinlan and spoke softly. "Still alive, as I said. But I shall continue as before until you comply."

No. The fear won, and he found his voice. "No, Zenaya –!"

Not again. Not again, please.

But the Sith woman had ignored Quinlan's desperate, useless demands. Of course she had – what had he even been thinking, begging her not to continue when she had told him that he was the one who could make her stop?

But something changed when Zenaya had raised her hand to begin. As Hunter cringed back against the wall, Zenaya's eyes flickered, and she murmured something Quinlan couldn't make out.

That had been several minutes ago. Ever since then, she'd done nothing but stand between her prisoners, motionless as a statue, her dark gaze turned inward.

Vythia. Quinlan felt a surge of hope as he remembered the sudden realization he'd had, when he'd understood that Vythia was waiting to attack. She's fighting Zenaya . . . or hiding from her.

Whatever she was doing, Zenaya was distracted for the moment.

With a sudden burst of effort, Quinlan snatched at the lightsaber, but the Sith woman blocked him without even seeming to notice. Somehow, even while focusing on Vythia, she was able to protect herself through the Force.

Twisting against the chains that cut into his wrists, Quinlan tried to check on Hunter, but he couldn't even catch his gaze. Hunter was sitting, leaning sideways against the wall, face pale with wary apprehension as he watched Zenaya.

Quinlan didn't dare to speak, even to draw Hunter's attention; he had no idea what Vythia was doing, if anything, but he didn't want to distract Zenaya again. Instead, he tried to catch Hunter's awareness with the Force, but once again, the attempt slid away.

Frustrated at every turn, Quinlan wrenched against his chains. The sharp edges of metal against raw skin brought him up short, but he jerked angrily at them again before stopping abruptly as an idea struck him. Zenaya was preventing him from touching Hunter, and herself, and her weapons, through the Force. . . but she wasn't preventing him from channeling Force-energy directly through his own chains.

Despite their delicate appearance, the gold-coated links would be incredibly hard to shatter. They were made of cortosis, just like most of the room. The explosives hadn't even touched them. Still, it might be his only chance.

Quinlan wrapped the Force around the chains, feeling for their weakest points – either the links embedded in the ceiling, or those connected directly to the cuffs, or one of the dozens in between . . . But there were no weak points. Every link along the entire length of the chains seemed to be exactly as strong as the next.

Gritting his teeth, Quinlan let his weight hang from his wrists, then focused on the links connected to his cuffs. Slowly, the dark energy seeped into the metal, invisibly weakening it. It took every ounce of energy and attention he had to make even a small amount of progress, but it was still progress.

Only a minute had passed when a sudden twist in the Force warned him that Zenaya was coming back to herself. Quinlan straightened quickly, releasing the Force only just in time.

Zenaya blinked and tilted her head to one side, eyes narrowed slightly – almost as though she were searching for something. Whatever it was, she must not have found it, because her previous calm demeanor returned in an instant.

Without speaking, she turned back to her prisoners as though she had never been interrupted and opened her hand.

Thin arcs of light flickered to life over her palm, and Hunter stumbled to his feet with a sharp inhale, catching himself against the wall with one hand.

Quinlan shivered. The lightning looked different, this time. A few sparks flew out of Zenaya's hand to land on the floor, where they winked out abruptly.

The realization that she had summoned true lightning made Quinlan's heart skip a beat. She would kill Hunter if she used that – she knew that. And if Quinlan used it, here, that sudden power unrestrained . . . he would kill Hunter. Zenaya knew that, as well.

As she approached, Hunter backed unsteadily away, hands half-raised as though that would somehow protect him. "No!" he gasped, his usual reticence completely gone.

"Ask Quinlan Vos, not I," she told him indifferently. "If he stops me with this –" A powerful violet bolt struck the ceiling with a splintering snap, and the sharp smell of ozone permeated the room. "– you will be permitted to leave."

For an instant Quinlan stood motionless, a sharp ache in his chest as Hunter swayed and fell to his knees. Smiling a little, Zenaya swept both hands towards him.

With a savage shout, Quinlan lunged, channeling his own fury and fear and Hunter's terror and Zenaya's calm malice directly into his cuffs even as he dragged her attack towards himself.

The cuffs shattered into dozens of pieces, a mere half-second before the lightning caught him in the chest and hurled him backwards against the wall.

He hardly felt the impact. Twisting mid-air, he landed on his feet in time to duck a second blast of lightning. The ability to move and fight back – really fight back – was intoxicating. For a wild moment, Quinlan almost laughed, but he sobered quickly when he saw Zenaya drawing her lightwhip.

The Sith woman – who still looked calm, despite having an edge to her movements that hadn't been there before – paralyzed him with a thought.

But even as he felt himself become motionless, something made Zenaya waver and lose focus. She stumbled and dropped the lightwhip, a strange look crossing her face; for the first time, Quinlan felt both Zenaya's and Vythia's presences simultaneously in the Force as they surged and clashed.

Once again, he let the Dark Side flow through him. The instant Zenaya was at the forefront, it guided him to reach forward with both hands, latching dark energy in a paralyzing hold around her body. She froze in place – and, because she was dominating Vythia, the Sith woman could not physically move . . .

But Vythia could.

Immediately, Zenaya realized what was happening and turned her strength against Quinlan, who dropped to one knee, panting against the heavy weight of compulsion that forced its way down his throat as he continued to hold the paralysis in place.

"Vythia!" he gritted out, looking up with an effort. "Vythia –"

Zenaya tore at his mind as the Nautolan woman reached up slowly. Vythia's fingers fumbled at the closure on her vest. She unclasped it, and then, for what seemed like forever, she hesitated.

Oh, he thought numbly, suddenly understanding her intentions. Vythia's hands trembled, and for a moment she clutched the cortosis material to her chest.

"Hunter, get –!" Quinlan broke off, gasping in pain as invisible claws ripped at his hands, trying to make him release his hold on Zenaya. "Hunter! Get the lightsaber!"

A snap of agony in his mind stopped him, but Hunter was already moving. The sergeant stumbled towards the Nautolan woman just as Vythia, with a cry of fright, jerked open her vest, leaving herself unprotected except for the blaster-proof material of the black shirt. It would not stop a lightsaber.