The long main corridor within the port felt kilometers long. Counters lined it, businesses, even vendor carts, all of them abandoned. Vidscreens sat dark on the walls of lounges and clubs.

Smaller corridors branched off the main one, leading to commercial passenger pads, to lifts that led to the large craft staging areas, and to the small-craft pads.

“Move,” Malgus said to them, and they did. To Kerse, he said, “Show me where you saw her last.”

Kerse pointed to a side corridor far ahead, near the end of the main corridor. “It’s there, my lord. Pad 16-B. On the left.”

Malgus thought 16-B was close to the launch doors he had seen open upon his arrival at the spaceport. He augmented his speed with the Force and blazed along the hall, leaving the soldiers far behind. The walls, signs, and floor were a blur to him as he sped toward the landing pad, toward Eleena.

T7 HAD THE REAR HATCH OPEN on the Dragonfly and was still plugged into the control panel. Zeerid spent a few long moments turning his head from the Dragonfly to the Imperial shuttle where Aryn had disappeared with the Twi’lek, then back again. He finally started to head for the Dragonfly, but Aryn’s voice pulled him around.

“Zeerid!”

He turned to see Aryn emerge from the shuttle, carrying the still body of the Twi’lek in her arms. Zeerid could not tell whether the Twi’lek was dead or alive. He walked toward Aryn slowly, his eyes not on the Twi’lek but on Aryn.

“Do I want to know?”

He dreaded the answer.

“I didn’t kill her, Zeerid. It was important to me that you knew that.”

Zeerid let himself breathe. “I’m glad, Aryn. Then you’ll come with me, now?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Tee-seven has the Dragonfly opened.”

“I can’t, Zeerid, but I’m … all right now. Do you understand?”

“I don’t, no.”

Aryn opened her mouth to speak, stopped, and cocked her head, as if she’d heard something from far off.

“He’s coming,” she said.

The hairs on the back of Zeerid’s neck rose. “Who’s coming? Malgus?”

Aryn knelt and laid the Twi’lek down as gently as she might a newborn child.

The sirens suddenly stopped wailing, the sound cut off as if by a razor. The unexpected silence felt ominous. Zeerid eyed the open double doors of the landing pad. A dark corridor stretched beyond them.

Aryn rose, closed her eyes, inhaled.

“Go, Zeerid,” she said.

“I’m not leaving,” Zeerid said, and drew his other blaster. He ran his tongue over lips gone dry.

She opened her eyes and grabbed him with her gaze. “You are leaving and you’re leaving now, Z-man. Think of your daughter. Go right now. Go … be a farmer.”

She smiled and pushed him away. He stared into her face, knowing she was right.