He could not make Arra an orphan, not even for Aryn. Still, he was unwilling to leave her. He stepped closer to her, and her expression softened. She reached up and touched his face.

“Go.”

Driven by nothing more than impulse, he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her full on the mouth. She did not resist, even returned it. He held her away from him at arm’s length.

“You are a fool, Aryn Leneer,” he said.

“Maybe.”

He turned and headed for the Dragonfly. The feel of her lips lingered on his, a ghost of softness he hoped would haunt him forever. He only wished he had kissed her longer.

He imagined her eyes on him and he dared not look back for fear of losing his will to leave. He thought of the holo of Arra he used to keep on Fatman, her smile, her laugh, thought of his promise to Nat that he would not take unnecessary chances.

Hard as it was, he kept his back turned to Aryn Leneer.

“Get aboard, Tee-seven,” he said as he walked up the landing ramp.

T7 beeped a sad negative.

“You’re not coming?”

Again, a sad negative.

Zeerid patted the droid on his head. “You are a brave one. Thank you for your help. Take care of Aryn.”

T7 whistled an affirmative, followed that with a somber farewell, and wheeled away from the Dragonfly.

The ship’s engines were already winding up. T7 must have started the launch sequence.

VRATH PICKED HIS WAY through Razor’s narrow corridors until he reached the rear compartment, which he’d converted from troop carrier to cargo hold. Stacked crates magnetically sealed to the deck dotted the hold, forming a rats’ maze. He hurried through it to the rear door. The firefight outside seemed to have abated, so he allowed himself to relax.

ZEERID WATCHED T7 MOVE AWAY. He hit the control panel to close the rear door, and it began to rise. He waited until the latches sealed. Still thinking of Aryn, he put his hand on the cold metal of the door.

The Dragonfly lurched as it rose on its thrusters. He needed to get to the cockpit. He could not have the autopilot flying the ship when the Imperials started shooting.

He hurried through the converted cargo bay, made into a labyrinth by the many storage crates that dotted it. Rounding a corner, he nearly bumped into another man.

It took a moment for recognition to dawn—the small frame, the neatly parted dark hair, the deep sockets with their dead eyes, the thin mouth.

It was the man from Karson’s Park.

It was the man who had betrayed Zeerid and Aryn to the Sith.

It was the man who knew about Arra and Nat.

“You!” Vrath Xizor said.

“Me,” Zeerid affirmed.