Zeerid stopped the door, a sudden flash of anger rekindling his strength. He reached into the air lock and grabbed Vrath by the shirt, shook him. “If you had harmed her, this would be coming to you with a sharp blade and a slow touch. You hear me, skulker? Do you?”

He kicked Vrath in the stomach, doubling the man over with the blow. While Vrath gasped for breath, Zeerid reactivated the door and it sealed shut. Vrath stared at him through the tiny transparisteel window, all wild eyes, snarls, and teeth.

Zeerid hit the button to evacuate the air lock. The warning alarm wailed.

He gave one more glance at Vrath, saw the fear there, then he turned and walked back toward the cockpit.

Murderer.

That’s what he was.

The siren stopped and he felt a soft rumble as the external air lock door opened.

A pit opened in his stomach.

Emotion, nameless and raw, caused his eyes to water. He wiped them clear.

He was a murderer, and he felt heavy already.

But he would carry it—for Nat, for Arra. He expected he’d carry it the rest of his life and the weight would never diminish. He’d killed men before, but not like that, not like he’d killed Vrath.

For the first time, he understood, really understood, why Aryn had returned to Coruscant.

He prayed to gods he did not believe in that she reconsidered what she had come to do. She felt things too keenly to feel what he felt. She could never carry it. It would destroy her. Better she should die.

All of a sudden, he just wanted to sleep.

He overrode the navicomp’s random course and plugged in the coordinates to Vulta. His hands shook the whole time.

In moments, Razor jumped into hyperspace.

He had always flown alone, but he’d never felt alone in the cockpit, not until that moment.

Sitting back in the chair, he tried to sleep.

And tried not to dream.

MALGUS WATCHED THE SHUTTLE piloted by Aryn Leneer rise on its thrusters. He raised Jard on the comm.

“A shuttle is lifting off from Liston,” he said. “It is also clear to leave Coruscant’s space.”

“Yes, my lord,” Jard answered.

Malgus could have broken his word to the Jedi, could have shot Aryn Leneer from the sky. But he would not. He kept his promises.

But he realized, more than ever, that the Jedi were too dangerous for him to allow them to exist. They were to the Sith what Eleena was to him—an example of peace, of comfort, and therefore a temptation to weakness. Angral did not see it. The Emperor did not see it. But Malgus saw it. And he knew what he must do. He must destroy the Jedi utterly.