Outside, the explosions continued, and with them the chorus of screams and shouts. Something bad had happened, and Ty knew exactly what it was. She had known as soon as she’d heard the screech of the Path engines, even before the kid who had been thrown into the next cell not long after their own incarceration had tried to warn the prison droid what was coming.

“Raiders sabotaged the comm tower. I think they were Nihil.”

The droid had laughed, cackling even more when the boy—Ram—claimed he was a Jedi Padawan and that he’d been arrested by mistake. Now the same droid was running about like a headless tip-yip, calling for backup that would never come.

Ty didn’t like it, but she needed the kid to step up.

“Look, kid,” Ty said to the boy who was pacing up and down in his cell, “things are going to get messy. Can I count on you?”

“Can you count on him?” Mantessa repeated behind her, the Kuranu’s voice shriller than ever. “I was supposed to be able to count on you!”

Ty ignored her. The woman hadn’t stopped complaining since they’d been taken into custody. Can’t you do something, Ty? What about your Jedi friends, Ty? Jedi friends? Ty had just tried to stab one in the heart in a fit of pique. No. This wasn’t the time to think about that. The Jedi had pushed her too far, and he wasn’t dead yet, although that might all change when she caught up with him. For now, Ty had to focus on the kid.

“Well?”

Ram scratched his chin, still thinking about it. She could see why the droid hadn’t believed him. The kid was a mess, dirty goggles pushed up on his forehead and robes that were smothered in grease and oil, but Ty knew a Jedi when she saw one, even a Jedi as timid as this. He just needed to make up his mind.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the boy spoke up, although his eyes were still swimming with doubt. “Tell me what you need.”

What Ty needed was time to speak, but she didn’t get it. Instead, the detention center door slid open, and a hail of blasterfire reduced the guard droid to pieces. Ty jumped back, putting herself in front of Mantessa, professional to the end no matter where they’d ended up.

A Nihil stomped in, tall and broad with an imposing hand-cannon. Like all his kind he wore a heavy respirator mask, its three lenses marking him out as a Gran.

“Lookee here,” he said, swinging his blaster around to face the kid, “target practice. It’s my lucky day.”