Jyn's ears pick up the delicate sound of his weapon touching the ground, and she isn't sure what it means. Is he merely going to lunge in with his hands instead? Maybe he pities her, sees how pathetic she is, figures a death-by-impalement might be overkill for a woman who can't seem to catch her breath, a woman with no weapon, a woman with nothing. But she hears no approaching footsteps, no shifts in his weight to suggest he'll use a back leg to catapult towards her. Instead, she hears hesitation.

She isn't sure what it means.

What's her name? Why would he bother knowing if he's only going to take her life? She can't make sense of why he would break a rule of warfare: don't humanize your enemy. Keep them anonymous, keep them disposable. It makes it easier when the last breath leaves their body, and you know that it's at your hand.

She turns towards him, brows stitched with confusion and the furious workings of a mind fumbling to catch up. Eyes gently waft down to the spear on the ground, then back to the man's face. There's something there in his gaze, that she can't understand, can't quite place. It looks like regret, like sadness, like -- fear?

"It's Jyn," she finally says, resignation in her voice. If he's going to drive that spear into her heart, he might as well know the name of the life he's taking, if he wants to know so badly. A spear to the heart doesn't sound so bad, she thinks. She wonders if it's more or less painful than a blaster bolt, if she'll bleed out instead of instant death. But maybe she deserves that, for being here while the others weren't so lucky. "Jyn Erso," she adds, finally standing up straight. She holds her arms out in a low V to either side of her. "If you're going to kill me with that thing, you might as well just do it."