"Good try," she continues to chide, "At making yourself seem weak, incapable. Don't think I don't see through it. The best of fighters can make themselves seem less than a threat. I know what you're doing." The hair normally framing her face has plastered itself to her skin, her forehead haphazardly. In a word, she looks deranged - the constant twitch in her fingers as they search for a blaster that won't ever manifest, the incessant darting of her eyes from the man opposite her to their surroundings (as though waiting for the others in the ambush to appear), the ragged and labored strain of her breathing.

"Did something happen?" she mocks. "You should know! You flushed us out here, made us lose our cover, seized our weapons! So, what are you? Another piece of Empire scum? Or are you with the Alliance?" She knew there were tensions beginning to come to a head between Saw and the Rebels; he'd started going too far, becoming too radical. "Kill me, and you'll still never find him, you know."