Her knuckles throb, pulsate and radiate pain in every bone, every joint, all the way up to her shoulder. The shock of the impact might've shattered something, though she lacks the ability to recognize the familiar sting of a broken bone or a torn ligament. Her intended outcome is birthed - he's let go.

Retreating.

Surrendering.

The fist is still raised, level with her bicep, on guard and alert like a second soldier. That's her back up. The others aren't coming.

Something in the rational part of Jyn's mind, the sliver not awash and delirious with fever and toxicity, sees the flash of hurt in the darkness of the man's eyes - Kira's eyes. It screams, it pleads, it begs - STOP! You know him! You know him! - but as quickly as the voice rears itself into existence, the fever snuffs it out.

"I know where I am!" she shouts, indignant that he'd even suggest it. "I'm on Onderon! I'm on Onderon!"