The words hung heavy in the dim, tense air, carrying a mixture of teasing bravado and a fragile, heartfelt sincerity. Quinn's smirk was laced with a hint of vulnerability, the kind that only emerged in moments of true honesty amid chaos. Though shadowed with pain and exhaustion, his eyes flickered with a glimmer of hope — hope that despite everything, they might still find a way to reconnect beyond the shadows of captivity.

He reached out again, gently taking her hand in his, his fingers softly brushing hers, a silent reassurance amid the chaos. His voice, low and trembling slightly with emotion, continued, "You're right. I can make my saber as big as I want, and I'll show you someday. When we're free, when this is all over. I promise you that."

A pause, then a quiet, almost hesitant admission, "I was worried when I heard you—when I heard the torture. I... I couldn't bear the idea that I might have gotten you killed just by asking you to come with me. I'm sorry, Kiani. I swear I'll do everything I can to make it right. I want to give you the night you deserved—something real, something you lost when they took everything from you. If you still want that, if you still want me, I'll be here. Always."

His words, raw and unfiltered, were a testament to his deepening feelings—an unspoken promise that there was still something worth fighting for even in the darkness. Their connection was not lost even battered and broken; it was merely waiting for the right moment to ignite again.

It's alright, Quinn, this isn't my first botched mission. I am a Jedi, I expect this. She cast her reply back mentally. I'm just glad you didn't get yourself killed with your mouth spouting all those insults. She added as she surveyed the small cell.

As he looked around the cell, he asked Kiani a question he hadn't asked of her yet. "How did you come to the Jedi Order?" it seemed funny for as much time they had spent together, he hadn't asked. Expecting perhaps a tale of visions or mentors.

But Kiani doesn't answer right away. She took a deep sharp breath to steady herself from revisiting the pain. She draws her knees to her chest and leans her head back against the wall. Intentionally not looking at Quinn.

"I didn't come to them," she says. "I survived into their path." A pause. Not for drama—but to keep from splintering open. "I was thirteen. I had wandered past the tree line, exploring a cave that I heard singing from. That singing was a green crystal rock. That's the only reason I lived. Because I was gone when they came."

Her hand absent-mindedly goes to touch a small talisman at her neck that is not there. "I smelled the smoke before I saw it. The camp was... shredded. Torn tents, broken drums. The fire had eaten nearly everything. But not fast enough to hide what I still see when I close my eyes."

A small gasp escapes her lips as if she was reliving it. 

Then another pause.

"My father—Mo'Dak—he... he was cradling her. Ri'Saa. My mother. His arms wrapped around her even as the flames curled them inward. Like he thought holding her tighter could unburn the world."

A breath.

Then another.

"I don't remember screaming. I remember silence. It was too late for vengeance. Too soon for grief." A quiet shiver passes through her, but she doesn't wipe the tear tracing its way along her cheek. "I stayed by their bodies for three days. I buried them all. Alone. The ones I could find. I screamed myself hollow. Then I just... sat. I think I waited to die. Or to be found. But instead, he came." 

Now her voice softens—tinged with the ghost of a smile.

"A Noghri. My first Master. Massive, slow-moving, eyes like storms before rain. I didn't understand a word he said. And I don't think he understood mine. But he helped me dig the last graves. He gathered the bones I couldn't bring myself to touch. And when he saw I wasn't leaving, he simply... waited beside me."

"For three days, we sat in the ash. On the fourth, I stood. And he held out his hand."

She finally lowers her gaze and turns to Quinn.

"His name was Karnakarrhu of Clan Hak'kar . He didn't ask me to forget. He didn't ask me to be grateful. Just offered a path forward. And I was ready to walk."

Quinn doesn't speak for a long moment. His jaw tenses like it wants to say something, then releases. "You buried them," he says finally. Not with pity—but with awe. "You buried them. Alone." He exhales, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes before looking at her again. 

There's something raw and wide open in his gaze. "They always talk about Jedi resilience like it's this... polished thing. Some medal of endurance."

A quiet breath.

"But this—Kiani... this is flame that never went out. You didn't survive it. You carried it." Then, a shift in his posture. Not reaching to comfort her—not crowding. Just a slow, gentle leaning in, so she knows: I'm here. If you want me to be.

 And in the hush that follows, they don't hold hands. They don't speak again. They just sit—two souls stitched in silence for a few moments.

Kiani trying to center herself looked about the cell again trying to find something to focus on other than the reliving of her darkest day. In each corner, a small surveillance camera was angled to see the room from a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree point of view. Unfortunately for the observer, only one was working; she figured two of the three damaged ones were hanging by a single wire, facing toward the ground. The third was pointed directly at the ceiling. The only working one was directly above them and angled toward the single door of the cell. A slight smirk grew on her split lips as she contemplated an idea.

She gently opened herself to the Force to understand who was outside the door. As expected, there were two guards, but oddly, their minds were devoid of random thoughts. There was only 'Stand Guard' on their minds. Even the most disciplined minds have a few errant thoughts on the surface; these men don't have any.

Quinn, do you think the Mandos are doing this of their own free will? She mentally asked.

Quinn's eyes widened with cautious hope as the door swung open, revealing the Federation operatives. His battered body tensed, but a flicker of relief sparked in his tired gaze. The sight of the two in their armor, dragging the defeated Mandalorian guards out of the cell, felt like a lifeline—something real in this nightmare.

A confident, no-nonsense tone cut through the gloom. "Evening, Jedi. You might want to consider better accommodations the next time you visit Eradiu," she said, pulling off her face mask to reveal sharp, striking features—short-cut red hair and piercing jade eyes. Her presence radiated competence and calm. " I'm Lt. Sinese Starkaris. Galactic Federation Spec Ops."

Quinn managed a weak but genuine smile, a flicker of hope igniting in his battered chest. He shifted slightly, trying to gauge the gear bag she tossed toward them. "Well, I'd say that's the best news I've heard all day," he rasped, voice rough but sincere. "You're here to bust us out?"

He reached out carefully, grabbing the bag and opening it just enough to glimpse the tools and supplies inside. "We owe you one," he added, glancing at Kiani with a mixture of gratitude and determination. "Let's get out of here before they realize what's happened."

Despite the pain and exhaustion, a spark of hope burned brighter. Help had arrived—real, capable help—and they weren't going to let it slip away. Quinn's mind raced with plans, knowing that with allies like these, maybe, just maybe, they'd make it out alive.