Bran lashed out with his green saber, and Duarte casually knocked it aside, following up with a Force push square to Bran's chest. He flew back towards the wall, but managed to get his feet behind him to spring right back off the wall when he hit it, blades whirling. She deflected those strikes as well, but Bran was pleased to note that he'd put her on the defensive. He pressed the advantage; he struck and spun his blades in a flurry against Duarte's guard. Duarte kept her movements tight and focused, moving precisely as much as she needed to in order to block each strike, and not an inch more.

"You're usually chattier," she observed. "Is something the matter?" She opened one of her hands as it gripped her hilt, and a chair soared through the air behind Bran. He ducked beneath it, and it crashed into the transparisteel window with a dull but resounding THUD.

"You're not worth the breath," Bran growled.

The interruption from the chair had broken Bran's rhythm, though, and Duarte lunged at him and swept her saber towards him from the side. Bran flipped Bautista's blue lightsaber into a reverse grip to block her strike⁠—but she deactivated her blade just as it would have struck Bautista's and just as quickly reactivated it past Bran's guard. He clumsily swiped the saber away with his green blade and stumbled back.

Duarte clicked her tongue. "Really, I'm not sure what you hoped to accomplish with the extra saber here," she said, her tone making Bran feel like he was a Padawan again. She advanced slowly with her saber pointed directly at him. "You never were a very strong Jar'Kai user."

Suddenly Duarte sailed across the room, cracking across a chair before slamming into the wall and dropping her lightsaber.

"And you," Bautista said, singed and breathing raggedly as he stood, "never paid much attention to anyone who wasn't your precious protégé."

“Bautista!” The name spilled from Bran’s lips as his heart rose. 

Bautista smiled wryly at him and held out his hand; Bran carefully tossed his lightsaber back to him. “Help Nazeri,” he said. Bran nodded, and rushed to Nazeri’s side as Bautista stalked over to Duarte.

Nazeri was still out cold where he’d fallen. Unmoving. “No no no no no,” Bran whispered. He shook Nazeri’s shoulders. “Wake up, come on.” But he didn’t respond. Bran tried to feel for a pulse, but with the bubbling panic in his chest, he wasn’t sure if he was feeling Nazeri’s pulse or his own. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, then another. He felt the Force moving through him, around him. He reached out—yes—he could feel Nazeri, feel his life energy. But it flickered like a candle.

Bran cradled Nazeri’s head in his hands and took another deep breath. Slowly—pressing back his desperation—he willed some of the Force in his body to flow into Nazeri’s.

“NO!” Duarte shrieked. 

Bran snapped out of his trance to see Bautista hoisted into the air, scrabbling at his throat. Duarte rose from the floor, her face twisted in fury—glaring not at Bautista, but at Bran. “Don’t you dare—” she spat. “He isn’t worth—NONE of them are worth your power!” 

The hand she had stretched out towards Bautista curled, and he choked. “Let him go!” Bran shouted, rising to his feet.

Duarte smiled wickedly. “I could be convinced to let you keep both your little toys,” she said. “If...you give yourself to me.”

Bautista’s feet, kicking mid-air, slowed.

Bran roared and surged towards Duarte, his lightsaber blazing from his hand.

Her eyes widened and flicked sideways just a fraction, and she released Bautista.

And then the green blade cleaved through her arm.

Duarte wailed in agony, clutching the sizzling stump of her arm and staggering backwards. Bran pointed his blade at her throat. Tears poured from her eyes, and Bran narrowed his. She was better than this. What was she playing at?

And then he heard the distinct snap!-hiss of several lightsabers behind him.

He didn’t have to look to figure out it was the Jedi Temple Guard.

“You’re under arrest, Master Lachlan,” one of the Guards said. “Surrender your lightsaber and come quietly.”

The Guards started boxing him in with their yellow blades. Nazeri was still unconscious. Bautista was on all fours, coughing and gasping for breath. They’d played right into Duarte’s hands.

Was this it?

After a life full of ruining things, here was one more to add to his account.

...Maybe it was time to close the account.

Bran’s grip tightened on his lightsaber.

And then something impelled him to DUCK, NOW.

He didn’t question it; he threw himself to the floor—just in time as a barrage of blaster bolts pounded into, and then through the window.

And there, swooping down, was that damned junk heap of a ship, the Warden, and it was the most beautiful thing Bran had ever seen in his life.

He threw an arm around Bautista. “Go!” he said. “I’ll get Nazeri, just get on the ship!” Bautista looked like he wanted to argue, but nodded and made a break for it through the cover fire. He leapt out the window and onto the ship’s ramp as it descended into the open air. Bran rushed to Nazeri and slung his body over his shoulders. Duarte howled as Bran ran to the window. 

He hit the edge, ready to jump—and a Force push slammed into his back.

He plummeted into the Coruscant air..

Nazeri slipped from Bran’s grasp. Bran let out a strangled cry and scrabbled for, then seized his legs. His mind raced to find a way to survive this, but the sounds of speeders, air rushing past, his vertigo and spinning vision, his fear all overpowered his ability to think. There had to be something there had to be something—

He stopped mid-air with a violent jerk. Nazeri roared with pain.

Bran looked up to see Nazeri—awake!—holding onto an outcropping on the Temple’s wall as tightly as he could. “Kriff, Bran,” he wheezed. “You couldn’t think of a better escape route?” 

The Warden was on them almost immediately, and Bautista helped them inside. The trio staggered into the cockpit in time to hear Devin at the controls, whispering to themself in horror, “I shot at the Jedi Temple. I can’t believe I shot at the Jedi Temple.”

“Don’t be silly,” Trace said, her voice crackling over the comms. “I shot at the Jedi Temple! You only piloted the ship that shot at the Jedi Temple!”

Devin swallowed. “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel better.” They glanced back at the three Jedi. “Y’all better buckle in,” they said. “This is gonna be a bumpy ride, and you don’t look so good.”

“What do you mean?” Nazeri said, giving a strained smile. “I always look good.”

Bautista huffed and rolled his eyes. “Sit down and let Lachlan be the judge of that.” Bran and Nazeri both grinned at him, and he flushed red. “You know what I mean!” he snapped.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had Jedi chasing me,” Trace mused over the comms. “How nostalgic!”

“It’s been two weeks,” Bautista grumbled.

“And now we’re all best friends!”

“I don’t think that’s going to be the case this time,” Bran said, looking at the Temple behind them. He couldn’t see her, but he could distinctly feel Duarte watching them fly away.

Silence fell over the cockpit. It wasn’t lost on any of the Jedi that in the Order’s eyes—the Order they had belonged to and worked for for years—they had just committed high treason. The Order’s full might would be sent to track them down.