She reminds him of John, of Vath, of Isamot. Of every trainee that came to him fresh from war. Her movements are sharp, calculated and trained, nearly mechanical in precision. He's impressed, but it's hollow. There's been too many soldiers in his lines.

"Easy, tiger," he says, hands held up. "I don't mean any harm. Just saw ya' lookin'. Kidnapped or not, that sky's still real." He nods to the window. "And it's still just as nice as if we were free. Now, what do I gotta do ta' convince ya' I'm not gonna rip your head off?"