[ Galen's daughter lunges at him, and he raises one arm to block as the other darts for the blaster on his hip between overcoat and imperial uniform, pushing half of the dark woolen coat's front to the side to draw. Even with the large step he takes backwards, their bodies collide hard; he almost stumbles but catches himself in time to press the muzzle of the weapon into her core whilst working to push her away, breath coming ragged, crystallizing as white clouds in the colder air away from the fire.

He does nothing to keep the condescension from his voice: she's deliberately twisted the knife, knows he watched Galen die, was privy to things she had no right to witness or to—feel. She, too, shall hurt. ]

With what, Jyn? With what?

[ Lowering his tone: ]

Your hands? You'll go back to prison if you kill me. These people don't care what some lunatic woman claims I did. But they'll care if you kill someone in front of them.

[ He presses the blaster harder against her. ]

Dr. Erso is dead. My only reason to spare you no longer holds, and these people watched you assault me.