in the footsteps of a stranger
Efret squeezed Astri’s hand back. <You-ask-me later.> Now was not the time for a conversation—even a short one in Sign Language. Still, though, the master hoped that she didn’t seem dismissive, and she also hoped that Astri could find hope in the concept of later.
Suddenly, Efret’s signing hand flew to her own mouth, clamping down over it. A thin canyon was beginning to unzip on her right forearm in time with Malva’ikh making his cut over her name on his own arm.
It was very visible thanks to her sleeveless tunics. She couldn’t let Astri see.
As gently as the pain and pressing urgency would allow, Efret put her fingers under Astri's chin and, should her gaze be drawn by the blood, redirect the girl's attention. After looking into Astri's eyes for a few moments stretched into eternity, Efret laid her forehead on the padawan's. Her eyes clamped closed, her teeth biting into her own lower lip, attempts to brace against the pain.
The image and smell of some small animal's spilled offal flashed across Efret's senses. Her breathing, still quiet, grew erratic. She searched for a mental anchor.
Gurrat.
Efret, with her hand underneath Astri's chin, felt for the bangles that they had recently had fitted by a jeweler in the Senate district who hadn't evacuated with most of his clients. Though she did not allow herself to melt into the Echo of Lorrd the bracelets contained, touching them was like immediate relief to a burn.
Her breath evened.
She pulled back to look at Astri. <We go-back museum. Out window. Climb-to banquet hall.> The likelihood that backtracking would confuse a Dark Side Elite for any extended period of time was low, but Efret saw it as her only good option. So she reached out into the threads of Force, grasping the ones attached to the exit out of the laboratory, and yanked the door open. With any luck, it would give the impression that they had managed to slip out that way. If it did, she'd slip out of her and Astri's hiding place instead, then out the way they had come.
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