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Who's giving up? she asked the imaginary Han.

Halle Dray had told her she deserved this. That if she truly loved Alderaan, she'd be willing to give her life for its revival.

Whatever I've done, it's not Halle Dray's job to punish me, Leia thought. Sacrificing herself to the Emperor was no way to honor the billions who'd died at his hand.

She'd barely looked at her cell, but now she scrutinized it, her mind racing, frantically searching for options. The room was only four or five meters wide, with four blank walls and a single locked durasteel door. The cheap flooring tiles sagged beneath her. The floor bulged in one corner, the plasteel tiles peeling up at the edges as if something lay beneath.

Leia got on her hands and knees and dug her fingers into one of the peeling tiles, trying to pry it up. She grunted in pain as two of her nails broke off, but she kept scrabbling at the scuffed plasteel.

The tile popped off. The one next to it lifted off easily, and the next, and the next, until Leia had uncovered a narrow grate over a dark shaft. Some kind of old heating vent, perhaps, or an air duct.

Or an escape route. Leia unscrewed the grate and eased herself into the opening. It was just large enough for her to squeeze through. She didn't pause to consider where the dark tunnel might lead—it was away from the cell. And for now, that would have to be enough.

The air shaft was dank and slimy. Leia dropped down several meters, landing hard as the shaft flattened out. She slithered on her stomach as the shaft sagged beneath her weight. It was holding…for now.

The shaft began to climb. As it grew steeper, Leia braced her feet against its sides to keep herself from sliding backward. She inched up the slope, using her legs to push herself forward. It was grueling and maddeningly slow—and then, abruptly, the shaft leveled off again. Light filtered up through a grate, illuminating the wall that lay before her. She'd hit a dead end.

The grate lifted off easily. Leia peered through the opening. She looked down—way down—on a wide, empty room, scattered with piles of durasteel girders and abandoned scaffolding. Her captors must have brought her to one of the abandoned construction sites scattering the city. Now she was suspended at least thirty meters above a duracrete floor.

A thin crane climbed toward the ceiling, several meters below and to the left. If she could propel herself from the grate at just the right angle, with enough momentum she might be able to grab it. Might.

And then, if she didn't miss her grip and go plummeting to her death, she might be able to climb down.

Might.

Leia lowered herself down, feet first, holding so tight to the edge that her knuckles turned white. Then she began to swing her legs back and forth, building up momentum.

Scared, Your Worship? Han's voice taunted, as she hesitated. Maybe if you wait long enough, someone will build you a royal turbo lift.

Get out of my head! Leia silently shouted and, with a deep breath, swung herself forward and let go.

For a moment, she was flying, arms outstretched.

She slammed into the crane. Her head thudded against the durasteel with a dull clang.

She could taste blood dripping from a split lip. But she was alive.

Leia wrapped her arms around the crane, hugging it to her chest, her feet scrabbling for purchase. One miracle down, she thought, trying not to look at the all-too-distant ground. One to go.

She felt no fear. There was something familiar about the cold durasteel of the crane against her skin, the dizzying height. Thin ridges jutted out at regular intervals along the mast of the crane, and she was able to climb down without much difficulty—until she got overconfident. The next foothold she reached for wasn't there, her fingers slipped their grip, and suddenly she was hurtling toward the ground.

Instinct took over. Her arm shot out, grabbing for the scaffolding at the exact moment it flew past. She made contact. Her shoulder nearly