Jyn releases him immediately, without even realizing. The part of her brain that has always taken after her mother immediately has a thousand questions -- why aren't the flames singing his jacket? does he need a spark to create the flames or can he pull it from the oxygen itself? -- but it's so small and battered by all the other hurt and damaged emotions warring for importance.

She settles on no emotions, indifference washing over her like a familiar blanket. He doesn't know shit about what orders she did or did not ignore from Saw, the way he looked at her with disappointment when she refused to shoot anyone on her first mission.

Her voice quiets, but does not soften, as sharp and jagged as ice. "You'd better hope the Empire falls and the history books can be written in your favor."