Malice
A deadpan expression betrayed the tortured volumes that bubbled up when she mentioned Bastra's assassination. It was his lowest point in years, floating just above rock bottom. As one could guess, he didn't exactly relish the dour reminiscence. A slow inhale staunched the flow of anger that her words evoked as if she was reciting some ancient sith incantation.
"Has it still not occurred to you that maybe, killing you or getting you killed isn't a desire of mine? If it was, believe me, I could out you without detriment if I tried hard enough. I'd be cozy in a bunk while they line you up against a wall, but I don't want that. It isn't the way."
He scoffed. "And if it isn't already obvious, I'm undercover, same as you. So quick to call me a friend to these Imperial bastards without having the insight to realize I'm here at their detriment. I'm a Shadow, Aradia, I steal, I sabotage, I assassinate." There was pointed displeasure as he listed off the last duty. "You refuse to see a reality that gives us a common enemy. You'd sleep well at night thinking they and I are the same. We aren't."
Zaavik waved a hand in a condescending, dismissive manner. "I already said I won't stop you. What's keeping you?"