If there's one thing Jyn's noticed, aside from Freya's speed, it's her resilience. Such a trait automatically earns a certain level of respect from the battered war veteran, and there's a quiet, simple nod in Freya's direction to indicate the sentiment. She won't give voice to it - not yet, perhaps not ever - but she knows that, if there's ever another incident threatening the world, Freya will be high up on her list of people to recruit.

"Might as well," she says, raising the blaster to quickly line up the shot. It almost feels as though she's waiting too long, delaying too much - but it's all a part of her approach. She doesn't want to risk the dead weight falling on top of them when it's killed, so she waits for the right moment to strike, one that will allow them enough breathing room to not have to worry about being flattened.

Seemingly at the last moment, Jyn squeezes the trigger of her blaster and pew, pew, two shots are fired - first one eye, then the other. With a dying shriek, the lifeless head falls onto the beach, sending a tidal wave of sand back from the shore. She lowers her weapon, then glances over to Freya, extending a hand to lift her off of the ground.