Redana’s hand is on a very large switch. There is a safety, now disengaged, and its size suggests the difficulty with which it can be thrown. It is not a thing to be casually pulled. Her body moved by instinct, and it takes the rest of her a moment to catch up.

[i]If[/i] an SP that size is fired through the window, the blunt force trauma and toxic gasses will be dangerous to everyone, but especially Dolce and Vasilia. It is likely everyone save Alexa will be incapacitated by chaos and pain as their bodies purge the toxins. And, crucially, no one will be piloting the shuttle.

They are the chaos of Ares, and while she might have her toes dipped in those waters, years of dueling as an elective were hard to shake. So cut the knot. Open the bay doors. While that might allow the grinning figure entry, better a clean fight than to crash and smear their bodies across miles of ruined landscape. It would take [i]weeks[/i] to recuperate after a bad crash, and they didn’t have time like that, especially if her mentor had to come down and provide the medical attention himself.

So her fingers are hot and sweating on the cool material of the switch, waiting for the bark, the shattered glass, and the wild chaos. She’s not particularly worried about falling out of the shuttle: she has grappling hooks in her belt, and in a pinch she can repurpose her sleeves as a glider, and it shouldn’t be hard to guide herself over to a ruin of shining and, more importantly, magnetic metal. She’ll be fine. And so will everyone else.