"I know some," Jyn says, resisting with every bit of strength she has in her the impulse to draw her crystal out from under her shirt and wrap her hand around it as she's done countless times since childhood. Here, she doesn't think it would really matter. Kyber doesn't have the same value, and though it might raise questions from the few people here who would know what it is, as it did with Ben, it still wouldn't put her in danger like it once would have. She trusts Rey, anyway, as much as she's able to trust anyone these days. It's an old habit, though, protecting the one thing in her life she's held onto and the vulnerability in her it seems to represent, and one that isn't so easily forgotten.

Everything she knows about the Jedi, after all, she learned from her mother. Most of those stories, she doesn't remember now, at least not in detail. What she does remember is hearing them in the first place, Lyra's voice like a ghost, half-remembered, in her head. It's strange, feeling both fond and bitter towards those memories, warring feelings that are impossible to reconcile.

"I heard stories, growing up," she explains, which is true if oversimplified. "I guess a lot of people did."