"You want to take the stairs?" Kanan asks, nodding toward a series of awnings nearby.

It's probably as close as they're going to get.

"You're not going anywhere," spits the Quarren, who drops down from an adjacent rooftop, brandishing a blaster.

There are other footsteps in the alley, and some more grunting, doubtless the frustrated sounds of a Gamorrean fed up with running. And, of course, Fortuna himself, huffing in deep lungfuls of air and looking remarkably put out.

This is . . . bad.