[u][b]Csilla, Rozalia Éathliel[/b][/u]

Rozalia understood Krios' frantic expression as she glanced at the grate above them. His force concealment as extremely useful in situations like this, when there were no natural shadows to meld with. But it was limited in that you couldn't really do much else when it was on - including using the Force for something else, or fighting.
Thankfully for them, Rozalia could climb anything. 
Motioning for him to bend down, she planted her foot on Krios' now lowered-shoulder and hefted herself up towards the ceiling, her hands and feet finding minute handholds in the old, warped metal as she flipped up silently. Clinging to the ceiling, she reached forward and pushed the grate up and along the vent, crawling inside with ease. Putting her head back down, curls dangling over her face, she glanced down the hallway. The Dark JEdi were still approaching, but thankfully, Krios' concealment was still working.
Her torso now hanging down for the vent, she reached out to Krios with her arm, waiting for him to grab on so she could pull him up.

[b][u]Space over Vondark, Lieutenant Kellan Vos[/u][/b]

In Kellan's opinion, the battle was over too soon.
There was nothing much that entertained him more than blowing fighters out of the sky, and he was disappointed to find there were none left. Making his way through the debris, bobbing along in the vacuum, Kellan headed back to the Colossus; with only three men at his tail, the only ones left of his squadron.
[i]Oops.[/i] He thought with a smirk as they landed back in the hangar. This wasn't the first time he'd had plenty of casualties in a dogfight, but he didn't particularly care. It was his tactics; in his mind, if you're fighting Rebels, you gotta think like a rebel. And rebels don't particularly stick to flight regulations and orders, so he didn't expect to do the same. A lot of the time, this worked - the rebel fighters didn't expected to see a squadron of Republic fighters scramble randomly in the air and just attack at will. They expected some form of formation, at least at first. They expected reformations after the initial attack, they expected fighters to look after other fighters.
Not in Kellan's mind. If you got attacked, you go down for it; no-one else. He'd followed that rule himself, and had died nearly... hmm. 7 times, he believed, from that sort of thinking. And yet here he was. Because he could survive.
Not his fault the rest couldn't.

"Nice flying today guys." He called out cheerily to his remaining men, who were joining in the cheers from the various others in the hangar. The battle was over, and Kellan needed a drink. He had some bootlegged Batarian Whiskey hidden away in his room that he could crack open. Maybe he could track down that cute Ensign of Vallen's to join him...