The moment she stepped into the room, she knew she shouldn't have. Uniformed officials stood around a hologram table, deep in conversation.

Mon Mothma was one of them. Han Solo was another.

The blaster at Han's hip flew through the air and into Lola's waiting hand. She stared at it a moment, wondering how it got there, then aimed it at the smuggler's chest.

Han's hands went up, though he couldn't suppress a smirk. He obviously found it amusing that he was being held at gun point by a 13-year-old girl.

Several of the other officers produced weapons and trained them on Lola.

"Lola," Mon Mothma warned. "What are you doing?"

Hatred burned within Lola as she stared into the face of the man who had killed her cousin. She was going to shoot him, that was what.

But if she shot him, the other officers would shoot her. Was that really a fair trade? Was it what Boba would have wanted?

Sighing, she lowered the stolen blaster.