Lorian carried the black crate with them to the ship without complaint. Lili was quiet as they walked and he was unsettled by the silence. She hadn't spoken since they left the abandoned palace and reboarded the Razor Crest to leave. She hadn't joined him in the cockpit, but he could hear her on the lower level. He heard her little pocket radio playing as they drifted through space, sometimes the sound of a tool hitting something metal. As he heard a loud clank, he sighed. He couldn't help but be curious, and so he set the autopilot and climbed down the ladder to see what she was up to.

Lili had her tools spread out around her, while the black crate was open before her. She had the arm plate to the spare set in her hands.

"What are you doing?"

"You ask me that a lot."

"That's because you're always up to something." She made a small scowl as she focused, biting her lip and furrowing her brow.

"The button's stuck." She was using a flathead screwdriver to pry it upwards.

"You'll end up breaking it."

"There's dirt or something that has it—" The screwdriver flew across the room from the force she applied, landing with a clatter at the other end of the ship. Lili sighed and Lorian stepped over her tools to retrieve it. "Must be from sitting in the crate for so long. I don't know."

He walked back with the retrieved screwdriver, hunching down and holding it out. She smacked the button on the armor she had been trying to pop up, but something strange happened instead. He briefly saw the blue glow of a hologram before Lili yelped, punching it again to send the hologram away.

"What was that?" Lorian asked.

"Nothing," she replied quickly. He tilted his helmet and set the screwdriver on the ground. As he reached out to press the button, Lili pulled back and quickly stood up.

"Lili!" He made for another grab and she ducked, clutching the armor tightly. She managed to be as elusive as ever, ducking and diving each time he reached for the armor. "What was on that hologram?"

He caught her wrist and she went limp on the ground, stretching her arm out as far as possible with the armor still in her hand.

"No!" she yelped.

"What is on it?"

"No!" He dropped her hand and she fell back on the floor, glaring up at him with a deep flush on her cheeks. ". . . Nothing."

He looked down at her silently, and she pulled the armor to her chest.

". . . It's me," she said softly. He tilted his head once again.

"What?"

"He actually—" She shook her head. "He took a hologram of me. I don't know why or how or what for."

"You threw a tantrum over that?" he asked.

"It wasn't a tantrum!" She paused, and her face shifted as she realized she was proving his point. Slowly, she held out the arm piece and pressed the button again.

It was a still-shot of a little girl with short, dark hair around her face, and a deep burn against one side of the neck. She wore rags for clothes, but held a familiar satchel on her side. She was a thin, scrappy kid with wiry hair and big eyes. Lorian stared.

"He used to take me out on bounty hunts with him," she said. "I didn't know that's what they were at the time. I was just supposed to guard the ship."

She looked away, then continued, "I think he trusted me. He requested that I was the one who took care of his armor. He must've liked me a little."

She smiled at the memories and pressed the button again. She hesitated for a moment.

"That's why I've always been a little confused about the Mandalorian way," she said softly.

"What do you mean?" She didn't speak for a few seconds, not looking up at him.

"In private, I saw him without his helmet all the time." Dead silence filled the lower level, and Lorian sat down on the edge of the cot beside where she was on the floor. At first, he wasn't sure he heard her right.

"You saw his face." Her nod was the confirmation that she'd said what he thought.

"He wasn't a true Mandalorian, I know that now," she reasoned. "Even so . . . He wore the armor. He was a bounty hunter. I mean, he was the most feared Bounty Hunter in the entire galaxy. A fact I didn't even know until after he died."

Even if Lorian didn't speak, she knew he was listening. She replaced the plate into the crate and lifted the shoulder armor.

"And yet . . . I felt . . ." She sighed. "With Jabba, I was always terrified. I never knew when he'd—"

"When he would what?" he asked, noticing the troubled look on her face.

". . . When he'd hurt me again." She distracted herself with the armor. "I always felt safe when Boba was around. I was naturally drawn towards him. I felt like he was okay. And I guess he didn't mind – otherwise, he would've sent me away."

"He trusted you if he removed the helmet around you." She glanced up.

"Yeah . . . Yeah, I think so." She ran her fingers over the sigil on the armor. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss him sometimes. I know he did Empire work and he worked for a nasty, perverted slug . . . But he was the only person I had for three years. I used to ask him when my dad was coming back. He always told me to stop asking. I started to think of him as – it's silly. I know it is."

"It isn't." She looked around at his armor.

"This is all I have to remember him by." She reached for her nearby satchel and replaced the whipcord thrower into the slot in the crate. "I . . . I don't care what you do with the rest of the armor. But . . . But I don't want anything to happen to this."

She held tightly to the shoulder armor and felt his gaze on her.

"Keep it." She looked up at last with a weak sigh.

"Why doesn't your armor have the sigil?" she asked.

"I haven't earned it yet." She tilted her head.

"But he had his, and he wasn't like you." She hesitated. "He was . . . less human, in a way. He didn't have as much empathy."

There was silence, and she continued. A little smile came onto her face.

"But he used to humor me, a lot." She laughed softly. "He had a jetpack and I'd ask if I could try it. He used to fly around with me sometimes when he was in a good mood."

She looked conflicted.

"I've heard people call him bad things, but—but he wasn't like that, not personally. He did bad things but he wasn't the worst person in the galaxy."

"It is possible for people to do bad things and not be bad, Lili."

"Not always," she replied. "You haven't met my father."

He was surprised by the comment and the dark look that came into her eyes. He hadn't been quite sure how she currently felt about her father, and now he knew that she had grown past missing him.

"I've tried to understand why my father sold me. If he loved me, he would've never—" Her voice became choked up. "I don't understand why he left me. I don't understand why my mother left me. I don't know why he sold me and not Meira."

"Who's Meira?" Lili looked up, her eyes teary.

"My twin sister. I don't know where she is, either. I can't remember."

"You keep saying that," Lorian said, and she frowned, blinking the tears away.

"Because it's true. I can remember pieces of my mom and sister, but . . . but there's a gap. I don't know why. But I have a feeling . . . I have a feeling it's why I have nightmares. Maybe I don't want to remember."

"I have nightmares, too." Even Lorian was surprised to hear the confession come out, and clearly Lili felt the same way from the expression on her face.

". . . You do?" Lorian suddenly felt his throat tighten and dry, his hands curling into fists as he recalled his past. He didn't like to relive the memories – hell, he hadn't told anyone about the final memory of his parents, the root of his fear for droids. He'd never thought he would become comfortable around anyone the way he had with Lili.

And it terrified him.

". . . Yes."

" . . . May I ask about them?" she asked quietly, and he stood up. Lili watched him with big eyes.

"I have to set the course for Nevarro." She watched him exit the space, tears filling in her eyes as she felt as if a punch had been landed to her stomach.

I told him everything and I don't know him at all. She watched him until she could no longer see him, wondering if she had asked too much of him.