I read his letter. “‘To the brother who’s not the bastard.’—Fucking hilarious, Lo,” I mutter and shake my head. “‘I thought about making you Luke Skywalker since you have such daddy issues…’” I roll my eyes. “‘…but I can’t imagine you in a white robe. Anyway, you have a scar on your eyebrow, which makes you look more like Anakin. Just know, I could’ve made you a bottle of mustard or a banana, so be happy about it.’” Daisy takes out my costume, a blackish-brown robe, tunic, and pants from Star Wars with a plastic lightsaber. It’ll be the nerdiest fucking costume I’ve ever worn, but I’d wear it
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