He’d had a bad feeling about this mission from the beginning. Hastily improvised, orders rewritten at the last minute, and now here they were: barreling headlong in a broken ship toward the edge of the galaxy, carrying the last best hope for the survival of the Rebellion, and the entire Empire searching for them. He would write three letters, one for his beloved wife, the other two for her to give to each of their young daughters when they were old enough to understand. He had so much he wanted to tell them. More than anything, he wanted them to know that even though they would grow up never
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