This game, at least, Che’ri knew way too well. An adult would make vague threats or vaguer promises, with big stuff happening either way if she didn’t run for the extra hour or skip one of her rest days or do whatever it was they wanted.

But as she gazed at Thrawn’s face, she had the eerie sense that he wasn’t playing the game. In fact, she wasn’t sure he even knew how to play it.

And if Thalias really was expecting her to go…

“Okay,” she said. “Can you—? Never mind.”

“What?”

“I just wondered if you could get me some more colored graph markers, that’s all,” Che’ri said, feeling her face warming with embarrassment. Of all the stupid things to ask for—

“As a matter of fact,” Thrawn said, “there are two new boxes already aboard. And four binders of art sheets to draw on.”

Che’ri blinked. “Oh,” she said. “I’m—thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Thrawn gestured toward the ship. “Shall we go?”

“You’re troubled,” Thrawn said into the silence of the scout ship’s bridge.

Che’ri didn’t answer, her eyes focused on the brilliant stars blazing through the canopy, her mind churning with the sheer wrongness of this.

Sky-walkers didn’t fly alone. Ever. She’d always had a momish along, someone to take care of her and make her meals and comfort her when she woke from a nightmare. Always.

Thalias wasn’t here. Che’ri had hoped she would rush in at the last moment and demand that Thrawn take her with them.

But the hatch had been sealed, and the controller had given permission to launch, and Thrawn had taken them out of the cold blue of Csilla’s atmosphere into the colder black of space.

Just the two of them. No officers. No warriors.

No momish.

Che’ri hadn’t always gotten along with her caregivers. Some of them she’d really, really disliked. Now she was wishing even one of the rotten ones was here.

“They’ve never understood you, have they?” Thrawn said into her silence.

Che’ri made a face. Like he would know anything about that.

“You want more than what you’ve been given,” he continued. “You don’t know what you’ll do when you’re no longer a sky-walker, and it troubles you.”

“I know what happens,” Che’ri scoffed. “They told me. I get adopted by a family.”

“That’s what you’ll be,” Thrawn said. “That’s not what you’ll do. You’d like to fly, wouldn’t you?”

Che’ri frowned. “How did you know that?”

“The pictures you’ve been drawing with the markers your caregiver gave you,” Thrawn said. “You like drawing birds and flashflies.”

“They’re pretty,” Che’ri said stiffly. “Lots of kids draw flashflies.”

“You also draw landscapes and seascapes as seen from above,” Thrawn continued calmly. “Not many your age do that.”