Poe's newest -- possibly his new closest -- friend is a former stormtrooper, an indelible mark of humanity in a war that almost demands they throw exactly that away, if only for the sake of sanity. No child in arms, no child abandoned asks to be indoctrinated. But for all that, Poe had not hesitated to pull the trigger, in the name of things like necessity and survival -- not just for himself, but for the Resistance. The New Republic. The galaxy itself.

Poe does not blame those beneath the armor, even as he kills them. No, Poe saves his fury for the people who did this to them. People that know better.

"My parents were both rebels," Poe says, and that smile inches back, little by little. "They didn't join up just to keep me safe. Like hell I could just sit back and let this thing they helped build crumble. Helping people, absolutely, but -- this is for them, and the others, too." Proof that all those sacrifices decades ago weren't wasted.

Poe settles back in his seat, adjusts the blanket to curl his hands into the coarse fabric. Already, he feels the chill creeping into his fingertips; the next few hours promise to be an exercise in discomfort. To pull his attention away from the fact, he glances back over at Andor, chewing on his question before he decides whether or not to bother asking.

Curiosity wins out, as it usually does. "How bad were they?"