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ORPHAN. Kitra hated the word and, even worse, the title that came with it.
The first time Kit had been orphaned was fifteen years ago on a farm on a small planet called Lah'mu. She had watched, or rather heard, for Jyn had been covering her eyes, her mother shot by Death Troopers and watched her father abandon her for the man who had executed the order.
The second time had been fifteen years later on the backwater moon of Jedha, when she watched the weight of an imploding mountain crush the man who'd raised her, the man who had changed the course of her life just by opening the hatch that had concealed her from the Empire.
Kitra Erso was alone again.
But then again, maybe she wasn't. Maybe she had never been an orphan to begin with. Galen Erso was alive. Not the Galen who had taught her how to sew seeds on Lah'mu, and not the Galen who has abandoned her to collaborate with the Empire. But a new Galen. The Galen that whispered to her in a cave in flickering blue light; my love for them has never faded. It was the same man who logic had told her didn't exist, couldn't exist, beneath the appearance of the Imperial slave he was presented as.
Gently, Kitra curled her arms around her knees and tucked them into her chest. Her position in the pilot's seat made the task difficult, but she hardly had enough care to register the hard metal digging into her back over the sound of her own thoughts. She knew that she should have gone back to the main hold, contacted the Rebellion, spoken to Jyn, anything but sit here and wallow in the drowning black-hole of her own subconscious. But every time she thought she had the strength to stand her limbs wouldn't fulfil the task.
"Hey," a soft hand touched her shoulder. Kit didn't have to look up to know it was Cassian behind her, his touch delicate and light, like he was sure she would crumble if he held her too tight.
