Chapter Text
“I like it,” Millicent announces, and Hux lets out a deep, relieved breath.
With his daughter’s approval, he can start building a life in this new place. Their house is at the end of a neatly groomed cul-de-sac, with one house to its side and six other houses around them. The drive to the city takes about forty minutes with rush-hour traffic, but it’s a small price to pay for the peace and quiet of the suburbs. Besides, all the fresh air will be good for Millicent, and perhaps she’ll find some friends among the neighbors, so she won’t be too lonely when Hux has to put in overtime at work. She can finally have a garden to play in and her own personal swing set.
Yes, this was the right decision.
Getting away from the city—and the memories of Millicent’s late mother—is exactly what both of them need.
“The last to unpack makes dinner,” Millicent suggests and zips away, hugging a stack of two boxes to her chest.
Hux doesn’t point out that whoever finishes unpacking first would have more time to make dinner, and simply starts arranging his books in the room he’s claimed as a study. From along the landing, he can hear Millicent talking to her stuffed toys as she finds homes for them in her bedroom. She’s got a collection of plush cats, all of them ginger, all of them, bizarrely, named after her. Sometimes Hux jokes that he lives with an army of Millicents, and his daughter always salutes solemnly, proclaiming him to be the army’s esteemed General.
Bringing order to his multitude of stationery items occupies the better half of Hux’s afternoon, which he justifies by reminding himself that having a neat categorization system is what assures he always uses the right pencil for the job. By the time he’s finished, Millicent is already running circles around the house, counting all the plug sockets and testing all the beds.
“What’s taking you soooo long, Dad?” she complains at last, poking her head into Hux’s study.
“Order is everything,” Hux says primly, putting the last eraser into its new place. “And I’m done.”
“Great, you’re cooking,” Millicent announces and skips downstairs.
“Careful!” Hux shouts after her, mortified by the image of his daughter breaking her neck on the stairs. Maybe he’s overreacting, but Millicent is the only thing he truly values in his life, and his mind occasionally spins into overdrive thinking up worst-case scenarios.
“Boo!” Millicent shouts back, careless as any twelve-year-old.
Shaking his head, Hux hurries after her, joining her in the kitchen, where she’s already installed in a chair at the island, dangling her legs and patting her hands on the countertop.
“What are we having?” she demands to know, and it’s only then that Hux realizes they don’t have any groceries in the house.
“Delivery,” he decides, taking out his phone to check for local take-outs.
Millicent pouts. “The deal was that you’re cooking!”
“The deal didn’t take into account the fact that we have nothing in the fridge,” Hux points out, and Millicent blows air through her lips. “I’ll cook tomorrow, okay?”
“Fiiiine.” She makes a thoughtful face, then brightens up. “Will you make the pasta?”
Hux chuckles. Of all the food on Earth, Millicent will always choose pasta. This was true when she was two, and it’s still true ten years later.
“With lots of cheese?”
“With lots of cheese!” She shoots her arms into the air and grins.
Hux lets her pick the toppings for pizza—pineapple and olives and mozzarella—and thinks that, if he had to, he’d burn planets for his little girl.
***
The weekend ends sooner than Hux is ready for. He can’t quite understand why he is supposed to go to work tomorrow while his daughter stays at their new home to spend her summer holidays in the company of her loyal cats. He also wishes he’d had the time to get to know the neighbors—the real estate agent insisted that the community here is excellent—but on the other hand, he doesn’t want to be disappointed. It’s hard for him to like people; most fall short of his exacting standards, and Millicent doesn’t take to new people easily either. When she was younger, she’d straight-out turn her back on the people who tried to tell her she was a cute little girl.
Like father, like daughter, probably.
“You’re responsible for the house,” he tells Millicent as he collects his bag and opens the front door.
“Sure, sure.” She nods like a bobble-head, and Hux isn’t completely convinced she’s hearing any of the words he’s saying.
He leans down to kiss her forehead.
“Behave,” he orders and pretends he doesn’t see her sticking out her tongue at him.
“Bye, Dad!” She waves at him as he backs out of the driveway and onto the street.
He suppresses the urge to hit the brakes and rush back to hug Millicent one more time and drives forward, trusting his daughter to make it through the day without any major incidents.
Walking through the doors at First Order Fashion, he switches into boss mode and schools his face into the cold mask that he usually wears at work. Here, he is not a doting dad but a Creative Director, where he is responsible for the vision of the entire brand. Right now, he’s busy directing the Starkiller project, a collection that will set them apart once and for all, turning the world of fashion upside down and disintegrating their rival house The New Republic.
He’s buried in the suggestions submitted by his designers, most of them rubbish, when his Senior Marketing Manager Phasma flings his door open.
“It’s lunch time,” she announces, plopping into the seat opposite him and slapping two unidentified packages on his desk.
“Is that food?” He eyes the packages suspiciously. Phasma nods. “Get it away from my designs.”
“Get your designs away from my food,” Phasma counters. “I promised Millie that I’ll make sure you eat.”
Hux groans. The friendship between Phasma and his daughter is one of the unexpected banes of his life.
Having nothing to say in his defense, he stacks the sheets of paper on the side of his desk and takes one of the packages. It turns out to be a wrapped sandwich that smells of something unfamiliar.
“It’s vegan,” Phasma explains. “Tempeh with pesto.”
“Are you vegan now?” Hux takes a curious bite. It’s good.
“No, just lesbian.” Phasma unwraps her own sandwich and starts demolishing it. “But these are simply divine.”
With another bite, Hux can’t help but agree. The sandwich is downright delicious, and he notices now how hungry he actually was. He won’t admit it out loud, but he’s grateful for Phasma. Without her, he’d die at his desk sooner rather than later.
“How’s the move?” she asks him, stuffing the last of her sandwich into her mouth.
“Fine, we’ve unpacked almost everything.” It took the better half of the weekend, and left them both so exhausted that they spent the rest of the time lying on the floor, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars they had pasted all over the ceiling in Millicent’s room.
“Met the neighbors?”
“Not yet.”
“I hear it’s a good neighborhood,” Phasma says, balling the wrapping from her sandwich and sending it flying toward the trash can. She hits the target. Hux expected nothing less of her.
“The real estate agent said the same thing.” He finishes his own sandwich in a few dainty bites. “I hope Millicent is safe there.”
“Sure she is.” Phasma reaches over the desk to pat Hux’s hand. “Besides, she’s an excellent judge of character. Take me, for example. She loves me.”
“That she does,” Hux agrees. “Did you by any chance bring coffee?”
“I didn’t,” Phasma says, and Hux deflates a little bit, but then she grins. “I sent Mitaka for it.”
Hux shakes his head.
“My designers aren’t your personal assistants,” he remarks, but it’s been long established that Mitaka is a better assistant than designer. He very diligently produces the same cookie-cutter outfits over and over. Sometimes they work; most of the time, though, they do not. Still, his discipline is remarkable, and Hux keeps him close, almost like a pet.
Before Mitaka arrives, Hux snaps a selfie with Phasma and sends it to Millicent, reporting that he has eaten his lunch. He gets kk as a reply and a fox emoji. The fox must mean him, although he isn’t sure. He decides it’s better not to reveal his ignorance to a ruthless tween, so he puts away his phone and awaits his coffee.
His phone pings. It’s a new message from Millicent. It says ‘met a nabor!’ with an ‘eyes’ emoji and a black heart. As far as Hux has learned, the ‘eyes’ emoji means curiosity, and ‘nabor’ must be the way his daughter spells ‘neighbor.’ He doesn’t know what the black heart is for. Maybe she’s just saying she loves her Dad.
As he processes the meaning of the message, he is torn between panicking and rejoicing. On the one hand, he wanted Millicent to make new friends. On the other hand, he didn’t expect those friends to be a stranger that hasn’t been checked and approved by him. How did she even encounter this neighbor? She knows not to open the door to anyone while he’s not there.
“What’s got you so bothered?” Phasma asks, still lingering in his office. Her eyes are on her phone. “My tweet about the superiority of hexagons in dress patterns is going viral, heh.”
“I have zero understanding of what you just said, but I salute you.” Hux glances at his own phone. “Millie says she met a neighbor.”
“Oh?” Phasma types something furiously. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“What if they aren’t a good person?”
“Then she won’t like them.”
“What if they deceive her?”
Phasma gives him an unimpressed look. ”Do you trust your daughter or not?”
“I worry about my daughter,” Hux counters, just as Mitaka knocks on the door, bringing the long-awaited coffee.
“She’s twelve, not two,” Phasma points out, taking her cup from the harried designer. “Thanks, Doph.”
“I’ll worry about her even when she’s twenty-two,” Hux grumbles. “Or fifty-two.”
“Let’s just hope you live long enough to do that.” Phasma takes a gulp of her coffee and stands up. “Don’t overwork yourself.”
“Have a nice day, too.” Hux waves at her dismissively, and she slips through the door, leaving him alone with his work. There’s enough to make him temporarily forget his personal worries and focus on his professional ones.
By the end of the day, he’s only shouted at someone on three occasions, approved as many as two designs out of forty, and didn’t kill anyone. A good day on all counts. He stuffs the extra work he needs to do in the evening into his bag, gets into his car, and manages not to break the speed limit in his rush home to find out what Millicent has been up to.
***
“You must meet him,” is the first thing that Millicent says when he opens the front door.
“Hello to you too, princess.” He accepts a hug, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Who’s ‘him’?”
“His name is Kylo Ren,” Millicent starts, following Hux to the kitchen where he turns on the faucet to wash his hands. “He’s, like, super cool.”
“Didn’t I teach you not to talk to strangers?” Hux wipes his hands on the towel and turns around to arch an eyebrow at his daughter.
She rolls her eyes. It’s a move she’s learned way too early in life.
“He’s not a stranger,” she says, with all the conviction of a twelve-year-old. “He’s a neighbor. He was out in his garden and said hi to me when I went on the swings, that’s all.”
Hux wants to argue more, but reigns himself in. His daughter wouldn’t trust just anyone, so there must be something special about this Kylo Ren, whoever he is. And his research did assure him that no one has ever been murdered or mugged or gone mysteriously missing in this neighborhood.
He decides his worry is just normal parental concern. As a parent, you are never fully relaxed because your baby is somewhere out in the world, living their own life, separated from you, not protected by you every step of the way. He reminds himself that Millicent is a smart, sensible girl who knows several techniques for incapacitating would-be attackers long enough to escape. Not that there should ever arise such a need, but he’s made sure his daughter knows how to take care of herself.
“Alright,” he says, mounting the stairs to go to his room. “I’ll get changed and start on dinner, okay?”
Millicent spares him enough time to flash an okay sign, then she’s buried in her phone, unavailable to the offline world.
Engrossed in more design sketches, Hux forgets about making any social calls until it’s far too late in the evening. He decides he’ll meet the mysterious neighbor tomorrow and goes to catch as much sleep as he can before another long day at work.
“Kylo Ren,” he mutters to the ceiling as he falls asleep, wondering at the way the name rolls in his mouth. “Don’t you dare hurt my daughter.”
***
The next day goes by the same way, and so does the day after that, except that Millicent greets him in a new necklace that he doesn’t recognize.
“Look what I did with Kylo!” She puffs out her chest proudly, so he can get a better look.
It’s about four dozen tiny colorful clothespins strung on a cord. Hux doesn’t remember having any tiny clothespins in the house.
“We dyed them ourselves,” Millicent chatters, touching the necklace as if to make sure it’s still there. “You mix water and watercolor and then leave them to soak overnight, and then they become real bright and cool, like this.” She removes one of the clothespins, a yellow one, and waves it in Hux’s face. “Look, Dad! Dad? Dad!”
“It’s very nice, yes,” Hux mumbles, trying to understand whether he’s touched or disturbed. On the one hand, Millicent looks excited and untroubled, which wouldn’t be the case if Kylo Ren had tried anything untoward. Therefore, Hux probably should be glad for this wonderful neighbor who’s entertaining his child while he’s away. He’ll feel better after he meets the man himself, though. “Did you do anything else?”
“He told me some spooky stories, but I wasn’t scared. He’s not very good at being scary,” Millicent says with a grin.
“Spooky how?” Hux asks, tensing.
“You know.” Millicent waves her hand. “Ghosts, vampires—”
“Nice neighbors who turn out to be serial killers?”
Millicent makes a face.
“Dad, you’re being paranoid,” she says resolutely, pointing to the necklace on her chest. “Would a bad person do this?”
“Bad people do all kinds of things.” It’s a sad truth, but Hux thinks his daughter should know it nonetheless.
“He’s not bad,” Millicent says with a stubbornness that tells Hux he isn’t going to win this argument. If his daughter has decided on something, there’s no power in the world that can change her mind.
Runs in the family, Hux guesses.
He doesn’t get to meet Kylo Ren that night either.
***
On Thursday, he finds a few of his paper clips missing because Kylo Ren taught Millicent how to make a battery out of a lemon. On Friday, she shows him a jar, half-full of water, with an avocado pit pierced by toothpicks. Kylo Ren says it’ll sprout and then they can plant an avocado tree. By Saturday, Hux realizes he’s becoming jealous.
He should be teaching his daughter all this. And he does want to spend more time with her, he truly does, it’s just that his job demands so much of him. He’s responsible for everything, top to bottom, from model casting to mission statements. Even if First Order managed to hire him a team of competent, resilient assistants, he would be busy more often than not.
It pains him, how much he’s missing out on his daughter, but he wants the best for her, and he recognizes that he needs his career to keep himself sane, too. Every time he thinks about slacking off, he hears his father’s voice in his head, the one that told him over and over how useless he was, how he’d never achieve anything in his life, how he was a pathetic little bug, born to be crushed under others’ boots. He’s accepted this as a neurosis he can’t get rid of. The only thing he can do about it now is make sure Millicent never hears anything like that from him.
Just as he prepares to go and knock on Kylo Ren’s door, his phone starts ringing. There’s an emergency at a photoshoot, and his presence is required to sort things out.
“I’ll try to get home as soon as I can,” he promises Millicent, who sees him off, valiantly trying not to pout.
He doesn’t get home until it’s dark.
***
Sunday morning starts with a knock on the front door. It’s the only day when Hux allows himself to wake up later than usual, and someone has decided to interrupt his sleep.
He hears Millicent run down the stairs from her room.
“Who’s there?” she asks in her bright, sunny voice. Lucky for her to be a morning person. “Dad, it’s the neighbors!” she shouts, and he groans. “They want to say hello!”
Why didn’t they choose a different day for that? Sunday is a day for rest and relaxation, not forced social events with strangers.
“Tell them I’m coming!” he shouts back, dragging himself out of bed and changing quickly into his day clothes—black fitted jeans, a relaxed button-up and a casual ascot tie in a matching shade, nothing too extravagant. He’s greeting some neighbors at his own house, not preparing for a walk on the runway.
After rinsing his mouth with mouthwash and combing his bedhead into something more respectable, he stomps downstairs. Millicent is waiting, bouncing against the front door.
“There you are!” she exclaims, dancing away from the door eagerly.
Hux lets their guests in. There’s three of them, all tall, all dressed fully in black. One of them is carrying a plate with something brown on it.
“Vicrul, he/him,” the tallest one says, a pale man with jet-black hair and intelligent brown eyes.
“Ap’lek, they/them,” the one behind Vicrul introduces themself. Their curly blond hair reaches their chin, and their blue eyes are twinkling.
“Kuruk, he/him,” the last one says in a deep, rumbling voice. He has the same dark hair and eyes as Vicrul, but his skin is a darker tone.
“Hux, uh, he/him. This is Millicent.” He gestures at his daughter, who’s peeking from behind him at the three strangers.
“She/her,” she adds and takes a step to the side to face the neighbors fully, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.
“We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood,” Vicrul says, offering the plate to Hux. “It’s fruitcake,” he explains when Hux hesitates.
“Homemade,” Ap’lek clarifies.
“Not as good as Kylo Ren’s, I’m afraid,” Vicrul says with a grin as Hux takes the plate.
“Did you say Kylo Ren?” He gives the plate to Millicent, sending her to the kitchen with it.
“Haven’t you met?” Vicrul asks. Ap’lek tilts their head at Hux, while Kuruk hangs back, looking like he doesn’t want to talk to anyone at all. “He lives just next door from you.”
“I’ve met him,” Millicent says, returning from the kitchen. “He’s so cool!”
Vicrul smiles, and so does Ap’lek. Kuruk remains stoic.
“Yes, he’s a very good person,” Vicrul says, and a knot in Hux’s stomach loosens.
“Please come in.” He ushers the guests inside. “And tell me more about this very good person.”
They end up drinking iced tea and eating the fruitcake—which turns out to be a bit on the dry side—while two of the neighbors gush about the great Kylo Ren, and Kuruk grunts his agreement from time to time. Apparently, Kylo Ren is a saint. He’s always ready to help a neighbor, he combines unearthly charm with keen intelligence, and he gives back to the community, whatever that may mean. Everyone is smitten by him, and Hux doesn’t know whether to trust these people or suspect Kylo Ren of witchery.
“We’re hosting a barbecue next Sunday,” Vicrul invites them as the trio file out of the house. “Come along; you’ll definitely meet him there.”
As soon as Hux agrees and closes the front door behind their guests, his phone buzzes. Hux closes his eyes, already knowing it’s work.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” he begins, but Millicent is already hugging his waist.
“Can you not go, Dad?”
He pets her hair, as red as his.
“They can’t do anything without me,” he explains, and Millicent sighs, letting him go.
He doesn’t get to meet Kylo Ren that Sunday. Or the next one.
***
The Wednesday after the barbecue that he missed due to a supply-chain crisis, Hux manages to get home at a reasonable time. Millicent has him sitting in the living-room with his palms pressed against his cheeks and his mouth opened in a silent o.
“Is this okay?” he asks, trying to speak without moving his lips.
“Dad!” Millicent chastises him immediately. “Don’t move. I’m trying to paint you, aren’t I?”
Hux refrains from further questions, doing his best to sit very still. Painting has been a hobby of Millicent’s for a few years, and in his unbiased opinion, she’s rather talented. Every room of their new house has one of her creations hung on the wall, neatly framed. Right now, she’s hard at work, her tongue stuck out between her teeth as she concentrates on her brushwork. She’s adorable like that, and Hux wishes he could sneak a picture of her, but he can’t move his hands. Instead, he commits this peaceful evening to memory, promising himself that they are going to have more of them, and soon.
After about half an hour, his cheeks are sweating under his palms. The summer heat is merciless even at night, and Hux has always preferred the bracing coldness of winter to the stuffy air of August.
“How’s it going?” he asks, discovering that it’s possible for one’s lips to fall asleep.
“Daaad.” Millicent gives him a hurt look. “Why did you move?”
“I’m sorry, dear, but I’m so tired.” He glances at the wall clock over Millicent’s head. “Can we take a little break?”
Millicent regards him with no pity in her eyes. He half-expects her to order him to hold the pose for the entire evening, when she huffs and nods magnanimously.
“Alright. But you’re making me cocoa.”
“It’s a deal.”
He stands up from his chair, pins and needles running down his legs and arms. Everything hurts, but he regrets nothing. He’s finally getting to spend a quiet night in with his daughter, and no one can take it from him.
Millicent joins him in the kitchen, watching as he heats up the milk and gets the cocoa powder from the overhead cabinet.
“Kylo makes great cocoa,” she says offhandedly, and Hux immediately takes it as a challenge.
He hasn’t even met the man, and yet he’s competing with him for his daughter’s affection.
“Oh yeah?” he asks as nonchalantly as he can. “What’s his secret?”
Millicent pinches two fingers together so they’re almost touching and squints.
“Tiny marshmallows!” she announces proudly.
He checks the cabinets, but they don’t have any kind of marshmallows, let alone tiny ones.
“I’ll get you marshmallows,” he mutters viciously, taking out his phone and messaging Mitaka, ordering the designer-slash-assistant to dash to the grocery store first thing next morning. He could demand that the man does it right now, but he’s not a monster, is he?
When the cocoa is ready, they return to the room where Millicent resumes painting her version of Munch’s Scream. She decided to make a project of redrawing various famous paintings with her favorite people as models. So far, she’s only finished Girl with a Pearl Earring, starring Phasma, but the result blew away everyone involved. According to Millicent, all the neighbors gushed about the painting at the barbecue, and Kylo Ren was especially effusive with his praise, which made Hux feel an odd combination of proud of his daughter, sad that he missed the event, and envious that Kylo Ren stole the moment from him again.
There’s a non-zero possibility that he’s going to try and murder the man when he finally meets him.
***
“You’re taking a day off,” Millicent demands on Friday, hands on her hips.
“Darling,” Hux begins, but she cuts him off.
“I need to finish my project. And you’ve barely been home for weeks!” Her face wrinkles in distress, and Hux’s heart breaks.
“Okay,” he tells her, bringing his hands up placatingly. “Look, I’m messaging Phasma and Mitaka, see?” He types quickly and shows her his phone with a message ready to send. It says that he has a family emergency and needs to take the day off.
“I’m a ‘family emergency’?” Millicent says with a pout.
Hux wiggles his phone. “I’m bending the truth a little bit.”
“Dad!” Millicent makes an exaggerated gasp. “Lying is bad,” she chastises him, although there’s a twinkle in her green eyes.
Hux winks at her. “Not when it’s for a good end.”
He sends the message. While it may not be directly in the scope of Phasma’s responsibilities, he’s sure she’ll keep the company together in his absence. At the very least, she knows what to delegate to whom, and Mitaka can handle the menial tasks since he basically doubles as Hux’s assistant anyway. Worry still tugs at Hux’s soul as he imagines First Order Fashion collapsing without his iron-fist guidance, but his daughter takes precedence. It’s high time she did.
They spend the first half of the day in the living-room, Hux doing his best to hold the Scream pose for Millicent’s painting. Apart from Phasma’s and Mitaka’s initial acknowledgements, no one messages him to tell him that the company is burning. Maybe it’s his lucky day. The one day in a year when things go right—a Christmas in August, or whatever it is, he’s taking it.
As Millicent jumps up to fix his pose and smears some paint on his nose, he listens to her happy giggling and decides that nothing in the entire world can ruin this day.
When lunchtime rolls around, she bounds upstairs to watch something on her computer, and Hux goes about making her favorite food. Just as he sets the timer for the pasta, their doorbell rings.
“Coming!” he shouts, wiping his hands on the dish towel and striding toward the front door. “Who is it?”
“It’s your neighbor,” a deep, rumbling voice replies from the other side. Hux doesn’t recognize it. “Kylo Ren,” the voice specifies, and Hux’s stomach flips.
At long last.
He flings the door open, eager to meet the man and tell him everything he thinks about him.
What he sees in the doorway makes him slam the door shut again.
He glances in the mirror hanging in the hallway to find his face paler than he’s ever seen himself. His hands shake. This can’t be right.
Unable to think of anything better to do, he pinches his leg. It hurts like a bitch, which means he isn’t dreaming.
He saw what he saw, there can’t be any doubt, except it simply isn’t possible.
Taking a deep breath, he brings his ear to the door. Whatever Kylo Ren is, he’s not making a sound, until he speaks up again, voice hesitant now.
“Mr. Hux? Sir?” Hux shudders when he imagines that thing talking. “I saw your car in the driveway and wanted to say hello.” A pause. “I brought cookies for Millicent.”
This does it. Hux can’t bear the thought of that anywhere near his daughter. He opens the door, pulling himself up to his full height.
There, in front of him, writhes a tall black void, peppered with large red eyes and sprouting several highly mobile tendrils. Two of the appendages proffer a white porcelain plate with sugar cookies, like it’s supposed to pacify Hux.
“Whatever you are,” Hux hisses, overcoming the desire to recoil at the sight of this abomination, “you will never come near my daughter again. Never!” He slams the door shut, catching a glimpse of the red eyes blinking in confusion but paying it no heed.
“Dad?” Millicent’s voice calls to him from the top of the stairs. “What’s going on?”
Hux raises his eyes to look at his daughter. He can’t believe she’s never mentioned that Kylo Ren isn’t a human being. His heart is racing. He’s never been one to believe in the supernatural, but now he finds his mind overwhelmed, imagining a hundred equally nightmarish possibilities.
“What were you thinking?!” he yells, ignoring the timer shrieking in the kitchen.
“Dad,” Millicent says, alarm in her voice. “Was that Kylo?”
“You will never see that thing again,” Hux announces, mind still reeling from what he saw. “Whatever it is, you are prohibited from interacting with it ever again.”
Millicent blinks quickly a few times, her eyes watering and her cheeks reddening. It doesn’t matter. Tears won’t work on Hux, not when his daughter’s safety is at stake.
“He’s a good person!” Millicent shouts, her hands curled into fists at her sides.
“It’s not a person!” Hux shouts back. “It’s… I don’t know what it is, but it can’t be safe!” Nothing with that many eyes and tendrils could be benevolent.
“He’s safer than you are!” Millicent shrieks, stomping her leg. “He’s always there and you’re not!” She whirls around with a heart-rending sob and runs back into her room, slamming the door hard enough to make the walls shake.
This is a disaster, but Hux knows he’s right.
Whatever Millicent might think of him now, she’ll thank him later, when she isn’t dragged into some hellish alternate dimension to be devoured by the devil himself.