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He stood at the entrance to the observation deck, ignoring the destruction beyond the window. She was silhouetted against the burning rubble of her planet. Taking it all in. Quiet. Contemplative.
He’d underestimated her. Despite being young and named for a delicate flower, Rose was made of iron. She was innocent, but strong.
Shame bubbled in him for bringing her here. He’d watched his planet burn - why would he force that misery on her?
Because he’d wanted a companion. A partner.
It occurred to him as he watched her square her shoulders in spite of such destruction: he'd found one.