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Solo, though—it came to Fett as a revelation that Solo’s presence, over the course of the decades, had in a way been oddly comforting. He had been a part, however peripherally, of Fett’s life for so long that Fett had difficulty picturing a world without him. The world had changed, and changed, and only Solo had remained a constant.

He’d Hunted Solo for various clients, various bounties. Fett had difficulty picturing a world without Solo—

—he leaned in and touched the scope’s focusing ring. Solo’s image, and that of the woman Fett assumed was Incavi Larado, though he did not recognize her, leapt into sharp relief; and Fett’s finger tightened on the trigger.

He wouldn’t make the mistake of trying to take Solo alive, not again.

And he would learn to picture a world without him.

• • •

They headed toward the entrance together, Mayor Incavi Baker smiling patiently, and with a certain effort that Han did not miss. He stayed a half step behind her as she walked, keeping part of her bulk between him and the loading docks outside, where the lights had gone out not long after they had all entered the warehouse together. The loading docks outside were pitch black; they might have assembled an army for all Han knew—

“—so this kid,” said Han, “his name was—uh, Maris, and this old guy with delusions—Jocko, yeah, anyway this guy Jocko, he thinks he’s a Jedi Knight—and let me tell you, that old guy with his delusions, he was a pain in the butt—anyway they tell me they have to get past the Imperial lines—”

What did they have waiting for him out there?

What had he walked into?

He knows something is wrong, Fett thought. He’s—

The main power line entered the warehouse at the northeast, and split, one bundle running up to the ceiling and the overhead lights, and another bundle running back toward the hydroponics tanks.

Han cocked his wrist a certain way, and the holdout blaster in his left sleeve dropped down into his hand.

Boba Fett had the crosshairs hovering just to the left of Incavi Baker’s approaching form; the cross-hair found Solo’s breast, lost it, found it again.

Fett squeezed the trigger—

—the warehouse lights died—

The blaster bolt tore through the darkness like a flash of lightning.

Han hit the ground rolling, sparks still trailing away from the spot where his first shot had struck the power cable, rolled away firing left-handed at the locations where he remembered the two closer bodyguards standing, pulling his blaster free right-handed. Screams, the woman was screaming, and he got off four shots with the holdout before it malfunctioned, burning out, the power supply flashing hot and terribly bright as it went, lighting Han as a target to the world, and Han came up out of his roll and made it to his feet and ran backward through the darkness, through the rows of hydroponics tanks, spots dancing in his eyes, using his scalded left hand on the sides of the tanks, to guide himself, as blaster bolts rained around him.

In that single flash as the holdout blaster had arced out, he had seen a shape running toward the warehouse entrance, a shape out of Han Solo’s nightmares, a shape out of the galaxy’s darkest history—a man in Mandalorian combat armor.

Incavi Baker lay on her back, staring up into infinity. There was a terrible pain in her side, and she knew she was dying.

She wished it weren’t so dark. Bright lights flashed around her, blaster bolts that lit the world up briefly, but even the blaster bolts were fading now.

A figure loomed up out of the darkness, knelt beside her. A man in gray armor. Incavi opened her mouth—but nothing came, and the man reached for her.

Something sharp and cold touched her neck.

Gradually, the pain went away.

• • •

A ringing in his ears.

The four bodyguards were dead; Solo must have killed the one off to the side, Fett thought, curled up around whatever wound Solo had left in him—Fett knew he had only killed the three who were still standing when he entered