He understands the wry tone in her voice. It's the humor of someone who doesn't know the answer because she's been on the run her whole life. It's the same tone of voice that he knows all too well himself. Nodding, Cassian keeps his arm around her. Maybe, in a kinder universe, he could find that home for her. He thinks he nearly had when he'd said those words back on Yavin. The Alliance could be her home and she could build with a group of people, find the ones who were idealistic enough to remind her of hope.

Cassian likes to think that that's what it gave him, before Draven made him into something worse.

"Maybe it'll be an adventure. I'll learn how to match curtains to a sofa," he says, the domestic fantasy wasted on them. He can't remember if he ever had a room with curtains. All the homes he remembers are gray, utilitarian things for storing people like weapons.

He could cook again, Cassian thinks. He hasn't cooked in a long time, at least nothing more complicated than packet rations. He's missed that.