You dared to say it, with the firmest voice you could find within yourself: “Have you ever thought about having a family… with me?”

Boba did not move right away. He remained standing, arms crossed, his armor still stained with the dust of Tatooine. His helmet rested on the table, but his face showed nothing but that impenetrable calm, that hardness that seemed invulnerable to everything, even to you.

You had imagined it before: a future with him, a place where danger didn’t dictate every heartbeat, where the word home wasn’t synonymous with hidden weapons and locked doors. But Boba Fett was not an easy man, and you knew your desire might sound like a fragile illusion in the middle of the desert.

He looked at you, and for a moment you thought he was going to say yes—that he would finally let himself be drawn into the idea of something beyond war, gunpowder, and silence. But his answer was a blade cutting through the air:

“No.”

There was no hatred in his voice, not even disdain. Only a cold certainty, as if he were denying himself something he might have wanted in another life.