Jyn's sitting up in bed, at least, back against the headboard and legs folded in front of her. She watches as Cassian rocks Rey around the room, but her eyes linger on his face instead of their daughter's perfect, miniature features.

"I hate this," she admits quietly, anxiously folding and unfolding and refolding one of Reys teeny tiny onesies in her lap. She doesn't hate the onesie, of course, she melted a little at the sight of tiny clothes when they'd first gone out of buy them. They're so small.

"We don't deserve her, Cassian." Which is the truth, harsh as it may be. "What are they going to do with her when this is all over?" Surely they aren't going to be allowed to keep her, not with what they've done, not with what they're doing.