[Boba doesn’t waste time. He makes a beeline for the table, eyes lighting up when he sees the book. Part of him is still waiting for this to be exposed as some kind of misunderstanding or trick—this place does have its share of both. But the second he picks up the holo, he knows what it is.]

No, [he says quietly, eyes still fixed on the blank, black cover.] It’s been a long time.

[Almost a year, at least. Maybe more? He suddenly wants nothing more than to activate the holo, with no care as to who sees or hears. Rex had already watched a little, hadn’t he?

Boba looks up at the clone, his thought process for once entirely transparent.]

I guess it’s no secret, [he mutters. A moment more and then, with no further elaboration, he opens the book.

Dim light flickers above the holo, gradually focusing into a familiar face, lined with sadness and a peculiar anxiety that Boba has never been able to place. The recording resumes where it had been paused mid-message.

”—more than a parent to you. Remember me, and remember that I loved you.”

Perhaps most kids Boba’s age would be embarrassed to hear affection so plainly expressed in front of their peers, but Boba doesn’t seem disconcerted at all. In fact, he smiles at the recording, for a moment seeming to forget that Rex is even there.]

The Porter must have rewound the recording, [he says, almost to himself.] That’s the first message it has on it.

[He doesn’t mention that someone had clearly watched the first few seconds before he got there.]