[Thrawn stares at Hanna in that cold, inscrutable way of his, eyes glowing malevolent red.
Whatever he's thinking, he doesn't share. Instead he picks up one of the cranes, turning it over with his fingertips, focusing his hard stare on this tiny, precious, worthless piece of paper art.]
no subject
Whatever he's thinking, he doesn't share. Instead he picks up one of the cranes, turning it over with his fingertips, focusing his hard stare on this tiny, precious, worthless piece of paper art.]
You seek to commemorate my dead.