[He keeps his hold a second too long after Solo urges him on, tense to the point of near inaction from the strain broiling beneath his skin. Snoke's earlier promise echoes in his ears, bears down over his shoulders so that even once his grip goes slack, he isn't moving: stock-still over the rattling platform. It isn't regret for the choice made, but there's a limit to his capacity to play into this fantasy. The ability to shrug off his tether to the past.
Han Solo could escape certain death yet again, a living legend to the last.] Go.
[Better that Ben stays dead. Better to face Snoke's wrath than his mother's misery after so many years.
He leans in for a beat, stare hardened despite flush cheeks and raw, red eyes.] You're running out of time.
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Han Solo could escape certain death yet again, a living legend to the last.] Go.
[Better that Ben stays dead. Better to face Snoke's wrath than his mother's misery after so many years.
He leans in for a beat, stare hardened despite flush cheeks and raw, red eyes.] You're running out of time.