The trouble had started when Aunt Leia and Uncle Han had run off with Threepio to patch up a diplomatic crisis. Then his father had been dragged off to Corellia, and the Force had apparently conspired to send the entire Order off on missions at once, which left Ben babysitting the eleven-year-old hidden heir to the Hapan Throne when his comlink buzzed with a call for any Jedi in the sector go stop some barvy criminal from making it to the spaceport. Ben had sprinted to his speeder in seconds – but, then again, so had Allana.

“You’re not coming,” he said between gritted teeth, punching in access codes and wishing that Jedi training taught “how to handle an overly adventurous cousin.”

“I’m not a little kid anymore!” she protested, crossing her arms tight across her chest, looking –

Ben blinked. Allana’s red hair was still dyed black, and she had the Queen Mother’s gray eyes, but for a moment her expression had been all Jacen Solo.

And that’s when he realized that knew all about how to handle an overly adventurous cousin. Sure, he hadn’t learned from the Temple or even had a formal lesson, but he’d spent four years with an excellent teacher.

“Then buckle up,” he said, “and keep an eye out.”

Her frown melted, and suddenly she looked just as happy as he’d felt the first time he’d wheedled his way into tagging along on one of Jacen’s expeditions. “Really? I can go with you?”

He grinned. “Sure. What else are cousins for?”