“How was your night with the Solos?” the man that was supposed to be his uncle inquired. Jag shrugged, uncomfortable. Wedge Antilles seemed like a good man, a great leader, and someone who loved Jag’s mother very much. Still, he was a stranger who expected them to be instant family. It just wasn’t the way the Chiss did things. Respect, trust—they were earned, not given. Antilles might be his uncle, but they weren’t family. “As well as can be expected. At least they allowed me a rest from the binders.” Antilles left, leaving him alone with his thoughts. “Well?” he prompted again. She exploded.