(3rd Person pov)

Hera Syndulla sat in the cockpit of the Ghost, thinking. Sabine Wren knocked on the door to the cockpit. "Can I come in?"
Hera nodded. Sabine took a seat next to her. "I miss them too," she said to Hera.
Garazeb Orrelios sighed loudly from the doorway now. "Let's go beat up some bucketheads and get them out of there. Where's my bow-rifle?" He started hunting around for his bow-rifle before Hera laid a gentle yet firm hand on his shoulder. "No. The Empire would be waiting for us. We have to hope that they can get themselves out."
"But what if?" Sabine started to ask, but stopped. She didn't want to think about it.
"If they don't get out?" Hera put it gently, and Sabine nodded. "I know. Let me think about it." Hera returned to her pilot's seat, Sabine went to her room to paint, and Zeb went to his cabin to go sleep. Hera sighed. Being a rebel was never easy. Not in any way at all.