"Leia," Luke breaths softly, expression falling almost as if the sigh hurts him. In truth, the pain is almost physical, the memory of her anger, his disapproval, still vivid. It why it takes him a moment to register the boy's name, and when he does, the older man's brow furrows. Any other pilot, he could have simply ignored, anonymous and part of some past life he was no longer connected to.

But this one? Luke squints to try to make out the toddler in the man before him.

"Impossible," he says gruffly. "Poe Dameron would be, what. Ten? Fifteen?"