When Miguel doesn't make any move to stop him, Boba moves around him. The flowers are pretty. Orange, white, and purple: lust for life, clean state, and... he doesn't know what purple means. Maybe it's reliability, like blue? Red is honoring a parent, maybe it's a different kind of honoring.

His brow furrows at the question. "Ghosts?"

His instinct to to say no, but it's a big galaxy. He thinks about the stories his dad would tell him-- about the kings that live in the stars. He thinks about the book filled with his father's voice-- about the millions of clones that wear his father's face.

Boba shrugs. "I don't know. I've never seen one."