Five years, yeah, sounds more reasonable. Poe was a baby born in the middle of war, just like she was. Three when the war ended, she wonders idly if his memories of war were as innocent as hers. She can hope, she supposes.

But the war ended, the Death Star destroyed with her father's plans. He'd done it after all, eventually. They had been successful and this proves it more than any assurances could have. Poe grew up free of the Empire.

Her nod comes slow, an acknowledgement more than anything, she's still listening even if she's drifted off. "What happened to Yavin? Mon Mothma? The council?"