The temperature in the cockpit must have plummeted by some twenty degrees with the chill of the dark expression crossing Natasha's features. Han can feel the ominous pressure from her fury radiating out.

"Please wai--"

The spy has brushed over Han again, furiously tapping a pretty repetitive series of buttons on the console before slamming her palm onto the input button and glaring hard down at the controls.

"Full Manual confirmed. Goodbye."

"Lets get out of here." Midnight on Hoth would be warmer than her voice right now.