The dream had been luscious, the details vivid. The weight of his hand on her back, the faint breeze of his breath against her temple. Endearments, low and jagged, muttered in her ear.

Rey stretched, luxuriating in the vast bed. She touched her cheek, remembering the feel of her fantasy-borne Kylo ghosting his fingers over it, his eyes tracing their progress. As she moved her hand, fabric heavy with silver thread and glittering stones brushed against her face, and the truth returned to her.

It was real. They had never been dreams, and she had accepted it. Accepted him.

What had she done?

She moved downstairs apprehensively. Would he be—expectant? Smug? Did he think she was his now? That she'd be compliant?

Kylo Ren was in the kitchen, slicing a round loaf of bread, the crust crackling as the knife slid through. He picked up a shard and popped it into his mouth, his full lips working as he chewed it.

She felt sick suddenly, her stomach clenching. She wanted to—run? Away? To him? To bite his lips, tear at him?

With a start she realized she was rubbing the nape of her neck. The night before, beneath the stars, he'd pressed his lips against the spot until it burned. Her face turned hot and she jerked her hand away with a gasp.

He looked up, spearing her with his eyes. When he registered that it was her his expression became sensuous, confident. Proud. He was proud that she had joined him in the garden. Was she an achievement to him? Something to be conquered? Why, why had she come downstairs, last night or this morning?

Even as she stared at him his confidence began to waver, uncertainly clouding his eyes. Doubt crept in. Now she saw a different kind of pride, a refusal to beg, a line he was trying desperately not to cross. With her his armor was a mere suggestion.

She'd been right the night before. She really did hold all the power.

"Did you sleep well?" His expression had sunk into caution.

She nodded. She had gone to bed with her spirit floating, dazed by the night and Kylo's touch and the weight of his adoration, and had drifted off in moments. No wonder she hadn't realized the nights in the forest were real. Last night seemed as hazy and moon-drunk as a fever dream.

"Did you … dream?"

She stared at him, his shoulders hunched, brows drawn. She knew what he was looking for.

She wasn't sure she if she should to give it to him.

She had always been as direct as possible. But she didn't want to give him hope for anything more than the present, because she was making no promises. She would indulge herself as long as she wanted. If he wanted more—if he had a thousand villas with a thousand gardens, and thought the parade of opulence would bewitch her into permanence—that was his own disappointment to reckon with.

If this was what he most wanted, this with her, then at least he would have had it for a time. Most people never had as much.

She never had, and she accepted that she never would. But he was greedy. She felt it with every lick of his eyes.

Was it crueler to tell him she would leave, and allow it to color their time together? Or allow him to enjoy this interlude for as long as it lasted, with no looming shadow?

She knew, looking at his increasingly troubled expression, that not telling him was the only choice. She would let them both enjoy it for as long as it lasted, and when she bid him farewell she could only hope he would be able to recall the sweetness of their time instead of the bitterness at its end.

She thought, suddenly, of the confrontation on Starkiller, the snow falling around them. His possessiveness of Luke Skywalker's lightsaber. The way his rage had spiked every time he looked at Finn.

Even with his father's evanescence still clinging to his saber, he'd regarded her as his.

Damn her parents, damn them. They'd left her, made her desperate, so desperate that the thought of Kylo Ren's burning intensity focused on her, wanting her more than anything else, placing her at the center of his existence, didn't horrify her, not the way it should. It made her want to bite down and hold on tight.

But she belonged to herself. She was nobody's possession. She'd beaten him once, and when she decided to leave she would, if necessary, do it again. If he gave her no other choice.

She drew herself back to the moment and forced herself to smile, a talisman against him creeping into her mind. "I slept very well. No dreams at all."

His face crumpled a little, his disappointment painfully evident. He was unhidden, like a child. A child she'd never been, because it had never been safe for her to display her vulnerabilities. But Kylo Ren, who'd had everything she hadn't and now had even more, counted that among his many luxuries.

Yet Snoke had stalked him, and his parents had passed him over to Luke Skywalker rather than help their own son. He'd had everything, but the most important things, the most necessary, he'd lost. Maybe that was why he was so eager, now, to claim things as his own—the lightsaber, the galaxy...her. Because back then he hadn't been able to hold onto what really mattered.

An unwelcomed pang of recognition prodded at her, interfered with her clear thinking. "I must have been tired from our walk in the garden."

He blinked and brightened, damn him, color climbing in his cheeks and crawling up his ears. It touched her and troubled her in equal aspect.

Dammit, she shouldn't be reassuring him. For the moment their interests intersected, but she had no obligations to him.

She had to stop thinking of it, all of it. She was sick of her past haunting her, and didn't want his joining in. And she wasn't going to think about what kind of a future she might have with him, because this was about the present. This place out of time, these moments she could allow herself without remorse or self-recrimination, when she didn't have to scrape and scrounge to live, when she wasn't trying to be brave or good or patient, when no one was looking at her or judging her or trying to take what she'd fought for.

This was a dream, like the nights on D'Qar, and eventually she'd wake up. And then she'd leave, and it would recede into the past harmlessly, leaving no mark upon her soul. Because for all intents and purposes, it wasn't real.

She couldn't let herself forget that.

"I'm hungry," she said.

Immediately he handed her a piece of the bread. She bit into it without waiting for butter or jam; they were still luxuries, to her mind. As she chewed, he hurriedly began plating food and piling dishes on the table. She trailed after him, her attention caught by a platter of little rolls that had dark juice sluicing down the sides; she bit into one and found that while the exterior was some kind of flaky pastry, the interior was filled with ground meat and spices. She murmured in pleasure, finishing it in two bites and reaching for a whole handful more, her fingers bulging out shamelessly.

"Have you always cooked?"

He looked up from pulling open a reddish-purple fruit. "No. There was seldom either need or opportunity to cook in the First Order. I knew I would have to cook for us, so I watched some lessons on the holonet. The holonet is flooded with cooking lessons. That and vids of housecats."

She looked at him closely. "And before?"

For just a moment he froze. Then he shrugged, an unconvincing show of indifference. "Occasionally my mother cooked. I used to help her in the kitchen."

She tried to picture him small, trailing after his mother, and failed. She couldn't imagine him not being tall and forbidding. She shut her eyes and tried again, just brushing against the edges of his mind, and there he was, barely up to the counter, curls flopping in his face, spilling more than he stirred. Laughing up at his mother with delight. A thrill of pain pierced her heart, and she jerked back to the present.

He was staring at her, trying to figure out what had distracted her. She shoved the fragment back, not wanting the shards of the past to rake at him as they had her.

After a moment she realized what she'd done, and her appetite dissolved. The mysteries of attraction she could accept as random madness, beyond control. But she'd just protected his feelings. The feelings of a man who had tortured Poe, killed his father. Injured Finn. Slaughtered padawans.

No. No, that was wrong: They'd attacked him. She wouldn't blame him for defending himself. He should never have been in that position. The students shouldn't have attacked, and Luke should have been there to help. And his parents should have told him the truth years before. He was the least to blame of all for him being called Jedi Killer.

She didn't see how they could have done it, the general and Han Solo. They were wonderful people. They were good and kind. Yet they'd neglected him. He'd fallen, but only because they'd left a trip wire. It was the first movement in a chain reaction. He shouldn't have done it, he shouldn't have fallen, but he wasn't alone. He should be blamed, but so should others. Yet they went on, admired by the galaxy, living legends, while Kylo struggled alone with a monster—first in his mind, then at his shoulder.

He held out his hand, offering her a palmful of glistening seeds.

She accepted them, and didn't think to flinch when her fingers brushed his.

After breakfast they went outside for forms.

Forms, Kylo said, was the study of fighting styles. As far as Rey was concerned, it was pointless: she already had a fighting style.

"Not with Jedi weapons," Kylo returned when she protested.

"You mean like lightsabers?" she challenged.

He only smiled a little. "You did well at the Jedi trick of climbing into my head and stealing knowledge."

"Who do you think I learned that from?" she shot back.

He was unperturbed. "That wasn't criticism. As for your fighting, until you pulled the knowledge from me, you attacked as if you were using a staff. You wasted the vast potential of that saber by using it like a blunt object. Lightsabers aren't bludgeons; they're a surgeon's tool."

She stared in disbelief; he had years of training and experience, but he swung that obscene saber of his around like a club. On Starkiller he'd relied on the brute force of his swing, not the searing edge of his saber.

"It was good enough to beat you."

"It was, when I was bleeding out from a center-mass bowcaster shot. Wouldn't you like to be able to do the same when I'm healthy?"

She was tempted to deny it. She could take care of herself already, and something about the way he phrased the question almost made her think he'd guessed her exit strategy.

But he hadn't. She knew, as she examined his face—challenging, with just a tantalizing hint of dimple showing—that he simply thought her contrary. Which, she admitted to herself, she could be, especially with someone so overwhelming.

Just the same, she wasn't going to admit anything.

He rolled his eyes a little, going over to the bag he'd carried out and rooting around in it a bit. "When was the first time you used a staff?"

"Not long after I left Unkar Plutt."

"How old were you?"

"Ten. I think." The same age he'd been when his parents shipped him off.

He tilted his head. "Do you know how old you are?"

She averted her eyes. Jerked her head once, a single, sharp no.

"Why did you leave Plutt?"

She shrugged. "I was getting big."

"Meaning?"

"Children are only of use to him when they're small."

"Because they can fit into tight spaces inside wrecks?"

She bitter laugh escaped her. "That's not what he wanted us for."

Just for a moment Kylo's face contorted, frightening her, before he smoothed out his expression. "Which was?" His voice was tightly controlled.

"Information. People talk around children, like they're animals. Like they won't remember it and tell. There wasn't much to hear from the locals, but there were always new ships coming in. He called us his mice."

Kylo exhaled. He tucked something she couldn't see into his pocket, then squeezed her arm. She didn't think he was even aware of the soothing gesture.

"When we got bigger, we became rats, he said. Didn't blend in anymore, and took up too many of his resources. So we became desert rats. We scavenged enough for ourselves or we didn't survive."

"But you did survive."

She turned to look at him squarely. "That's what I do."

"I wish I were as strong as you."

Rey frowned, startled by the admission. Kylo was an emperor. He ruled half the galaxy, apparently. For most of his life he'd been regarded as the chosen one, the general had told her. And he wished he was as strong as her? A desert rat?

She'd fought, struggled, sometimes starved, but she'd managed to keep herself from the lowest, most desperate acts on Jakku. But Kylo had fallen to the furthest depths from an impossible height. She'd read, once, that divers could become sick after moving through changing depths too quickly. Kylo had moved through them so fast it was a wonder he'd survived at all. He still hadn't adjusted; he thought he was in a submerged cavern, and couldn't see the sun piercing the water.

Maybe he did envy her.

"We'll start with shii-cho. It was the first form any baby Jedi learned. It's wild and unpredictable—perfect for you."

He was calling her wild? That was ridiculous.

"You started shooting the moment you saw me and just kept going," he reminded her. "I asked you to train with me, but in response you kept swinging. Don't tell yourself you're not savage. You're the fiercest thing I've ever known. All that fury, guarding all that hurt."

Despite his words, his eyes were tender, and her annoyance began to drain away. "I had to take care of myself."

"Of course."

"If I didn't, no one else would."

He shook his head vehemently. "Don't ever justify yourself. You're perfect. You're stronger than any Jedi ever was. You were dropped on Jakku like a foreign seed, and the wind should have blown you away. Instead you grew strong and proud, and when that world became too small for you, you left before you could become root-bound."

She rocked back, shaken by his intensity. "I—I left because of BB-8."

"You could have activated the homing device on the unit, but you knew it was time to leave. Jakku is nothing, and you were meant for greatness."

"It would have been risky to activate the homing mechanism," Rey said weakly. "The First Order might have tracked it."

"And flying into space on a pile of junk for someone else's fight wasn't risky?" He didn't wait for a response, slipping behind her, his breath disturbing the wisps of hair that had escaped her buns. He moved closer until his cheek brushed hers, and for the first time he arms slid around her in the light of day. Her vision hazed and she fought for composure, forcing herself to remain upright when the urge to lean back against him was painful.

She didn't need the restraint anyway. He pressed himself against her, snug enough that she could feel his chest rising and falling against her back, as if they were breathing as one. Her knees went weak—that was a real thing? She'd thought that was nonsense writers made up—and her head became so light she felt like she was floating, like she had in the garden last night, in the forest on D'Qar. In her dreams.

In their shadow life, the one only the two of them knew about.

For a long moment they just stood together, drifting. Then he lifted one of her arms, positioning it carefully. The other followed, then her stance. "Shii-cho." His hand, impossibly large, cradled hers. He traced his fingers around her palm, then drew a small lightsaber from his pocket and folded her hand around it.

"It's a training saber," he told her, igniting it so the misty green blade extended. "It can't do anything more than sizzle a little. For shii-cho, you'll want to use it like a sword. It's simple, but effective." He guided her hand into in a straight sweep. "Horizontal slash." He drew her hand back and brought it across in a wide swath. "The sarlacc sweep." A short, quick slice. "A disarming slash."

"So now we fight?" She felt no impulse to move.

"Not quite." He released her, and she felt a faint rustling behind her. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," she said, which was the truth. She winced. "No," she corrected, which was the truth.

His laughter was warm against her ear, and she had to remind herself not to let her knees buckle. "You can. You should." His fingers brushed against her temples as he slid a soft band of fabric across her eyes. She felt him knot it behind her head. "Practice in shii-cho emphasizes the connection to the Force, so you sense your target rather than see it. Eventually you'll trust what the Force tells you more than what you see."

She leaned back a little despite herself. "You'll have the advantage."

"You won't be fighting me until you're more advanced. For these early training sessions you'll use a seeker droid. It'll emit a low-level beam that stings when it makes contact. It doesn't really hurt, but you won't enjoy it."

He pulled away, the sudden coolness at her back leaving her strangely bereft.

"I'm going to release the seeker now. Be ready."

After a moment she heard the telltale hum of electricity, the faint hiss as the droid maneuvered in front of her. She tried to concentrate and took a jolt; mild. She'd had worse, much worse, while scavenging in wrecks that hadn't completely discharged their power supplies. She tried again and sensed in time to duck, but not strike.

Another moment gone, another attempt at sensing the droid through the Force, and she had the satisfaction of landing a blow. How was that possible? "How old were you when you learned this?"

"Ten."

"Is this the style you use?"

"No, I use djem so when fighting. When you shot at me, I used shien to deflect the bolts."

She evaded another blast, then another, before landing another blow. She remembered back on Takodana, Ren approaching as she'd fired at him. He'd swept the bolts aside easily, his movements graceful. A sharp contrast to his heavy, inelegant blows on Starkiller. "I want to learn how to do that."

"You will. You'll learn all of it. You can take the fruits, leave the rinds. Twist every tradition until it suits you. The Jedi Order is done. The Sith are gone. Their rules mean nothing anymore. Take their learnings how you wish, without their prejudices."

"And the other things? What else will you teach me?"

The humming in the room stopped, and a moment later a warm hand cupped her cheek. Behind her she feel him tug at the blindfold's knot. A moment later he pulled it away.

His gaze was warm. "Everything, Rey. I'll teach you everything you want to know."

The water was dark blue, sparkling. She'd dreamed of such things on Jakku. It was more luxurious, more unimaginable, than anything in that kingly villa.

And it could kill her more easily than anything on the planet.

"Come on."

She looked up, saw Kylo's outstretched hand. Looked back to the water. Her fantasy of lazing in water now seemed delusional, a desert-driven mirage. And the thought of swimming to her freedom? Ridiculous. She wasn't swimming anywhere. She wasn't even sure she wanted her freedom, not yet. Not until he'd taught her the ways of the Force … and other things.

She shook her head. "This is stupid. Let's meditate."

"No, you have to learn how to swim."

"Why?" she demanded, trying not to panic.

"Because we're on a lake. Because there are planets that are mostly water. Because sometimes ships crash. I know it's strange, but it's easier than the learning the Force. All you have to do is relax."

In the precious moments after a rare shower on Jakku, before the heat had parched her skin dry, she'd imagined that she'd just stepped from a lake. The fantasy had been bitterly beloved. She'd regretted it every time the last drops had dried and the dream slipped away. It doesn't have to be a dream.

He was already teaching her how to use the Force; she might as well allow him to teach her in this as well. He'd never let anything happen to her. She knew that like she knew her own name.

Her gaze darted from the water to his outstretched hand and back again.

She lifted her hand, and he squeezed it. "Come on," he repeated, drawing her towards the pebbly beach. Short and narrow, it was the only piece of shoreline that allowed ready access.

He dropped her hand and pulled his tunic over his head. She tried not to gasp, but she somehow hadn't expected that. But they didn't have bathing costumes, did they? There wasn't really a choice.

He heard her, of course, and turned swiftly, and this time she really did gasp. His shoulders, pale as marble, were broad, his chest and arms heavily muscled. But across his shoulder and down one arm was an angry red swath, a reminder of a vicious fight.

A reminder of her.

She stepped closer, unable to suppress a little sound, a wordless apology. His face had been repaired, mostly—the thin mark left only served to make him look romantic. But this, the dark ropiness trailing down his arm, was evidence of a traumatic wound. She'd slashed him and left him for dead. He looked at the reminders of that every day, and still he wanted her.

She reached out, hand shaking, to touch his shoulder. He shuddered when she made contact, his eyes closing. Rey was aware of the faint lapping of the water on the shore, of his jagged breaths. She didn't know how long she stood there, stroking his scar, as he trembled under her hand. Finally she recalled herself, but before she could pull away he clapped his hand over hers, holding it tight against him. "I didn't mean to hurt you," she whispered.

His voice was low. "You could never hurt me."

"The scar—"

"When I woke up in the transport, there were bacta patches on my face. I pulled them off. I only let them stem the bleeding on my arm; I wouldn't allow them to use a bacta tank when we got to the Finalizer. I would never allow anyone erase your marks. They'll always be a part of me."

You'll always be a part of me. She could feel the unspoken words lingering in the air between them.

His hand tightened on hers before releasing it. He glanced away for a moment, seeming to regain his composure. "Are you ready?"

Rey nodded, feeling rattled. He courteously turned his back on her when her hands went to the drawstring of her trousers, and he dragged off his own pants, leaving his swimming briefs. They were, she thought, purely for her peace of mind; in this hidden place, they weren't needed. She pulled off her clothes and tugged, a little self-consciously, at the snug black suit that cupped her body. She'd seen enough holos to know this one was modest, and she was grateful.

After a moment he turned back and took her hand again, drawing her closer to the waterline. They stepped into the tiny waves rolling on the beach, and he paused a moment for her to get used to the water caressing her feet. It was cooler than she had expected; for some reason she'd thought it would be warm.

They walked out slowly: Ankles covered, then knees. She was only a little nervous: He was holding her hand. As the water lapped at her thighs, he halted. "Wait; it drops off here. I'll go out and ease you in."

He released her hand and waded out. She turned back and looked at the shore, which seemed further away than the few steps they'd taken, much further. Her heartbeat seemed louder; was that possible? With every moment the beach looked further away. She turned around; Kylo was in front of her, one step, two, three—

Rey panicked and lunged forward, reaching for Kylo, but knocking them both into the water, water deep enough that her legs paddled desperately for purchase and found nothing. She opened her mouth to cry out, but was overcome by water, and her movements became frenzied.

Suddenly she was hauled up against a hard chest, warm beneath the water sluicing down it, cradled tightly. She was gasping, her breath ragged and desperate, the panic still working her. He rocked her and crooned, his words unintelligible but soothing. Slowly she began to relax, not trusting the water, but trusting him.

Eventually his warmth crept into her and she looked around a little, marveling that she was in a lake. She had dreamed it all her life, and now it was real.

She looked up at him, his pale face bent to her. His damp curls tousled around his head, cheeks still shimmering with droplets of water. She wanted, suddenly and with painful intensity, to lay her hand against his cheek, to press her lips to the broad bridge of his nose. She wasn't in her right mind, she knew it; the feel of his arms around her, his heart humming against her ear. It was casting a spell on her. Instinctively she recoiled, startling him by jerking away. The second she hit the water reality returned, but before she could cry out he swept her up, stroking and soothing.

"I fell," she hiccuped, shivering against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, making him her anchor.

"You're safe."

"Don't let me go," she whispered, clinging to him.

"I won't," he crooned. "I'll never let you go."

They were like that a long time. It felt very natural to wrap her arms around him, like she'd done it a million times before. He rubbed his face against her head, until he found a spot to nestle against.

"Do you like that?" he whispered, his breath brushing against her ear. She shivered and nodded.

She didn't know why she was shivering. She was safe.

Lunch was silent, the air heavy with unsaid words, untaken actions. Rey was aware of a weight pressing on her: She was trapped more completely than she had ever been on Starkiller. Her mind and body were conspiring against her, dragging her into a trap older than the Empire or the Jedi or belief itself; she didn't know if there would be anything left of her when the trap finally closed around her. The sharpness of the duality, the need to escape and the desire to submit, clouded her thoughts.

And still Rey couldn't stop stealing glances at Kylo. He wolfed down his food without taking his eyes off her, barely looking away even to cut into his cold chicken and fork up bites of salad.

Cut his food. With a flash of embarrassment, Rey realized she'd been eating with her hands like the desert rat she was. She could feel her cheeks heating. She was painfully ignorant, not fit to be in this exquisite place. Even in the Resistance the way she ate had been the object of derision.

Across the table there was a clatter as Kylo dropped his silverware. Apparently it was time for him instruct her in etiquette the same way he did in the Force, and she cursed herself for not knowing what even children should. He was right: She was a savage.

But he didn't say anything. Instead he lifted a piece of chicken to his mouth and tore into it. She stared in astonishment as he took another bite, then another. A pinch of salad, then another mouthful of chicken.

"Eat," he told her, voice rumbling.

She dropped her head, her eyes stinging. She pushed her food around and tried to look busy.

She couldn't even see her plate.

The breeze was up when they sank down in the garden beneath the tree, the same spot they'd meditated the day before. Rey crossed her legs and shut her eyes, and didn't even try to slip into the Force before reaching her hands out.

Kylo took her hands in hers, as she'd known he would. She'd had no doubt that he would be there to guide and comfort her as needed. His thumbs began rubbing the same pattern on her palms as the day before, and it pushed her over onto the other side as if she'd been teetering on the brink.

She hadn't been. This was Kylo. This was what Kylo did to her.

They floated together, and she could feel ego and worry and even curiosity fade away in the heady void that was the light. He was there with her, slipping against her, nudging her when faltered. It was how she'd imagined swimming would be, power without corruption, freedom without danger. She rode the Force streams as they ebbed and flowed, brushing against Kylo, stretching, climbing, reaching.

It was he who released her hands and drew them out. It was a few moments before she could open her eyes, dazed by the intimate power of the Force, the communion they had shared. It was more intense than it had been the previous day, deepened by her lack of resistance. She looked up into his slumbrous eyes and saw an echo of her own bliss.

They were almost out from beneath the trees when Rey, unthinking, dropped the mat she was carrying. Kylo had just started to bend for it when she turned around, and when she cupped his face in her hands she didn't have to strain to reach his lips. He dropped his own mat and wrapped his arms around her, his grasp bruising, desperate. His lips, full and soft, parted beneath hers, and she swept her tongue inside, all desire with no finesse.

He didn't mind, clearly, meeting her tongue with his own and smoothing it, tempering its artless thrusts until he was languidly stroking it and she moaned helplessly against his mouth, shivering. He kneaded the back of her neck with one hand, the other just beneath the hem of her shirt, tracing the knots of her spine. She pressed closer and he suckled lightly on her tongue, and everything went white.

A bird called to another across the garden, its tone piercing, and Rey jerked back, stunned. Kylo's face was flushed, his lips parted. He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, and she wanted him like she'd once wanted a rich, undiscovered wreck.

He reached for her, and she turned and fled into the house, and didn't stop until her bedroom door was shut behind her.

She hid in her room like a coward. She wasn't sure what she'd done, only that she'd had to do it. It had been no more of a choice than breathing.

She wasn't sure how long she was up there, trying not to think about the kiss and failing badly, when there was a knock at the door.

She blushed even to hear the sound, the thought of facing him after her boldness mortifying. He wouldn't care about her boldness, of course. But she didn't know how she felt about what she'd done, and she needed time. She didn't have that luxury, apparently.

She waited a moment before opening the door, willing the color to go down in her cheeks. As if she'd kissed a million men, as if it were an everyday occurrence. As if it were meaningless, when she herself didn't know what kind of meaning to apply to it.

Kylo was composed, no trace of the passionate lover remaining. He bore no tray of food this time, and his words were terse. "There's a bag in your closet. Pack it."

She stared at him in shock. She'd let go, for once in her life. Had followed an impulse rather than a plan, done something that felt good rather than something required to survive. And this—this was the result. She'd thought any rebuke would be her own. But Kylo Ren, so strange, so deep, surprised her. She didn't understand him at all, apparently. "You're taking me back to D'Qar?"

"No. We're going to Jakku."