Like I did every morning that week, I set out for the gym.

Training with the suit had become my sole obsession. I was addicted to moving in it, shooting in it, and testing the limits of its speed and strength. So far, the only limiting factor I had found was my own endurance.

Just as the door to the gym was sliding open, I heard an unusual clatter. I saw the flash of a red lightsaber before its user retracted it. He shouted a voice command to deactivate the melee training droid. His cloak and tunic were thrown over a bench nearby, leaving him in a light shirt and trousers. A sheen of sweat covered his face, plastering locks of hair to his forehead and neck.

He immediately went to gather his things.

"You can stay," I interjected, stepping inside.

I sat on a bench across the large mat and pretended to do some warm-up stretches. He retrieved a water canister from the stash nearby and sat heavily on the ground, leaning his back against his bench. His long legs were stretched out as he gulped down water. Once he finished it, he went to grab another one. I followed him with my eyes.

"Are you Han Solo's son?"

His hand froze with the second bottle halfway to his lips. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Who is Han Solo to you?"

I gestured as if it were obvious. "The famous racer."

His shoulders relaxed.

"Yes, I am."

My eyes fell self-consciously. I had expected his response to be "no relation." As younglings, many of my friends idolized Han Solo for his roguish personality and good looks. I hated to admit that I did, too. And Kylo…killed…

"He was a terrible father," he volunteered readily. "A drinker and a gambler, when he wasn't racing or smuggling. He left my mother when I was eight years old."

I felt a pang of sympathy. "I'm sorry."

When I stole a peak at him, his eyes were downcast. This further confirmed my theory that we only brought pain and suffering to one another. After finishing his water, he lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, briefly exposing his torso. I forced my eyes away, feeling an unwanted flash of heat.

I tried to focus on the difficult task of stretching out my calves as he returned to the training droid. Without turning it on, he yanked the melee weapon from its grasp. It was red and silver, with one blunt end and one end as sharp as a knife. It was clearly Praetorian. He met my curious gaze as he twirled it around his wrist.

"Have you ever held a weapon like this, Lucia?"

"No."

He grasped the hilt. "I'm surprised Vegas didn't show you."

"We were still working on—"

He swung the weapon sharply to the side, activating the purple energy field. I stared at the glowing sword as I cleared my throat.

"C—Combat knives."

Raising it above his head, he eased into a defensive pose. His movements became light and precise as he lunged forward and stabbed the air. He brandished the sword right and left before centering it in front of his chest. It was a sharp contrast to his usual aggressive style.

"A Jedi attacks like a coward," he said, relaxing his stance and deactivating the blade. "Defensive and evasive."

My lips parted.

"How did you learn all this?"

"My Jedi training."

"You—you were a…?"

He suddenly tossed the weapon to me, and I stood and caught it with a jolt of adrenaline. The round metal shaft was still warm to the touch. My eyes studied every detail as my hand instinctually grasped the cool handle. Stepping into the open, I swiped the sword as hard as I could to activate it. I got it on the second swing. The glowing electromagnetic field hummed softly, emitting a slight warmth.

Kylo ignited his saber, drawing my gaze. He sank into a low, threatening pose. I raised the sword high and defensively. A small smile appeared on his face.

I felt a rush of fear when he stepped forward.

"Wait!"

He stopped immediately. My shoulders heaved as I stared at the crackling blade of his lightsaber, which could decapitate or disembowel me in an instant. Or both. He deactivated it and raised his hand.

I gasped when the sword suddenly flew out of my grasp. He caught it with the Force, using his other hand to send the hilt of his lightsaber in my direction. Swallowing thickly, I stared at it as it hovered in front of me.

"Take it," he said softly.

I shook my head.

"Are you afraid of it?"

"No."

"Then take it."

My eyes flickered to his face, where amusement and excitement danced in his eyes.

Reaching out, I took the lightsaber. It was heavy—at least four kilograms. My hand barely fit around its girth, and the whole thing was as long as my forearm. I turned it, inspecting the red wire running up the side and the charred metal around its three orifices. I placed my thumb on the activation switch and held it far away from my body.

The long blade shot out first, followed by the crossguard sputtering on. The heavy hilt seemed to thrum in my hand with a life of its own as the heat waves washed over my exposed skin. The chaotic waver of the blade contrasted with the steady emission of the crossguard. It made me wonder if he had modified it himself.

The saber hummed faintly when I raised it in front of me. Behind it, Kylo activated the sword and advanced like before.

"Wait."

It wasn't the lightsaber I was afraid of, and he seemed to realize this before I even opened my mouth. Powering off the sword, he tossed it aside. He stretched both of his arms out, completely defenseless and at my mercy. He beckoned with his hands, tempting me.

I raised my weapon.

He smiled wildly.

When I charged forward, he didn't flinch. I swung the lightsaber at him, and just the weight of it pulled my feet across the floor. He calmly stepped to the left. I lunged closer and stabbed, causing him to strafe backward. While he was still unstable, I swung again with a shout of effort. He leaped away and raised his arms to catch his balance.

"Your instincts are good," he said, short of breath. "Keep your gaze level with mine."

My eyes snapped to his face. He was breathing through his mouth and his cheeks were flushed.

I struck much higher this time, and he ducked underneath the blade. I followed it up with a quick, sloppy swing that made him jump backward with a surprised laugh. The weight pulled my arm too wide, causing the heat of the blade to graze my leg. I breathed out in fear. Two hands. Two hands. I gripped the hilt anew and launched myself forward.

As he continued to dodge and weave around my blows, I grew increasingly frustrated. His breathless laughs and smiles revealed this was a game to him, making me nothing more than his toy. My shouts grew louder as I tried to hit him in earnest.

After faking a swing from the left, I came around from the right and nearly clipped his shoulder. I pulled back just in time with my heart skipping a beat. As I recovered, he paced around me restlessly.

"You're holding back," he said hoarsely, challenging me with his eyes. "Unleash your anger."

I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. "You don't want that," I breathed out.

"Yes, I do."

I scoffed and shook my head. I pointed the lightsaber at him and then threw myself back into it.

His level of effort increased with mine, enabling him to not miss a beat. As my grunts and sounds became breathless, he grew quieter and more focused. For my final attack, I performed a sneaky swing from low to high using all my power, and he effortlessly flipped back onto his hands to dodge it. As he came back up, I switched the lightsaber off and threw it at him with a frustrated growl.

His hands instinctively blocked his face.

The hilt clattered to the ground.

Suddenly, the only sound in the room was our labored breathing. He slowly lowered his arms, revealing his wide and eager eyes. I can't hurt him, no matter how hard I try. I grit my teeth as my empty hands balled into fists. He put his arms out again, an open invitation.

Pulling my fist behind my head, I charged forward with a wild shout.

The first punch connected with his jaw, inflicting zero damage. I growled and threw another at his nose, and he staggered. Reeling back and summoning all my strength, I threw my arm forward as hard as I possibly could. The ground shook when he stumbled and fell backward, his hand cupped over his nose. I dropped my fists in exhaustion, feeling something wet drip from my knuckle.

He came up on his elbows, revealing the trail of blood oozing from his left nostril. His chest heaved as he stared up at me with his lips parted in awe.

Coming back to my senses, I gasped.

I quickly left. Regret and shame were hot on my heels as I returned to my quarters, where they battled for dominance inside me. I avoided looking in the mirror as I scrubbed my hands in the sink three or four times, not knowing whether I was more upset at him for baiting me or at myself for taking it.

I wondered if I was just as insane as him.