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Summary
“The new girl, is what he called you." His voice drips with amusement from the other side of the curtain. "She thinks herself a little Jedi. Won’t allow anyone to touch her. Pushes them away with the Force.”
Lying flat on the table, a raw shiver courses down the entire length of Rey’s spine. This same voice has whispered to her through so many dark dreams, both waking and sleeping—and now it is here. Right before her. So near—but it could be even nearer, couldn’t it? If he would simply lean through the curtain. If he would just lower his lips to her ear, the way his shadow does every night in the safety of her sleep—if he would press his mouth to her skin and murmur all the ways he plans to ruin her for anyone else—
“But you’re letting me touch you," he says softly. "Why is that?”