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Rey drew her knees to her chest, soaking in warmth from the glowing fire. It flickered, casting shadows against the stone walls and reminding her of how alone she was, how out of place. She’d rarely needed a fire on Jakku, where the sun beat down relentlessly, and she’d forgotten the comforting heat that now seeped into her skin.
Luke had vanished into the night without a word, leaving Rey with the quiet ache of feeling unwanted. She had hoped, naïvely perhaps, that he would understand, that he would help, that he would believe in her. Instead, he barely looked at her. And when he did, his eyes were distant, wary, as if she were a ghost.
The cavern beneath the island had promised answers—of family, of purpose—but only shadows answered her, only her face stared back. There was no glimpse of family, no signs pointing to a future path—just an infinite hall of mirrors reflecting her loneliness. She was as lost now as she’d ever been, like a forgotten star on the edge of a cold, empty sky. She could only conclude that she was alone, even with the Force at her side. Tears stung her eyes, and she reached up to wipe away the few that escaped.
Focusing on Luke wasn’t helping; she hated feeling sorry for herself. In truth, she wasn’t entirely alone. Chewie had insisted on accompanying her, Finn waited for her to return, and Leia was eager for Rey to help the Resistance.
And then there was her unsettling connection to Kylo Ren, lingering like a thread she couldn’t cut. She couldn’t reconcile his actions with his words nor separate him from the young Ben Solo that Leia had spoken of with such heartbreaking affection.
Moreover, she couldn’t escape the alarming thought that he, of all people, was somehow closer to her than anyone.
That impossible connection she’d never asked for, never expected, was here even now. And despite everything he’d done and everyone he’d killed, she had to acknowledge the Force working between them. It was as perplexing as his offer to teach her in the midst of their battle. Was that Ben, not Kylo, whose face glowed in the light of their clashing sabers, so open and unguarded? The question was impossible to answer.
A guest of wind whipped through the open window, prompting Rey to add more wood to the fire and tug her blanket around her shoulders. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and rain pelted the stone rooftop. She was content to focus on the unfamiliar sounds, their clatter helping to fill the quiet.
She was rethinking her decision not to sleep on the Falcon when a presence stirred at the edges of her mind. Kylo’s energy rolled in, fractured and restless like the storm outside. Her breath hitched as her gaze was drawn upward. He was on a ship, unmasked, his face unreadable and so close she could make out the jagged bacta stitches bisecting his cheek and the faint green flecks scattered in his brown eyes.
He stared at her, unmoving. Something stirred in the air around them, something she couldn’t quite place, and her perspective shifted. Unlike their previous connection, he was here, more real than any holo. He sat at the fire before her on a stool much too short for his long legs. She should have felt anger; she should have recoiled. He had chosen the path of darkness with chilling resolve.
And yet, despite it all, here he was—like he belonged nowhere else, like her isolation drew them together.
As expected, the sight of him stirred conflicting thoughts. A voice inside her urged her to keep her guard up and her mouth shut. Another whispered that no one else would understand.
Rey could hear her heart beating in the hollow space of her chest. The air between them grew thick with tension, and she was torn between caution and the desperate urge to confess her fears. She took a breath and let the words escape in a hushed confession.
“I thought I’d find answers here.” His patient expression didn’t change. “I was wrong.” More rebellious tears fell, and she didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I’d never felt so alone.”
His reply was immediate. Adamant. “You’re not alone.”
The words hovered in the air, charged with a dangerous honesty that sent a shiver down her spine. She searched his face, looking for the lie, the manipulation, but all she found was a strange openness, an eerily familiar reflection of her own loneliness. His silent understanding compelled her to speak, to offer him the same reassurance he had offered her.
“Neither are you.”
Part of Rey hated herself for saying it—hated him, even, for putting their connection into words. She also wanted to trust him, to believe he might choose a different path—-to help him.
The wind outside faded, and the firelight dimmed as she looked into his eyes. They held a wordless vulnerability and a strange softness that made her feel both exposed and understood. Her pulse thumped louder, fighting against every logical thought, against every warning in her mind. She didn’t know if it was her foolish heart or the Force that prompted her next words.
“It isn’t too late.”
Her hand drifted between them before she extended it fully, an offering that felt as dangerous as it did necessary. She saw the briefest flicker of surprise in his eyes, but he hesitated for only a moment before slowly pulling off his glove. He swallowed as his bare hand reached toward hers.
Their fingers met in the softest, most innocent of touches, and the world seemed to shift beneath their feet.
The sensation was electric, alighting Rey’s very essence. A sharp, exhilarating energy spread from her fingers to her toes. The walls she’d carefully built around herself crumbled. Nothing remained but the feel of his skin, warm and steady.
The weight of all her fears and doubts seemed to lift, and she was lost in the intensity of his gaze. Their hands pressed together in a silent promise, something unspoken but understood. Rey felt the power in the thrumming Force around them, and Kylo’s nostrils flared as it coursed between them. Her heart, heavy only moments before, beat stronger, lighter, alive with possibility.
Somewhere deep within her, the smallest ember of hope began to burn.