The restraints were colder than you expected.

They bit into your wrists—not painfully, but with an unyielding firmness that made struggle feel pointless before it even began. The metal bench beneath you carried the same lifeless chill, as if the entire room had been drained of warmth long ago. Light poured down from a narrow strip overhead, too bright to ignore, too sterile to offer comfort. There were no shadows here—nowhere to hide.

You force yourself to sit upright despite the pull of the restraints. Panic lingers at the edges of your thoughts, but you hold it back, steadying your breathing the way you learned to do alone on Jakku. Fear is familiar. It doesn’t have to control you.

The door slides open with a sharp hiss.

You don’t turn immediately. You already know who it is.

His presence arrives before his footsteps fully cross the threshold—heavy, deliberate, like something pressing against the air itself. When you finally look, Kylo Ren stands framed in the doorway, his dark figure cutting into the harsh white light. The mask reveals nothing, but the stillness of him suggests scrutiny, as though he’s studying you in silence before deciding how to proceed.

He steps closer.

“You know why you’re here,” he says. The mechanical distortion of his voice strips it of warmth, leaving only authority behind.

You meet the black visor of his mask without lowering your gaze. “You’re wasting your time.”

For a moment, he says nothing. Then he tilts his head slightly, considering you.

“The droid was in your possession,” he replies. “You’ve seen the map. And now… I will see it too.”

His gloved hand lifts.

You feel it before anything happens—a shift in the air, subtle but unmistakable, like the moment before a storm breaks. Then the pressure comes.

It isn’t physical, not in the way you understand. There are no hands on you, no force pushing you back. Instead, something reaches inward, slipping past your surface thoughts, prying at memories you never imagined could be touched. Your breath catches as images begin to rise unbidden.

Endless sand stretching beneath twin suns.

The hollowed-out wreckage of starships.

The quiet, gnawing loneliness of years spent waiting for something that never came.

You clench your jaw, trying to push it back, to scatter the images before they can be taken from you.

“No…” Kylo Ren’s voice sharpens slightly. “You’re trying to resist.”

Your fingers curl against the restraints. “I’m not giving you anything.”

The pressure intensifies, sharper now, more insistent. It scrapes at your thoughts, searching, demanding. Pain flares behind your eyes, but you hold on, focusing on anything you can—your breath, the feel of the metal beneath your hands, the stubborn refusal to let him take what isn’t his.

Then something shifts.

The intrusion doesn’t feel one-sided anymore.

Amid the chaos of your own memories, something else flickers—something that doesn’t belong to you.

A corridor lit by fire.

Shouting.

A figure falling.

You gasp, your concentration breaking for a fraction of a second—not in weakness, but in surprise.

Kylo Ren stiffens.

The pressure wavers.

And suddenly, you understand.

“You’re afraid,” you say, the realization forming even as the words leave your mouth.

The connection between you falters, but does not fully break. It hangs there, fragile and exposed.

“I see it,” you continue, your voice steadier now. “You’re afraid… that you’ll never be as strong as Darth Vader.”

This time, the silence that follows feels different.

His hand drops.

The invisible force withdraws abruptly, leaving you drawing in a sharp breath as the weight lifts from your mind. The room seems quieter now, though nothing has changed except the space between you.

Kylo Ren turns slightly away from you, not fully, but enough to suggest distance—not physical, but controlled, deliberate.

“That’s enough,” he says.

You lean forward as far as the restraints allow, studying him more closely now. The mask still hides everything, but the certainty he carried before has shifted, just enough for you to notice.