[ The sheer volume of his thoughts make them impossible to ignore, a din rumbling at the back of her mind as if his were lost in knotted chaos; she only catches glimpses, snippets, half-formed imaginings and dismissals. She decides not to worry about it, not least of all because the Millennium Falcon is not a ship made to be piloted by one. Rey has done it. She doesn't think Kylo could.

She props herself against a tree while he rests—to say he slept would be an inaccurately generous estimation, for she never senses the shift in his breath, the twitch of his limbs, the peace of his ever-tumultuous thoughts. As a result, she never feels truly alone, and it occurs to her then to wonder if she ever will again—she can't imagine that she'll miss the feeling, even if Kylo's companionship isn't one she would have otherwise asked for. But it's peaceful, and it's relatively serene beside the rest of their immediate past, and she settles in to stare down at the mine with a sharp eye out for intruders.

Before she has to watch for too long—a few hours, perhaps—he sits back up, and she turns her face to look at him even before the question comes out. At rest like this, she can feel it coming. ]

I don't know. [ She admits it in a moment of reflection, gaze skewing somewhat away from him to study a tree instead, as if it holds the answers. ] I'm sure General Organa is reassessing our options now, where to take the fleet next to free it from First Order control. [ But that's not what he means. It does, however, buy her time to consider if she has the answer to what he's really looking for, what he really wants to ask. She's never seen how the Resistance handles a prisoner of war—better, she thinks, than the First Order does, which means he has no room for complaint—and she suspects it will be different for his relation to the General. ]

She doesn't want to punish you. [ Rey looks back at him. ] But she can't protect you either.