Reylo: These Violent Delights

Chapter 5: Becoming

In this part of the Outer Rim, anyone could be the Supreme fucking Leader.

Dressed in his plainclothes of dark pants and a black, nondescript hoodie, Kylo approached the cantina that served cheap drinks in the front room, and even cheaper thrills in the back. It was busy tonight, but it always was—the creatures that found themselves on the lawless, tropical wasteland of Rishi were either running from something, or looking for something. It just so happened Kylo needed to do both.

He kept his head down and hood up as he pushed through the doors, jerking away from the group of Twi'leks that reached for him as he walked by. His hands tightened in his pockets when they jeered at him for ignoring their advances, but luckily for them, Kylo was taking the night off from being the Supreme Leader. That's why he came to these scum-riddled establishments in the first place—to avoid his responsibilities and indulge his more physical needs. Just like the Knights of Ren.

Kylo could sense them from the basement as he walked to the bar. Even over the chatter and dancing of the crowd, they could sense him, too, but they knew better than to approach him. While his knights enjoyed drinking and socializing when time allowed, they knew that cantinas, that people were out of Kylo's comfort zone, and very rarely did their time overlap in a place like this. He hadn't been here in months, but after a week of simply existing in Rey's vicinity, he needed release, and he needed it now.

The Supreme Leader took a seat and stiffly placed his elbows on the bar. He didn't like traveling to loud, sticky places for sex, but the prettiest thing on the Finalizer was General Hux, and quite frankly, he'd rather impale himself with his lightsaber than venture down that road. So, he was forced to come here, even though he hated everything about it. The music blaring overhead, the bass vibrating in his chest. The way the air reeked of cheap liquor and sex, laced with just a hint of desperation. He especially hated how people bustled all around him, dancing, talking, drinking, laughing, and doing other weird, happy things. He couldn't relate.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender asked, offering him a smile.

"Tukka."

Her smile faltered. "Yes, sir."

With one whistle, Bleyke Tukka, the sloppy, filthy owner, came waddling out of the red door that led to the back. He set his scowl on Kylo. "Whaddya want?"

"Your special of the day."

Tukka paused for a moment—just like he always did. "Extra bitters?"

Kylo shook his head no. "Something sweeter."

Tukka glared at Kylo with beady little eyes, giving him a decisive nod before turning around. The movement made his jowls and the rings of fat around his neck ripple like water, reminding him that these species were native to saltwater, not land. Tukka was of the aquatic Crolute species, a fact that meant absolutely nothing to him just six days ago, but now, watching this grotesque creature grumble to himself as he shuffled those big, meaty flippers made Kylo feel physically ill.

Hood still up, a sour taste festered in his mouth as the Supreme Leader eyed him slipping into the back. It wasn't because he found the species disgusting; he simply found this Crolute disgusting. But not because his skin drooped over his puffy, gelatinous frame, or because his head looked like an engorged testicle filled with jelly, or because his swollen arms burst out of his oil-stained tunic like fleshy air ducts. It wasn't even the way his pinched eyes looked hammered into his head, or how crusty, chewed food and saliva settled into the lines around his down-turned, flabby mouth. No. It was because Bleyke Tukka looked like the long-lost, fatter twin of Unkar Plutt, and ever since he found Rey, that name meant something to him.

Kylo's leg started to bounce up and down, tapping against the bar stool as he thought about what his prisoner had to endure at the hands of Plutt. The disgusting, foul junk boss was a criminal, a pervert, and yet she was left in his hands as only a child. It outraged him, it made him sympathize for her, and as he waited for Tukka to return, he suddenly had the urge to go to Rey. He had to see her, to touch her. And as though his legs had a mind of their own, Kylo stepped off the bar stool. I've been away for too long. I need to get back to the Finalizer. I need—

"Hey, baby," came a soft, feminine voice that pulled him from his head.

The Supreme Leader stopped, his eyes darting to the doorway. It was a woman he recognized, clad in a red dress that clung to her every curve. She smiled and winked at him, a gesture that was supposed to be welcoming, but Kylo was immediately turned off. Not because she wasn't attractive, or because she did anything wrong, and definitely not because he wasn't in the mood. The issue was, she wasn't Rey.

A horrible feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. This had never happened before. Sex, pleasure, pain...it was never personal. It was just an outlet. When he left his quarters earlier, he had been positive that all he needed was the touch of another woman. That it would help him clear his head and regain control, empowering him to walk into the interrogation room and kill the scavenger once and for all. And yet, Kylo could not move. He couldn't bring himself to swing his legs off the bar stool and follow the woman to her room, where their interaction would be transactional, but good enough for his needs.

Tukka popped his big, ugly head around her. "Well? You want Cinnamon or not?"

With a single shake of his head, Kylo rose from his seat and walked away. Even over the chatter of the crowd, he could hear Tukka's string of profanities all the way to the other side of the bar. A part of him wanted to turn around and Force-propel him to the neighboring galaxy, but lucky for Tukka, the Supreme Leader was too distraught to care.

He slammed the controls to open the old, rusted door that led to the dark and dingy basement stairwell, ducking his head as he walked through. Heavy clangs of metal reverberated under his boots as he descended, the ceilings almost too low to accommodate his lofty height, but none of it bothered him. As long as it wasn't as busy as upstairs, he would stay. He tore through the handful of dancing patrons and approached the table where his knights sat, three on each side. The moment they saw him, they pushed the naked women off their laps and stood up with unsteady movements.

"Master Ren," they chorused, a little out of sync, the culprit of which must have been the many empty bottles of booze scattered across the table.

He barely acknowledged them as he sat down. "At ease."

As they resumed their positions, the women grabbed their things—and Ushar's credit clip, but that was none of Kylo's business—and scurried away. The Supreme Leader pushed his chair in at the head of the table while the other patrons, including the bartender, snuck away upstairs.

He glanced behind him at the now-empty basement, then made a cynical noise under his breath. The less, the merrier.

"Drink, Master?" Vicrul asked, pushing a stein full of frothy beer his way.

Kylo hesitated. He hadn't intended on drinking tonight, but then again, he also hadn't intended on letting his pain-in-the-ass prisoner ruin his opportunity to get off either, so he grabbed the mug and chugged the whole thing. After he wiped his mouth, he leaned back in his chair and took a good look at his knights. They were stripped of most of their armor, their helmets and weapons discarded on the bench behind them. With the exception of Vicrul's scythe, of course. Lucy was always with Vicrul.

It was jarring, sitting with them like this without an objective to be together. So jarring, that Kylo felt an itch to stand up and leave. But he came here to escape reality, and if he couldn't do that while he was balls-deep in someone, he'd have to find another way to cleanse his palette. If that meant sitting with his ruthless band of warriors, that would have to do.

Sinking down in his chair, Kylo scanned both sides of the table and yanked off his hood. With their rolled-up sleeves and relaxed stances, the Knights of Ren somehow managed to look laid back. He'd even argue that they looked approachable, despite their various scars and the tattoos that covered every inch of their arms. One would think their ink was just a personal preference, but Kylo knew they were to repurpose their property markings, serving as a reminder as to why they chose to follow him in the first place: the Supreme Leader had liberated them, one dark Force-user to another, and their loyalty to him was resolute.

Kylo's lip twitched down. They had been staunch followers of his for the last seven years, and yet, he couldn't even remember the last time he saw them without helmets on. Seeing their faces reminded him that Ap'lek was from Atrisia—an ancient planet whose people were settlers from a distant galaxy called Japan—and that his mouth was set into a permanent grimace. He was serious and cautious, but his short fuse made him explosive. Anything could set Ap'lek off, and being on the receiving end of his wrath was not a pretty experience, something that the two youngest in the group, Trudgen and Ushar, knew all too well.

Even now, Ap'lek was glaring at them from across the table as they snickered to each other, and Kylo could agree that their inability to suppress their juvenile spirits was irritating. Their flushed red faces were a telltale sign they had had much more to drink than the others. Born on Sesid, a tropical planet with millions of islands, they both had the trademark features of a Sesidian with their brown skin, powerful brow ridges, and flat noses. And even though Ushar had long hair and a full beard, while Trudgen was slim and baby-faced with a Kraken tattooed on the side of his shaved head, they still looked related—and acted like it.

When they started tittering like two friends trying to stay quiet in the back of the classroom, Vicrul—who was sitting next to them and clearly unhappy about that fact—took out his datapad to aimlessly swipe through his messages. Kylo poured himself a glass of whiskey and observed him. With his light brown hair and pale blue eyes, Vicrul was the only one that didn't look even remotely related to the others. That, and his Coruscanti accent—a pleasant, polite voice just like Rey's—set him apart from the rest.

Across from Ushar and Trudgen, Cardo cleared his throat. The Supreme Leader looked at him, expecting to have to answer why the fuck he was sitting with them—Cardo was direct, something Kylo could appreciate—but all he did was lean in, whispering to his brother, Kuruk. They were the only two knights related to one another by blood, but they weren't only brothers. They were twins.

Kylo frowned. Identical or fraternal? They both had black skin, but with Cardo's dreads and Kuruk's buzzed hair, and their faces littered with scars, it was hard to decipher. But as Kylo sipped on his whiskey, he remembered how impossible it was to tell them apart when he first found them. Identical, then, Kylo mused as he watched Kuruk nod in response to Cardo's low muttering. They weren't quiet because their Master had joined. They were always like this, partly because Cardo liked to keep to himself, but mainly because Kuruk couldn't speak. His tongue had been cut out when he was a teenager. His inability to engage in small talk was why he and Kylo got along so well.

But still, the others knew their Master did not seek them out tonight for company or conversation. He came here because they understood him. They were his warriors, vicious and cruel on the battlefield, unforgiving to their enemies, and fiercely loyal to him. And in turn, Kylo gave them his unwavering respect—a rare commodity—and the free reign to do whatever they wanted. And that they did, much to General Hux's dismay.

Kylo finished his glass of liquor and opted for another beer, dropping his gaze from his knights. He wasn't social on a good day, and camaraderie didn't come easily. He didn't want to talk about this past week, and he definitely didn't want to talk about what was to come, because Kylo had no fucking idea what was next. And as he ruminated on this, his simmering anger became more potent, so much so that even Trudgen and Ushar fell into silence, blanketing the entire table in a thick cloud of stifling tension originating over the Supreme Leader's head.

Okay, never mind, he thought bitterly as he put his drink down. I'll just fuck off, then.

Just as he started to push his chair out, Vicrul broke the silence. "Are you here for this week's report, Master?" he asked after clearing his throat. "We have yet to discuss our search for the crystal and Skywalker's place of exile."

Kylo stilled. Fuck. In his distracted state, he had forgotten why he even captured Rey in the first place. He gave Vicrul a stiff nod and settled back into his chair. "Yes."

Vicrul leaned in. "All leads for the crystal have led to dead ends, sir. We spent twelve hours rummaging through the wreckage of the Death Star, but Palpatine's imperial vault had been swept by scavengers. In exchange for credits, the Kef Bir locals told us that most foragers sell their goods at the highly esteemed Den of Antiquities in Black Spire Outpost, Batuu. While we didn't sense the crystal when we arrived, there's a good chance the shopkeeper, Dok-Ondar, has come across the relic or will in the future. We were unable to complete a successful interrogation, though, as he was non-compliant."

Kylo raised a brow. "You allowed this non-compliance?"

"No, sir. But Dok-Ondar is Ithorian—his kind have Force-compulsion immunity. He didn't cooperate about the crystal, or comply with questioning about the Wor Groman tip that was tracked back to Batuu," Vicrul said, grimly shaking his head. "Nobody did."

"Fine," came Kylo's rough reply. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as a mind-splitting headache rocked his skull. "Exegol, then. Hux's report was uninformative. Give me yours."

"Inconclusive, sir, unfortunately," Ap'lek spoke up, his tone as bleak as his expression. "We searched the planet alongside Hux's troops, but we did not pick up on a residual Force signature from the Jedi. Nor did we sense anything out of place in the Sith Citadel. Since you had prioritized following civilian tips instead, we only completed a brief sweep inside, but still, we left Exegol empty-handed."

The breath Kylo pulled through his nose hurt his chest. Tense, he was so tense, even though he had come here to relax. To unwind. To fuck someone. To clear his head, to get relief. And yet, he was even more stressed now than when he first arrived. Even worse, they were all looking at him, waiting for him to tell them the next plan of attack. But Kylo didn't want to plot and plan and come up with all the answers. He wanted to sit here and drink his fucking beer.

"Okay," is all he said, grabbing his stein to take a long, deep swig.

Silence settled at the table as they all rigidly grabbed their own beers, drinking as they exchanged glances, still waiting for him to speak. Kylo should have known better than to come here. He should have known that they'd expect an explanation, especially after an entire week of avoiding their communications regarding their high-priority assignments. But offering an interpretation of his behavior would mean admitting that he was helplessly spiraling out of control, just like they witnessed him do under Snoke's thumb, and he didn't want to do that. He didn't even want to think about the source of his agitation, that little fucking Resistance fighter, the one that—

"Okay, really?" Ushar's deep, gravelly voice boomed across the table. "Is no one here gonna say it?"

Without lifting his head, Kylo flicked his gaze to Ushar, the biggest knight in stature with a mouth to match. He should have known that if anyone were to ruin his night off, it would be him, confirmed by the next thing that came out of his mouth.

"All of you are fucking pussies," Ushar ridiculed, pointing his finger at the other knights. "We spent the last hour talking about Master Ren and his little problem, but now all of you are acting like giant-ass babies and can't say it to his face?"

Kylo scanned both sides of the table, and all of them lowered their eyes. "Say what to my face, Ushar?"

Sloppily pushing his drink to the side, Ushar leaned and spoke animatedly with his hands. "Alright, look, Master, before you get mad—"

"Too late for that," Kylo quipped. "What little problem?"

Ushar groaned dramatically. "Your prisoner, sir. Rey. She's the problem. I know she's hot, but come on, she's making you run around like a goddamn crazy person, and—" Ushar stopped when Vicrul's elbow found its way into his rib cage. He looked at him and returned the shove. "Ow! What was that for?"

Vicrul ignored Ushar and directed his attention to Kylo. "I think what Ushar is trying so delicately to say is...the girl might be a distraction, sir."

Kylo flexed his jaw. "Am I failing my duties as the Master of the Knights of Ren?"

"Of course not—"

"So it wasn't absolutely paramount, a life-or-death situation, that I returned your messages this week?"

"No, sir—"

"Then, am I ignoring my responsibilities as the Supreme Leader of the galaxy?"

"Well, no—"

"Okay then, enlighten me, Ushar, Vicrul—all of you," Kylo said as he dragged his hard, unforgiving glare across the table. "How is the scavenger any of your concern?"

Vicrul sighed. "Sir, all I meant was, we have more pressing needs th—"

"We do not have pressing needs. I do," Kylo harshly interjected, his shoulders rigid and chest tight. "Your main priority is to find the crystal—an ancient relic that is not even a threat to us with Skywalker still in exile. But my duties? I have the responsibility of keeping the entire galaxy safe. And despite running around like a goddamn crazy person, I have been doing what is required of me. Overseeing the Book of Sith and Starkiller and Supreme Councils and military authorizations and trade expansions—I am managing all of these things, even with that fucking headache of a prisoner eating away at my sanity. So, no, you do not get to lecture me about pressing needs, Vicrul. Know your place."

"Yes, Master. You are right. I apologize," Vicrul said, bowing his head. "I meant no disrespect. We were only worried that Rey's effect on you would be detrimental if she weren't neutralized soon."

Kylo's eye twitched. "You are worried."

"Yes, Master."

"Ah."

Vicrul put his hands up. "Look, Ma—"

"Remind me—which part of the oath you swore to me says that you can tell me what I do, and do not do with my prisoners of war?"

"Master, we—"

Kylo slammed his fist on the table. "Answer the question."

"Nowhere, sir."

"Excellent." He drank the last of his beer and reached for the next stein in sight. "You can leave now."

"Yes, Master Ren," they chorused. They stood up, grabbed their weapons, and gave a slight dip of their heads.

"Not you," Kylo said, stopping Vicrul in his tracks.

He immediately returned to his seat and pushed some empty glasses away, making space for his scythe on the table. Kylo was silent as he seethed, waiting until the other five clomped upstairs to address him again. "They mistook my company as an opportunity to speak freely. They had no right." He glared at him. "You had no right."

He bowed his head. "You're right, Master. I apologize."

"I don't need an apology. I need answers," the Supreme Leader snapped. "And for fuck's sake, stop calling me Master. I do not wish to carry the burden of either of my titles tonight."

"Yes, sir—I mean, Kylo. If there's anything I can do to assist with Rey, I will do it. Just say the word."

Kylo frowned, hunching forward to grip the half-empty glass. "No. I need to handle it myself." Vicrul didn't respond, but his Master knew what he was thinking. "You want to know why I haven't killed her yet."

"Yes."

"A feeling," is all Kylo said before taking another drink.

He felt Vicrul's eyes on him. "About her?"

"I don't know."

"From her?"

"I don't know."

Vicrul paused. "From the Force?"

"I don't know, I don't know anything!" Kylo exploded, swiping his arm across the table, sending glass shattering and steins tumbling to the floor. "Everything was fine until she showed up! And now I can't even fuck another woman without thinking about Rey first. Her, a stupid fucking criminal and Resistance fighter!"

"Ah," Vicrul said, stroking his chin. "That's rather unfortunate."

Kylo shot him a look. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Being so fucking calm all the time. It makes me feel crazy."

"Somebody has to be calm around here," Vicrul said, shrugging. "You know, bringing balance to the Force and all that."

Kylo rubbed at his temple and spoke in a low, strained voice. "I'm glad you can find the humor in me losing my damn mind, Vicrul."

"Sorry," he muttered. "So, I guess this means your interrogations have been unsuccessful?"

"Obviously."

"Not even a minute detail about the Resistance?"

"Specifics about D'Qar—that's it."

Vicrul frowned. "What about the crystal?"

"My mother hasn't told her anything about the crystal," Kylo said, letting out a bitter scoff. "She knows nothing."

"So, she's just a...girl?"

Kylo hesitated. "Supposedly."

"Supposedly?" Vicrul repeated, cocking his head to the side. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing, it means nothing," Kylo said aggressively, as though the impact of his statement would deem it true. "Rey is just a girl. She has no place in this story. She comes from nothing. She is nothing."

Vicrul was quiet for a long time. "There is something you aren't telling me."

"It doesn't matter," he flared, pushing the stein away in favor of another whiskey—he needed something stronger. "Nothing fucking matters."

"Yeah, yeah. Sure," Vicrul said, his tone light. There was a beat of silence. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

Kylo scowled. "Why ask permission to ask me a question? Just ask it instead of wasting my time."

"Well, excuse me for—"

"Vicrul. Ask the fucking question."

"Okay then," Vicrul said, sitting up straight. "Why would you shut us out this week, of all times? Yes, you are tending to your duties as Supreme Leader. But you're still spiraling. You need us."

"I didn't have a choice."

"Sure you did."

"I did not."

"Sure you—"

"Vicrul, just look at me," Kylo fumed, spit flying from his mouth as he jabbed a finger at his chest. "I can't think straight. I can barely think at all. Why else do you think I sent the others away? It's been six days of sheer insanity. Six. I don't need to be reminded of how goddamn pathetic I am. I already know."

Vicrul nodded thoughtfully. "I understand wanting to hide, I do. But whatever this is, you clearly can't run from it. You need to address it, and you need help addressing it. That does not make you weak."

"I know that. That's not the problem," Kylo said tightly. "It's...it's her that makes me weak. Only her."

"Then please, allow me to take care of it. This has gone on for too long. It needs to stop."

As his offer hung in the air, Kylo bit his tongue. It sounded tempting, to have someone else go into that room where her energy choked him, drove him mad, pushed him to the edge...but when he imagined Vicrul putting his hands on Rey, his gut twisted into knots, eliciting the overwhelming urge to see her again. To get up and escape Vicrul's prying eyes, to try and convince her to submit to the Order, to him, so he could see her every day, be with her every day, breathe in her scent and touch her, hold her, and—

"Supreme Leader," Vicrul asserted, snapping in his face. "Enough."

With a quick inhale through his nose, Kylo looked down at his hands wrapped around the whiskey glass. He blinked rapidly, trying to will away this pull he felt to his prisoner, but the harder he resisted, the stronger he felt the connection. "This is maddening," he croaked, swallowing. "The pull...I feel it everywhere. I feel her everywhere, I..."

Leaning in, Vicrul firmly gripped Kylo's forearm. "No more hiding. Tell me everything. Let me help."

With a brief hesitation, Kylo finally nodded. He pulled his arm back and took a deep breath. "What have I told you since I've taken her?"

"Absolutely nothing." Vicrul sighed and leaned back in his chair. "But I've been reading the updates you've been making to her file. We all have."

"Then you know my mother didn't only tell her about Exegol to collect Skywalker, she also sent Rey to Ahch-To when he was there six months ago."

He nodded. "Yes."

"The very first night she was recruited to the Resistance."

"Mhm."

"A scavenger, an assassin. To find Luke Skywalker. The last Jedi."

"Yep."

Kylo blinked. "Do you not understand the significance of that?"

"Is there a significance to that?"

"Yes," Kylo said rigidly. "My mother vets her fighters intensively. She always has. She would only divulge information as sensitive as Skywalker's place of exile if the girl were important."

"Huh." Vicrul pursed his lips. "That's one way to look at it. But you said so yourself, she comes from nothing. Even worse, she's a criminal, an exiled Kanjiklub assassin—the same people Organa used to prosecute in the New Republic. How could she possibly be valuable to them?"

"Wow, what an excellent question," Kylo said with a wry tone. "I can't believe I haven't asked myself that yet."

Unbothered as always, Vicrul continued without missing a beat. "And seeing as how Ahch-To and Exegol are bloody dangerous to get to, my guess is the girl isn't important, she's just disposable. I mean, why else wouldn't Organa plan on going herself?" he asked, only to answer his own question with the utmost confidence.

"I'll tell you why, it's because she knows we have eyes all over the galaxy. It would only take one civilian tip and bam," Vicrul said, throwing his hand down on the table. "The First Order not only has the General of the rebellion in custody, but also the last Jedi. But Rey? A criminal? Nobody would look at her twice as she flew into either of those systems. Nobody would look at her twice, period, making her the perfect candidate to send on risky errands."

Kylo shook his head. "But why send her to get him? There are a lot of disposable Resistance fighters out there. My mother could have chosen any of them."

"Disposable to you? Yes. To your mother? No. Just like you said, she's fiercely selective about who she brings in, especially now," Vicrul explained, leaning forward. "Why would she send someone she loves to find a man that has spent the last eight years in solitude? That's enough to make anyone crazy, and proportionally, enough to make anyone apprehensive about Skywalker's mental state. Not to mention, the last time you saw him, he tried to kill you in your sleep. You—General Organa's son. It would make sense for her to send someone disposable to test the waters of her senile and potentially dangerous self-exiled brother."

Kylo looked down, his throat rippling from the effort of swallowing. He wanted to believe Vicrul. He wanted to believe there wasn't any importance to Rey or this lure he felt to her. That would make it easier to let go, to kill her and be done with it. But his gut told him something else, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, very wrong.

Vicrul sighed. "Tell me."

"Something just doesn't feel right," Kylo said, glancing up at him with a frown. "There has to be something I don't know. Her history, or their history...I don't know. I have no fucking clue."

It took a moment for Vicrul to respond. "And you think this supposed history with them is why you feel a pull to Rey?"

"Yes. That has to be it. It's the only explanation for this."

"Hm. Interesting," he murmured, tapping his fingers on the table. "Have you meditated on it, searched your feelings for the truth?"

Kylo shot him a look. "Don't insult me."

"And?"

"Silence all week," Kylo spat, his hands curling around the glass. "Until today. My grandfather gave me riddles."

"Riddles?" Vicrul echoed, a slight smile on his lips. "What did he say? I like riddles."

Kylo wasn't amused. "That the answers are deep below. Hidden under a surface or something useless like that."

Vicrul cocked his head to the side. "What if he meant hidden below the girl's surface? Such as a deep dive into her psyche?"

Kylo placed his fingertips to his forehead, exhaling as though the air was being let out of him. "I have been in her psyche, Vicrul, and so have the IT-0 interrogation units five times now. She has been given truth serums. She has shown me everything about her team, the Resistance, Luke, and my mother. She is just an ex-Kanjiklub assassin that lives underground like a fucking womp rat and answers to my mother. A deep dive is pointless."

"No, no," Vicrul said, shifting impatiently. "I'm not talking about the standard deep dive. I'm talking about Becoming, you know, the torture tactic outlined in the Book of Sith? If you do that, you'd become one with Rey, and nothing would be hidden from you."

"Impossible. To accomplish Becoming, to truly become her from within, I'll need her total and absolute submission without Force-coercion. After this week, I do not have any patience left to get that from her. She is relentless in her defiance, even when pushed to her limit."

"If the Sith could get that from the Jedi, then you can get it from an oversized womp rat," Vicrul said with a snort as he brought a beer to his lips. "Just gotta break her down a little bit."

"A waste of time," Kylo said, tersely shaking his head. "The Sith only used that on the Jedi because their powers were too evenly matched to break down mental barriers. There is nothing she can hide from me as a non-Force-sensitive being."

Vicrul slowly moved in and placed his forearms on the table. "Unless..." As a slight smirk touched his lips, Kylo could almost see the hololight flickering in his head. "Unless she's not the one hiding it from you."

The Supreme Leader waited for him to continue, but Vicrul just looked at him expectantly. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Even though they were alone, he lowered his voice. "What if your mother placed a Force-destabilizer inside of Rey, with the intent of her being taken prisoner?"

Kylo paused to digest that. "A covert psychological attack, you mean."

"Exactly. It would eventually disable you, but not kill you. And think about it—what enemy of yours would want to keep you alive, besides your mother? That way, your gradual insanity would look like a natural decline. And by the time you found out—if you ever did—it would be too late. The Order would be weakened, destroyed even, from the inside out." Vicrul raised his brows and tilted his head to the side. "Huh, that would be rather clever of them, admittedly."

"Yes, that would be clever," Kylo muttered, his lip pulling down into a wince. "Too clever. And she would never use the dark side of the Force."

"If this were a few years ago, I would agree with you. But the Order has been thriving under your rule, and the Resistance has become increasingly violent in their attempt to stop that. Careless with civilian losses, even. And you've had what, thousands of prisoners? And not a single one of them has driven you insane...but a prisoner with a Force-destabilizer? That would look a whole lot like this," Vicrul said, jutting his chin toward Kylo. "You'd slowly lose your mind, knowing that she was the problem, but finding it impossible to destroy her. That's how the destabilizer works. Something, or in this case, someone, is toxic to you, but you have an unnatural, obsessive need to be near them, further sealing your fate of self-destruction." Vicrul paused to make a small noise of amusement. "In a sense, it's like Rey's the one holding you hostage. Ha. How poetic."

"No," Kylo stubbornly said. "Even if she did draw from the darkness, Force-destabilizers were designed for objects, not people. It would take immense power to manipulate that type of energy in the first place, but then to hide it from me? Only an extensively trained, powerful Jedi could achieve that—something my mother is not."

As Kylo's words hung in the air, first came the blaring silence, then came the shift. A shift in energy and power that moved to surround and suffocate them, demanding attention. Vicrul responded to it first, stiffly sitting forward, and Kylo followed suit to uncoil his spine and place his hands flat on the table. A deep hum buzzed in his ears, and the Force pumped through him, around him, loud and robust and domineering as though it was screaming at him to wake up, to open his fucking eyes. And when they looked at each other, faces grim and bodies tense, Kylo knew that Vicrul was thinking the same thing.

"Luke," they said together, the name snaking out of Kylo's mouth as though it were a poisonous centipede. "Luke Skywalker is back."