[ Usually she stands and carries herself like she's taller than him, despite the considerable disparity, but when he looms like that, she appears to shrink and wither, as though she were a star collapsing onto itself. He's just too karking close. If he were anyone else she'd close her fist and cut off his windpipe and be done with it, but —

She doesn't want to. It's that simple, just as he had put it. But she does feel panic clawing its way up her throat, shortening her breath. Her pupils narrow to pinpricks as fear constricts them, her pulse roaring in her ears as her heart picks up.

She reaches back to grab onto the copilot's chair to steady herself, jaw set. Worse than his proximity is the question. He is trying to drag out her vulnerability. It had not been an offer. She flounders for a way to discourage him. ]

Sith temples are built of stone. My master sent me to one to build my lightsaber.

[ She was cold and alone and barely thirteen years old then. She leaves those details out. They are too critical to how unpleasant it had been. ]

The floor is nothing. [ Her voice sounds thick and unfamiliar to her. ] Sleep in your bunk.