She could feel him long before the shape of him within the Force took root - that simmering rage beneath the surface seemed to send the air around her on edge. A traitorous pang of happiness at the familiarity of his silhouette crept into Rey's heart only to be firmly, stubbornly, batted aside, there was no room in the galaxy for something like that and she had become so adept at squashing any sign of harbored tenderness for him. "You seem well," she spoke up dryly from behind him, knowing that she wasn't being especially helpful with the remark, but not caring. He had made his choice.