“I know!” he shouts, voice turning to static in his ears. As much to drown Han out as anything. In the wake of all the damage he's visited on the ship, the effect is pitiful—laughable, almost. The words flutter down, harmless as feathers.

Kylo stands in the center of the room, his gaze continuing to twitch over the ship's interior. Now that he knows the Millennium Falcon for what it is, the thought of touching any part of the vessel repulses him. The Falcon had always been cobbled together—from longing, pride, desperation. From love, some of it Ben Solo's.

“If I'd meant to kill her I'd have snapped her neck,” he says abruptly. A flat statement, articulated with military precision. Brushing past Han, he strides down the hall to the cockpit.