This. He hears you. No pain is unbearable, Snoke has taught him. It should be judged not in terms of strength, but novelty.

He's never hurt like this before.

It's as if he's been ground to dust. He shuts his eyes, opens them almost immediately. Later, he'll will himself to be satisfied: he was right.

“I killed him.” It's a confession. How many times has he pictured the violent twist of her features, the surrender of her prized composure, and now he can't face her as he speaks. His voice is thick, clotted. He doesn't clear his throat. “I killed Han Solo.”