Something's changed, Rey realizes, and she doesn't think it was for the better. Rather, it feels like she's broken something, something that was terribly precious but far, far more fragile than she ever thought. The dread in her expression grows steadily closer to alarm and mild panic the longer his silence persists, and she drags her eyes from his face to glance miserably down at the cloak he gave her.

He told her she was more than a scavenger. He said she didn't have to pretend she was important. He insisted she shouldn't think so little of herself. She thought she was just responding to that, but she sees the truth now.

She doesn't blame him for saying that when clearly now it's proven to be untrue. He was obeying the rules of the game. He understood the rules. No, she blames herself for buying into her stupid fantasies. She slipped up and for a brief, idiotic moment, she actually believed she was more than a scavenger.

But Rey will always be a scavenger. And Kylo will always be the child of heroes, blood of legends, and everything she's not. Fortunately, Rey's years as a scavenger have taught her how to repair broken things. She snatches her hand away from his, deciding maybe it'll be easier if they just ignored what happened—and hopefully he'll ignore the sand she's left behind on his hand—and picks up the cupcake to shove half the thing in her mouth.

"It's good," she mumbles automatically around a mouthful of cake.