Ben didn't dare move as the train stuttered over the tracks, Rey's head a warm weight against his shoulder. Breathing slowly, he looked down at his own hands, palms open atop his knees. There ought to have been blood on his hands, he thought, etched permanently into the whorls and lines of his fingerprints, the kind of stain that was impossible to wash away.

He sighed, fingers closing over his palms, his head tipping back against the window.

When they finally pulled into their station, he rested a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently awake.

"We're here."