She had felt flickers of him and their bond, like ghosts at the edges of her mind. Always on the cusp of waking and sleep, always hazy enough that she can't be sure they aren't just memories or her subconscious looking to heal a broken connection when she was too tired to maintain the stubborn denial that she cared not to find him.

As a junior parliamentarian she's privy to the gossips and going-ons that make their way through the White Tower. She had heard the rumors of the new champion, a hulking monster, pale and dark and ruthlessly brutal, so when the opportunity for a diplomatic visit came, she, perhaps a little too eagerly, volunteered.

Her heart pounds, the pumping of her own blood seemingly deafening the cheers of the crowd all around her. It's as if they don't exist. As if there is only him and her watching him work.

Some other members of her faction had warned her before she went, treating her as if she was delicate and that her ferocity was limited to the debate floor and that a simmering pit of wrath and violence didn't roil under her skin barely contained. The arena made sense in a way that the politicking didn't, and she's enraptured as she watches Kylo shed the restraint and control that shackles her.

She excuses herself with a speed that has the rest of the delegate assuming that she is emptying her stomach rather than searching for the source of the terrifying show of power.

She doesn't knock - apparently the manners she had learned in the White Tower are easily shed. Breathlessly, she bursts through his door.

"Ben."