Kylo's eyes are wide, strangely unseeing. It isn't dread he feels, though he'd always assumed it would be a heavy, deafened horror, being amputated from the rest of the endless flow of existence. It's nothing. There's nothing beyond the boundary of his skin, beyond the finite edges of his physical senses. Nothing at all.

Is Ronan doing this?

Belatedly, he stares down at his face— at which point he realises there's nothing there, either. No whisper of intention, no thought, no feeling bleeding out into the shared space between them. Only the performance of fear on Ronan's face.

And Ronan's pulse, shuddering through his skin where they touch.

"Stay down," he hisses, deciding in the absence of evidence that they must be under attack— or at least, that they could be and he wouldn't know.
How can anyone fight when they can't see?