Rey freezes the instant Vader's hand touches her face, scarcely breathing until he's done speaking. The air in the room feels oppressively heavy. It's too much. It's been too much for some time, now. She ought to have run when she could.

She's clutching Kylo's hand hard enough that she's likely hurting him, and that contact is the only thing keeping her from running screaming from the hut or possibly being sick right here. She can't process all of it in any way, shape or form, save that somehow she'd been wrong about nearly everything she'd ever believed of herself, of Kylo, of Vader -- and that Palpatine was capable of more than she ever could've fathomed. That he could've touched her mind from so far away -- that he could have turned Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi against one another in spite of whatever bond she's reasonably sure was just implied was shared --

"Ben. Can you please get me out of here."

She doesn't trust herself to stand, to move, to react in any way. But she needs to be out of here, or something very bad is going to happen when she can figure out what she's feeling, and she wants to be very far away from other people when it does lest whatever destructive impulse she's capable of takes the lead.