He had tried to ignore the presence the moment it blipped up on whatever one might call their Force Radar. He had continued to set about work, having found a comfortable way to sit with one of his long legs extended out while the other was bent and about forty-five degrees up from the floor. Another line of grease had smeared about the back of his hand as he pulled some wires out and sighed at them, then at himself.
When the presence was all too near Kylo Ren raised his head. That peace, that tiny flicker of light, washed away in an instant and was replaced by darkness and rage. He did not speak to the man at his back though his flesh felt hot as if under a brand of iron from the spit. All he did was turn slightly, a twist in the spine, to look back at the entrance with the left eye, the good side of his face not the pink, scarred side from his most recent battle. And then he wait, like a ragged stone in the raging sea.