The strength of those feelings -- especially directed at him, from someone like Dejah -- feels so foreign that he can barely grasp it. She can sense his bewilderment, like a rapidly-moving current just beneath the calm contentment. He knows they're true, and he's happy they're true. He just can't figure out why they're true.

(Something darker, like the shadow of a shark passing by even further below: once I tell her --

No.)

"Better," he murmurs. "I'm fine. How'd you sleep?"