Bodhi, predictably, sits still and fiddles with a hole in the cuff of his sweatshirt and tries to pretend he doesn't exist. The Force around him is a mess of walls and fluctuations, doubt and defensiveness closing him off, but it's nothing very unusual. Lots of people are guarded and shy. He tries to meditate himself, has some connection to the Force even if he doesn't have any sensitivity of his own.

At the center is something else. An emptiness, a lack, s blank space, but surrounded by jagged edges and pain. An open wound, barely beginning to scar over, where something punched through like a blaster.