Ronan hadn't known whether or not Kylo would be furious upon his return. He'd braced himself for a harsh confrontation, at least. Bryde would have torn into him for a nightmare like this, so sloppy in its handling, so obviously rooted in emotional turmoil, so lacking in discipline and restraint. Ronan was supposed to be better than this, and even though Kylo didn't know him very well, it was a reasonable fucking expectation to believe his bed would be intact upon his return.

The sword pulls free like it's suddenly decided Ronan's worthy of it. Ronan tosses it aside with the rest.

"You don't have to help me," he says, his face still turned away as he moves on to the next hilt. "They have extra beds down the hall. This shit's going to take forever."