You spare one last look at Tempest, a frustrated frown creasing your features. It’s bad enough that she’s definitely gonna feel that horn damage in the morning. It’s bad enough that you aren’t on track to feel her in the morning, let alone on a royal bed. It’s certainly bad enough that Plan A’s success rate continues plummeting like the subprime mortgage crisis. But the worst part of it all, by several nautical miles, was the lingering uncertainty. You thought for sure you’d definitively know by this point if she’d flip to the Light Side, or stay on the Dark Side. But no. You have absolutely no idea. And that lingering question was fucking murderous on your gut instinct, the oh-so-venerable sense in a very rare state of conflict.