Don't get caught.

That was the response Gaius gave her a few times last summer when she bragged about her hellion exploits. And well, maybe once or twice she exaggerated a little. But she had wanted him to perceive her as more daring than she actually is. She wanted to impress him with her confidence. To show him that in her own way, she is every bit the maverick he is, but still a Lady to the core. But truthfully, nothing she and Julia ever did at her family's country estate compares to the level of recklessness she has undertaken with Gaius of late.

She ought to be ashamed. Horrified. Guilt stricken. But . . . she's not.

She's gotten a little too complacent about the risk though. With Mother neglectful, Appy self-absorbed, and Cato deployed, it has fallen to a neighbor like Lord Azamin and an acquaintance like Darth Angral to catch them. Those are two powerful, influential men who now have power over them. For, as every Sith knows, a secret is leverage. But thankfully—and surprisingly—neither Lord seems upset enough to expose them. And that too has fueled Portia's growing complacency. For here she is, munching on buttered toast at breakfast as she brazenly reads the latest text rant from Gaius:

Babe, it's a historical fact. Rising, opportunistic powers take up arms to achieve their ends. They expand their influence, as the Empire has done on our side of the galaxy. But the bloodiest wars inevitably occur when those rising powers meet resistance from fading, peaking adversaries—from those civilizations whose arc of progress has crested and decline (whether acknowledged or not) has set in. No one fights harder or longer than the enemy facing a hard fall served up by an ideologically opposed upstart. Mark my words, the Republic will fight us to the end, but I would much rather it be on their turf than on ours. We need to bring the war to them, lest they bring it to us first. It's time to go big and go brutal. Sluis Van is just the start. From there, we need to go to places like Alderaan, Corellia, and Coruscant. But the Palace says no because . . . reasons. Bullshit reasons. And whether they ask my opinion or not, I'm going to tell them.

Gaius is telling her what he tells anyone who will listen: that the Sith need to radically rethink their war strategy. It's all stated with Gaius' characteristic mix of gusto-meets-nerdy-military-analysis that's so quintessentially him. Portia is deep in thought reading away her swain's latest sharp critique of the Navy when Apollonia calls her out.

"Why are you always on your comlink?"

Portia is immediately jolted back to the present. She drops the device like it's a ticking thermal detonator. "What?"

"Your comlink." Appy points with her fork at the discarded device. "It's been attached to your hand lately. You never used to be like that."

Flustered Portia mumbles a misleading truth. "I gave the hospital my number in case they need to reach us."

"Oh? Is something wrong?"

"No. But you know I like to read the war news. I was just reading about the war," Portia improvises another plausible excuse. And does she sound defensive? She hopes not. "Plus, my friends text. Yours do the same."

"Yes, I know. It's just that you're always looking at it these days."

"Is that wrong?" Portia challenges.

Appy frowns, "I guess not. It's just different. You're different lately."

"Cato said the same thing. It's the hair."

"It's not the hair. Something's different," her sister insists as she looks at her quizzically. "I would say it's the diet but you don't look any smaller. Are you supposed to be eating toast? Toast is a carb, you know."

"Is it?" Portia hurriedly stuffs the remainder of the forbidden bread in her mouth. She grabs her comlink and stands to leave. "Do you want to come to the hospital with me this morning?"

Apollonia declines. "I'm going to drop by later after I meet some girlfriends for shopping and lunch."

"Good. And Mother? Do you think she'll go by today?" Portia asks hopefully.

"Who knows?"

"You'd think she was the invalid, not Cato," Portia grumbles.

Ever the apologist for Mother, Appy reproves, "This is hard for her."

Whatever. "It's harder for Cato. He's lonely up there by himself. It's boring. He has too much time on his hands to brood. He's doing so much better now healthwise, but he's discouraged." Very discouraged. In fact, Portia worries that the most severe wound her brother suffered was to his confidence.

Appy correctly reads the concern in her face. "Okay. I'll be sure to drop by."

"Good. He'll love it. And Mother will love it if you bring one of your friends who's not betrothed yet." A visit from a pretty girl might be just the thing to shake Cato out of his funk.

But no such luck. Appy sniffs, "All my friends are committed by now. You know that. I don't hang with any ugly, old maid types."

Okay. Well, so much for that idea. "I reached out to a few of his friends who I know are in town. Defile—he's stationed here for civil defense. And Contagion's still home—"

"For the arm?"

"Yes."

"Good idea. They can all swap war stories like old men do," Apollonia decides. "Are you going to school today?"

"Yes, after my visit. Cato comes first."

Her sister approves. "I'm glad you have your priorities straight. Familia supra omnia." Family above all else. "And in this case," she smirks, "familia supra scholam." Family above schoolwork.

"Flexing with Kittat?"

"Hardly. You're the nerdy girl. Portia, I worry about you. If you're not careful, you're going to get boring," Appy warns with irritating big sister worldliness.

Portia takes offense. "Boring?"

"Yes. Look at you—bookish and chubby. When you're not with Julia, you're doing Temple work like some grandmother. That's boring. No one wants to marry a dull, dowdy girl, even if she's a Metellus."

The casual cruelty of those observations gets under her skin. Stung, Portia hotly retorts, "I am not boring!"

Her sister shrugs. "If you say so."

And now, their verbal sparring escalates as resentment surfaces and Portia starts accusing. "I am not boring! You—you are boring! All you think about is yourself! Your hair, your clothes, your wedding—yourself!"

"That's not true!"

"It is! Traverse is boring too. You're perfect for each other! Together, you'll have lots of boring children!"

"You're jealous, aren't you?" Appy gives her a knowing look. "You're jealous because I'm betrothed and you're not, and because we both know that Mother loves me more."

Are they back to fighting over Mother's attention again? Portia long ago conceded defeat on that topic. "I don't care!"

"Yeah? Well, you could spare some time for Mother each day. It's like you don't even like her. Or wait, is she boring too?" Appy goads.

Truthfully, lately Portia doesn't much like her mother, what with the diet and the never ending 'constructive' criticism about her appearance. She hisses back, "You're right—she's boring just like you!"

Launching to her feet and thrusting her napkin to the table, Apollonia declares, "I won't listen to this."

"Right. Go to your room and stare in the mirror some more!" Portia hollers back.

"You're not just boring, you're disagreeable too," Appy judges. "That's an unattractive combination. Watch it, sis, or no Lord will want you."

The words are smugly said and, as usual, designed to undermine her confidence. But this time, the criticism misses the mark. Portia stalks off muttering, "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"What?"

"You heard me."

There is a Lord who wants her. He thinks she's beautiful, not fat. He's a hero and a young star in the making. He's way more impressive than Traverse even if he is a random. But Portia can't tell her sister that. Gaius is even going to be on Dromund Kaas today. But sadly, Portia won't be able to see him. And that's mostly what has put her in a grouchy mood this morning.

For as it has turned out, the Joint Chiefs have called Gaius and Darth Angral back early. The Chiefs took to heart Gaius' advice that the Sith need to invade to preempt a counter-invasion. The troubling enemy intel has become worse. But unfortunately, the scheduling for Gaius' return trip isn't conducive to alone time. He and Angral arrive today for an afternoon meeting at the Palace. Their plan is to leave promptly afterwards. That means Portia won't get to see him. It's very disappointing.

Still mad from the fight with Appy, Portia flies too fast on her way to visit Cato. But the tiff with her sister is put in perspective when she enters the Naval hospital. The men recovering here have far more important problems than her and Appy's ongoing sisterly drama.

The door to Cato's hospital room is open as Portia walks up. She can hear male voices, loud and boastful, from within. It's so normal that it makes her smile. Cato already has visitors, it seems.

"So he's dying and I'm all up in that fucker's face telling him, 'Not today, Jedi!' as he gurgles and spits blood and shit. I swear I didn't even feel the loss of my arm I was so amped. Total beast mode."

It's Darth Contagion. Good. He came.

"It wasn't even your left arm," Cato is speaking as Portia crosses the threshold. Her brother complains, "Haven't we heard this story like three times in ten minutes? Don't talk, bro. Don't talk."

"Hello, my Lords." Portia announces herself.

Three heads look her way. It's Cato in his hospital bed, along with Darth Contagion and Darth Defile.

"Lady Portia!" The two visitors stand to their feet with the usual decorum.

She smiles her appreciation as she pulls up her own chair at Cato's bedside. "What's the news, my Lords?"

Defile answers first, his eyes twinkling with determined levity. "I lost a wife and Contagion here lost an arm. But Adraas is the one whining the most."

"Lost a wife?"

"The Palace nixed my betrothal."

"Wow . . . " Portia's eyes widen.

"Lady Danae and I managed to flunk the super-secret algorithm for Force, wealth, and pedigree. Ergo, I am jilted. Behold the newest bachelor Sith," Defile gestures broadly. He's making light of the situation but his expression and his Force convey his deep disappointment.

"That almost never happens. I'm so very sorry," Portia responds solemnly.

"What can you do?" he sighs. "I'm not about to defy the Emperor."

"How did it go down?" his friend Contagion wants to know.

"The Palace sent the Chief Priest over yesterday to deliver the bad news. He was pretty cool about it."

"That's good."

"Did you know he's a colonial?"

"Who's a colonial?" Cato gripes.

"Darth Tenebrae, the Chief Priest. He's as pale as Malgus."

"Is he as huge as Malgus?" her brother sneers.

"No. The guy is tall, but not big."

Portia now speaks up loyally, "I like Lord Malgus."

Defile chuckles. "I thought you threw him into a tree."

"Rosebush." She and Cato reply in unison.

"Same difference. I tell that story everywhere. You are my heroine, my Lady. Everyone hates Malgus. But you're the first person I know to best him."

Cato explains, "She's decided she likes him because of that business on Ragmar."

"Dude! The random did save your ass," Contagion comments.

Cato scowls. "I keep trying to forget it."

Portia keeps up her covert campaign to rehabilitate Gaius' reputation. She volunteers, "Lord Malgus was very kind when he came to the house with Angral."

"Angral went to your house?" Darth Contagion's eyes widen. "Damn, Cato, they must really have thought you were a goner."

"Still here," Cato sighs. "Still alive . . ." The words are boastful but they lack all enthusiasm.

Lords Defile and Contagion exchange looks with Portia. They were warned ahead of time about Cato's discouragement. Her brother is still so down about his injuries and the mission failure that preceded them. It's almost as if the more his recovery progresses, the more bitter and depressed he feels about it.

Defile speaks up now to point out, "Alive is a good thing. Seriously, Cato, for a guy who's getting an all-expense paid vacation at home and a free lung from his Emperor, you're pretty surly."

Portia leans in now to whisper, "Cato, are you in pain?"

He brushes off her concern. "I'm fine. Pain is power." Cato fixes hard eyes on her now as he accuses, "These guys are your fault, aren't they? You asked them to come."

"Wrong!" Contagion jumps in to save her. "You've got this all wrong. We're not here to see you, we're here to see her."

"We like your sister," Defile seconds this blatant, gallant lie. He continues with this line of reasoning, "Yeah, and now I need a wife. So, it will be good for me to meet girls."

"She's seventeen!" Cato hisses. "Go meet someone else. Seriously, get out of here! I have physical therapy soon. I don't need an audience when I huff and puff walking across the room."

"It's very tiring," Portia explains.

"No! It's fucking humiliating! I'm like an old man!" Cato glares at her and then at each of his friends. He's mad at the situation and taking it out on them.

Contagion offers, "I'm doing some PT. For balance, you know. I'm way off balance with one arm. And once I get my prosthetic, my center of gravity will probably shift again."

"Are you going back on active duty?" Cato wants to know.

"Absolutely. I might not be the best duelist now, but I still have skills. There's plenty of fight left in me," he brags.

This comment sets Cato off. "Whatever. Get out of here," he snarls. "Time to leave."

"You're both coming back soon, right?" Portia asks hopefully, dropping a not-so-subtle hint. It earns her another glare from Cato, which she ignores.

"Tomorrow, my Lady," Defile promises with a roguish wink.

"Yes, tommorrow," Contagion chimes in.

She smiles her thanks. When the two young Lords leave, Portia starts fussing over her brother. "Let's get you up and seated in the chair. You know you're not supposed to spend so much time in bed."

"What's the point?" her brother complains.

"The point is that you want to get well. And for that, you need to build stamina and strength and to boost your lung capacity."

"I know," Cato sighs glumly even as he makes no effort to sit up.

"You will make a complete recovery. Not like Contagion. Be grateful for that."

"I know."

"Seriously, Cato, you are in a much better position than he is and you don't see him moping around."

"He's a hero and I'm a—"

"—a Lord who got wounded on a mission that went badly. So what? So, you heal and learn from it and move on," Portia insists.

"Yeah, I know. It's just that . . . well . . ."

Portia stays silent, waiting for Cato to find his words.

"Well, real war is different than I expected. It's . . . boring a lot. And then, it's exciting and a little terrifying. At least Contagion got maimed by a Jedi that he bested. I got shot by some Republic Rim militia brigade. Not even a real regular trained soldier. But there were so many of them that they overwhelmed us. Man to man, those guys are no match for a Sith Lord. But you get a hundred or more gunning for you and it evens the odds. It's still humiliating though . . . Good thing Father didn't live to see me come home wounded like this."

Portia stays silent until Cato continues. "I guess they're fighting for their homeworld and this is just another territory for us. It's weird, Portia. The Republic is simultaneously weaker and fiercer than we expected. Like we take their systems one by one, but the cost keeps going up. Our casualty rate can't continue at this rate indefinitely."

"Malgus says we're wasting time, men, and resources adding more shithole Rim worlds to our win column. I hate it to admit it, but the random's right. Angral knows it, too. The war . . . well, I'm not sure what we're accomplishing so far. The Palace keeps setting goals to use as metrics, and we do our part to achieve them. But the goals are modest. I guess, I thought that when the revenge of the Sith finally came, it would be a big deal. But instead, we're doing what our fathers and grandfathers did incrementally expanding the Empire. And that's not bad . . . it's just not what I expected. I mean, if this is all it's going to be, why did we wait so long to do it?"

"Because we lost so badly last time," Portia reminds him. "It does seem like the war is going to drag on a long time."

"Malgus says the war is going to change everything."

Portia nods. She agrees.

Cato does not. "He's wrong. We're just doing what our forefathers did. Conquering the Republic feels like subduing wild space all over again except there are Jedi to contend with."

"For now," she concedes. "But there's still plenty of fear here for an invasion."

"That won't happen."

"What makes you so sure?" Portia challenges.

"Because they don't bother to defend the Rim against us. They're not looking for confrontation. It's so odd. Like in a thousand years, they have somehow lost their fear of us. Maybe their respect too. I just never thought it would play out this way . . . I was certain that once we reemerged, they would be out to exterminate us."

"You don't think they're going to regroup and strike back? I thought that the Republic has begun ambushing ships."

"They have, but it's nothing big. We were anticipating a true retaliatory move, but it's been months and so far, nothing. What's taking them so long?"

"I don't know," she sighs. "But come on. Let's get you out of bed. The therapist will be here soon. She won't be happy to find you like this."

"I don't care."

"I care," Portia retorts. "You are so close to achieving the milestones you need to be released to recover at home. Think of how happy that will make Mother to have you home again to fuss over."

"Maybe I want to stay in the hospital . . . "

"Cato!"

"Oh, alright." Her brother begins gingerly sitting up. His chest and core muscles are still healing and weak, so it's not easy.

As she watches and stands by to help, Portia confesses, "I had a fight with Appy this morning . . . "

"Over what?"

"Nothing really. She's just so insufferable these days. I wish she would just get married and leave home already." Portia looks a little sheepish as she admits, "I'm telling you this because she says she's coming by later today."

"Trying to get your side of the story out first?"

"Maybe."

"Can't you two get along?"

"No," Portia sighs. "Not lately."

In comes the physical therapist now, and their personal conversation ceases. Once Portia is satisfied that Cato is actually doing his therapy and not simply dismissing the poor woman like usual, she tells him goodbye and ducks out of the room. If she leaves now, she can be back at school in time for literature class. She's in the hallway walking out when suddenly she senses a familiar presence in the Force. Surprised, she says the name out loud. "Gaius . . ."

He's here!

She stops in her tracks. The comlink in her pocket buzzes and Portia reads a quick text.

Transport arrived early. Angral wants to drop by the hospital to look in on your brother.

She types back. I'm here at the hospital now. I was just leaving.

Stay.

She's typing back her reply when a voice calls her name.

"My Lady Portia." It's Darth Angral. Gaius follows him. They're both in ceremonial armor, dressed for their command performance at the Palace, as they walk briskly through the corridor towards her.

Portia furtively stashes her comlink and plasters an unconvincing smile on her face. "Darth Angral. How nice to see you again." Through sheer force of will, she keeps her eyes focused on Cato's commanding officer, rather than wandering to look at Gaius.

Lord Angral is annoyed to find her here. He comes to a halt as he surmises, "You're here visiting your brother."

"Yes. Have you come to see him? He will like that exceedingly, my Lord."

"It will be short. We are expected at the Palace." Angral's eyes dart to Gaius as he adds, "But perhaps you already know that."

Portia merely smiles and offers, "He's the third room on the right. Number 486, my Lord. He's just finishing up his therapy."

"Thank you."

Gaius now pipes up to announce to his boss, "I'll wait here for you."

But Darth Angral is wise to his intent to steal a few moments with her. "No, you won't," Angral countermands him. "I'm not leaving you two alone. And since you are an old family friend," the Naval commander smirks, "I'm sure Adraas will love to see you."

That remark galvanizes Portia into action. She fairly leaps to insert herself. "Let me show you in, my Lords." She takes charge of ushering them in to see the patient, calling, "Cato, you have more visitors," to alert her grumpy brother whose Force senses are no doubt dulled by his pain medicine.

Now seated in a chair, Cato fairly startles at the sight of his boss. "My Lord!" Cato is considerably less enthusiastic to see Gaius. "Malgus," he sniffs.

Gaius ignores the less than warm welcome. He observes bluntly, "You look awful. How's the new lung?"

Cato's eyes narrow as he postures. "Stronger every day."

"Good," Angral declares. "We have need of you at the battlefront. Adraas, you have been missed," Darth Angral smiles approvingly at Cato, who shoos away the physical therapist. "I am glad that you pulled through. We have lost too many already."

Gaius offers his own biting opinion now. "You're lazy, but you can be useful," he tells Cato. Then, he urges to Angral, "Order him back and put him in a cockpit. Even healthy, he's better with a ship than with a sword. He can help us take Sluis Van."

"So that's happening? Is that why you're home?" Cato wants to know.

"Yes," Gaius answers.

Just as Angral replies, "Maybe."

"Which is it?" Cato looks from one Lord to the other.

Angral answers, "We will know after we meet with the Joint Chiefs. Rest up, Adraas, and get well quick. The war could be entering a new phase soon. We will need your efforts."

Cato nods, looking pleased—and relieved-by the implicit vote of confidence. "Yes, my Lord."

"War is unpredictable," his boss observes grimly, "especially when you have a worthy opponent. Did you read the report? No one's blaming you, Adraas."

"Yes, my Lord."

Portia knows that those are words her brother really needs to hear. Suddenly, she's glad for this impromptu visit for a reason other than seeing Gaius.

Lord Angral advises, "Get well and get out of here as fast as you can."

Gaius agrees. "Places like this will be one of the first targets."

"What does that mean?" Cato wants to know.

Darth Angral looks to her and chooses his words carefully. "Lately, there's a lot of chatter—"

Gaius interrupts. "More than chatter. Reliable intel."

"—about the potential for a Republic counter invasion."

Cato's eyes bulge. "Seriously?"

"Yes," Gaius answers, ignoring the look his boss shoots him.

Cato protests, "But Defile was here this morning. He's Homeland Defense and he said nothing."

"He probably doesn't know. It's all need to know," Gaius informs him.

"Yes, indeed," Angral growls with another reproving look for loose lipped Gaius. Angral's eyes fall on her now. He tells her, "Lady Portia, do not be alarmed," in the paternalistic 'don't worry your pretty little head' voice that Lords—other than Gaius-always use with Ladies when they speak of war. But even as he says this, Angral clearly notes how not alarmed she is by the news.

Cato notes it too. "Portia, did you know about this?"

Yes. From Gaius. But she answers vaguely, "I hear a lot of things at the Temple circle. We are working on assisting military intelligence through the Force with visions."

"How serious is the threat?" Cato looks to his boss.

"We should get an update today at the Palace."

"But in case you need any extra motivation to get better," Gaius adds, his eyes on her, "you should presume that the Republic is coming. You need to get up and around so you can defend the Empire and get your family to safety."

The last point hits home. Cato looks to Angral. "What are you doing for your family?"

"Nothing yet, but I'll let you know if that changes. We will keep you posted," his boss promises. Then, he takes his leave. "Good to see you on the mend, Adraas."

"I'll walk you out." Portia practically runs to follow Gaius and Darth Angral out into the hallway.

And that's when Gaius gives up any pretense of them being arm's length acquaintances. He starts speaking low under his breath as their trio heads for the hospital entrance. Silent Angral hears every word. "If the intel gets worse, I will let you know. If I tell you to flee, you need to go."

She nods. "I need fifteen minutes max to get the transport engines warmed. The ship is already fueled and provisioned. The biggest issue will be getting Mother and Appy on board." Knowing them, they'll both want to bring their entire wardrobe and not just their jewels and some essentials.

"Will you get Julia and Lady Vindican out with you?"

"Of course. Milady too."

"Good." Gaius' voice has a grim tone that reinforces how serious the situation is. "You're going to need to be the firm, responsible one. Be a leader. Make decisions and stick to them. It doesn't matter if you anger someone or hurt their feelings. The goal is to save them."

"I understand."

"I won't be able to leave my post to help you. Neither will your brother. You'll be on your own."

"I can handle that."

"I know. Here." Gaius reaches into his cape and produces a sword hilt.

Portia halts now and the men do too. "What's this?" she asks, looking fearfully to Gaius.

"It's yours. That's not a training sword."

Yes, she can tell. This is the real deal.

Angral weighs in to disapprove. "Have you lost your mind? She can't use that—"

"I can," she interrupts softly.

"You can?"

Gaius flashes a sheepish grin. "She disarmed me once in front of my Master. Portia is pretty good with a saber."

"It was my brother's idea to learn," she explains weakly in the face of Lord Angral's horrified expression.

Gaius is enjoying his boss' discomfort. He smirks as he observes, "Force help any Jedi who duels her. Portia's feisty."

Angral raises a hand to end the conversation. "I don't want to know any more. But I will tell you both one last time to put a stop to whatever is going on between you."

In blatant disregard of Angral's words, Gaius now tells her to watch her comlink for updates. He adds that if three weren't a crowd, he'd kiss her.

Frustrated Angral glares hard at his subordinate. "One of these days, you are going to get caught and there will be Hell to pay. Her brother is right down the hall!" Angral hisses under his breath.

Portia is the one to answer the reprimand. She tells Darth Angral coolly, "We'll take our chances, my Lord." Her romance with Gaius Veradun is like the war, she has decided. Risky and uncertain. But inevitable, as well.

With a last, longing glance at Gaius, Portia sweeps by the two men to exit the hospital. She heads to school and tries to concentrate even as her mind obsesses over what might happen next. The hours tick by slowly and there is no news to fill them. When school finally lets out, Portia immediately texts Gaius. His meeting should have concluded by now.

How did it go?

Not sure. When we finished, the Joint Chiefs went into executive session. Then they called back Angral alone. He's in there now. I think he's with the whole Dark Council.

Is there news on whether the Jedi are coming? She's very worried about that threat.

Hold on. Angral's coming out now. He looks like they grilled him.

Okay . . .

The comlink goes silent. Portia stares at it for long minutes waiting for a reply before she eventually heads to the Temple for the afternoon foresight circle meeting. She checks her comlink again before she enters the sanctuary. Still no message.

Like at school, Portia finds it hard to concentrate. And that makes it a complete surprise when today, for the first time ever, she receives a Force vision during the session. She's so surprised that at first she cries out in alarm. The more experienced Ladies on either side of her immediately grab her hands and hold tight for reassurance. Let go, one intones to her. And that's the support trembling Portia needs as the Force overtakes her consciousness and the present blurs before her eyes.

Not surprisingly, her mind's eye sees war. Burning cityscapes on foreign worlds. Screaming civilians of all species running in terror. Men, women, and children fall to the ground in agonizing death throes. Far more fortunate are those who die instantly in spectacular, gruesome fashion. For in the panic of the situation, no help will be forthcoming. People bleed out and their bodies are trampled by those fleeing to safety.

The devastation is massive and efficient. Bombardment from the air creates spectacular explosions. On the ground, armored troopers span out in squads with blasters blazing. And in what could only be a Jedi Temple, Gaius crosses swords with a Jedi Master. Importantly, at his side, along with a coterie of other Lords, fights her brother. Gaius and Cato together inflict the revenge of the Sith. They are merciless.

"We win . . ." Portia's so ecstatic that she says the words aloud. And that's when she loses focus and the vision slips away as fast as it came. Portia immediately envelops the Lady next to her for an impulsive hug. "We win! We take Coruscant!" she gushes her joy. And Darth Adraas and Darth Malgus will be key heroes in the effort.

This glimpse of the future is everything Portia needs right now. For whatever happens in the near term, everything will be alright in the end. War is not an intrusive reality between her and Gaius, Portia decides. It's the context that will make them possible as a couple. And so, daunting as it is, Portia will embrace whatever danger is to come.

The Ladies of the Temple circle and even crusty old Darth Rampart congratulate Portia on her achievement. With regular practice, they tell her, she could become a powerful seer and a great asset to the Empire. Because while the future is always in motion, some immutable crux of truth is embedded in every vision. Hopefully, Lord Rampart beams, it is the part about victory.

Relieved and now feeling bizarrely optimistic in the face of the threatening danger of an invasion, Portia heads home. As she pulls up to her family compound, her comlink buzzes. It's Gaius, of course.

Do you want the good news or the bad news first?

She immediately types back. The good news.

We're not leaving today. I'll be staying at home tonight. Can you come see me?

It's a school night. No sleepovers.

Make up an excuse to see Julia after dinner. I really need to see you. This might be our last chance for a while.

But you're here tomorrow and tomorrow is Friday. I can spend the night at Julia's like usual.

That will be too late. There's another meeting tomorrow. Not sure what happens after that. But most likely the boss and I are heading back to the Rim. There's a small chance I'll be asked to stay here for homeland defense while Angral goes back to his command, but if that happens I think I'll be on an orbital ship for a perimeter blockade.

? What does that mean? What are you saying?

Here's the bad news: the intel for a counter-invasion checks out. There are multiple confirmed sources, including a few Jedi we tortured until they talked. It looks imminent, too.

Oh no. Portia gulps and her stomach drops.

The Joint Chiefs are presenting our Sluis Van preemption strategy to the Emperor right now. Vitiate is going to make the decision whether to attack ASAP or divert resources back to the homefront.

What if you attack Sluis Van and the Jedi come anyway?

If that happens, we're spread thin here and the bulk of our assets are minimum two days' travel time away in lightspeed.

Oh Force. This is really happening.

We'll know the decision tomorrow. Azamin told Angral that Vitiate likes to sleep on these things. He consults the Force as he deliberates.

Portia types back with shaking fingers. Are you saying it's time to flee?

It might be tomorrow. Angral says that if the decision is not to attack, he will send his family away tomorrow. Others on the Dark Council will do the same for their families, I'm sure. The news will spread fast and soon there will be a stampede off world. Get any extra supplies you need now.

We're ready.

Good. FYI that Angral's reading this over my shoulder (and pretending he's not).

Got it. Do I take Cato with us?

Angral says that if the decision is not to attack, he will order your brother transferred immediately back to the Interrogator. Adraas can recover there and fight for the Empire however he's capable. But he won't be left here as a sitting duck for the enemy to kill.

Tell him thank you! What about your stepfather? Should he come with us?

Dad will be fine. They're only coming to kill the red Sith and the colonial combatants. Not civilian colonial biologists in remote areas. But I do need to make sure he has money to buy supplies in case it's a siege.

I can handle that. Cato left me full banking authority. Send me his contact information and I'll transfer funds.

Will do. I really need to see you. There's so much I want to tell you. Come to me tonight. We will go over your preparations and make plans.

Alright. I'll figure something out.

We are the Sith and we endure. Be strong and do not fear. People will start to panic, but don't you panic. Make strategic decisions in the face of risk.

I am not afraid any more. I had a vision today—finally! I saw victory. You and Cato were together sacking a Jedi Temple on Coruscant. You were the revenge of the Sith made manifest. I hope that doesn't sound silly. But it's what I saw and it filled me with courage. She can't put into words how uplifting that vision had been.

Will you tell me all the details tonight?

Of course. But the details don't matter so much as the outcome. Whatever happens, everything will be okay.

Thank the Force.

Is Angral still reading? I want to ask you something important.

Yes. Let me move away. Okay, babe, fire away.

Portia takes a deep breath and types the ridiculously impulsive question that has popped into her mind and hijacked her better judgement. For something about witnessing the worst-case scenario for her people developing in real time has made her bold, not timid. Facing down the prospect of a second Sith genocide has her primed to take action. Sure, things look bleak. The Jedi are coming unless they can be diverted away and her brother lies wounded and discouraged in a hospital nearby. Her mother has sunk deeper into depression than ever and her sister may be becoming suspicious about who's on the other end of her comlink. But the Force promises that everything will be alright, and Portia is a steadfast Daughter of Darkness who trusts fate. With Gaius by her side—a Lord certain to become a legendary hero—she thinks she can face any challenge. And so, she proposes an absolutely stupid but deliciously romantic idea that only makes sense for a girl staring down the collapse of life as she knows it.

Want to get married tonight?