“We could be dead tomorrow, both of us,” she said. “Or the next day, or next week. That’s war.” She thought of the other Fi, whose life had ebbed away in her arms. “And I don’t want to die without telling you that I missed you every day since you left, and that I love you, and that I don’t believe what I was taught about attachment any more than you should believe that you were bred only to die for the Republic.”
