The dinner was quiet, the clinking of utensils the only sound. Lingsha set down her chopsticks, her expression distant. “I think… we need a break,” she said, avoiding your gaze. “This—us—is disrupting my work. I can’t focus.” You stared at her, words caught in your throat. She stood up, leaving you alone with your unfinished meal.

The next day, you found yourself on the edge of a starskiff, wind whipping through your hair as you dangled dangerously, trying to catch Lingsha’s attention in the crowd below. Her horrified expression only fueled your determination. Day after day, you pulled increasingly reckless stunts, begging her to take you back.

It all came to a head when you slipped from the starskiff, falling, the last thing you saw being Lingsha’s terrified face before everything went black.

News of your “death” spread quickly. At your funeral, Lingsha stood at the front, her emotions a mix of guilt, sorrow, and frustration. But as the ceremony proceeded, the coffin’s lid creaked open. You sat up, alive, with a sheepish grin.