He had already lost a world. Not lost. Killed. Murdered, in cold blood, millions of beings. Because he thought it a lesser evil. He knew the visions of Gallifrey dying would never leave him.

He swore he would never let any other world die.

It didn’t mean a thing. He was deceving himself. Saving worlds would not redeem his crime. But it was the right thing to do.

Why was he hesitating now, over the life of just one alien?

How could she be more important to him than the whole world?

He had no idea.

But somehow she was.