Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sky stretched wide and endless above Mindoir, painted in deep purples and molten gold as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Warm air stirred the tall grass, brushing against Alison’s skin as she ran, her laughter spilling into the wind. Jace darted ahead of her, little legs kicking up tufts of green, his voice bubbling with breathless delight.

“Catch me if you can!” he taunted, looking back, his grin bright with mischief.

Alison pushed herself faster, her heart pounding—not just from exertion, but from the sheer joy of it. At twelve, she was just old enough to understand what it meant to be responsible for him, but not so old that she couldn’t lose herself in the thrill of the chase. When she flung herself to the ground, letting the grass fold around her, the world expanded beyond the moment. She stretched her arms wide, gazing up at the shifting sky, the clouds streaked like an artist’s brushstroke, vast and ever-changing. The wind whispered over her skin, carrying the scent of wildflowers and  somewhere, Jace’s laughter rang out, distant but safe.

Her thoughts drifted. School, Gera’s infectious laugh, Omar’s endless supply of jokes—their afternoons under the blangara trees, swapping stories, dreaming about the future. She thought of the asari and turians, of how people in town whispered about aliens like they were something to fear. But why? The asari were so elegant, and their movements were like flowing water-- she saw an asari matriarch once and believed in their Goddess for at least a week afterward. She’d always wondered what their crests felt like, but she could never bring herself to ask for fear she'd accidentally be offensive. The turians carried themselves with such fierce discipline; she envied that, the same way she envied their armor-like plates. She'd never met a quarian, but they sounded like an incredibly ingenuitive people. Each species had something unique, something worth admiring, yet some people chose to sneer instead.

She closed her eyes, let herself sink into the comfort of home, of warmth, of a world that felt perfect.

Then her mother’s voice shattered the quiet.

“Allie! Jace! Come inside, it’s time to eat!”

She groaned, pushing herself up, brushing stray blades of grass from her hair. “Jace?” she called. Nothing.

A prickling unease crept into her chest. She turned, scanning the meadow. “Jace!” Her voice lifted, sharper this time. The laughter was gone. The meadow, so full of light just moments ago, suddenly felt too big, too empty. She turned toward the house, her pulse quickening. “Mom! Dad! I can’t find—”

The ground trembled and the world cracked open with a sound so loud it swallowed thought. A roar ripped through the sky—then another, closer. A burst of light seared the horizon. The air itself seemed to shudder.

Her parents burst out of the house, eyes wide. Her mother’s hands found her shoulders, gripping tight. “Stay close, Allie,” she commanded, but her voice wavered.

Her father’s breath came fast. “Slavers.” He turned toward the fields, scanning the dimming sky. “We need to hide. Now.”

Allie’s stomach lurched. “But Jace—” 

“Go! Hannah, take Allie and hide, now ! I’ll go find Jace!” he shouted and sprinted off as what Allie thought was a tin can crashed against the house, releasing a swell of grey smoke into the air. Her heart sank to her stomach as she reached for her father—

“Dad! No—I wanna go with you, I need to ma—”

Her father turned, searching the darkening fields. His jaw was tight, his breath fast, but when he knelt in front of her, his hands were steady as they gripped her shoulders. “Allie,” he said, low and firm. “Listen to me. You are going to survive this.”

She shook her head. “Dad—”

“No. No arguments. You will survive. Do you hear me?” Her throat felt thick. She nodded. “There will be times when you feel like you shouldn’t have. Like it should’ve been someone else.” His grip tightened for just a second. “But you are my daughter. And my daughter would not let the bastards decide what she’s worth.”

Her breath hitched. “I—I don’t want to leave you.”

His smile was small, sad. “I know.” He cupped her face, just for a moment, rough thumb brushing over her cheek. “But you’re going to do this---I trust you. You keep your mother safe. You get through this, and I'll go find Jace." 

She reached after him. “Dad—” but her mother was already pulling her back, dragging her toward the house.

Inside, everything felt too small. The walls pressed in. The kitchen table sat untouched, the scent of dinner still thick in the air. The world was ending outside, and yet here was home, still holding the last remnants of normalcy.

Her mother shoved her into the closet, following in after her. The dark swallowed them whole.

“Don’t make a sound,” her mother whispered. “Maybe they won’t come in.”

Allie’s breath hitched in her throat as she pressed against her mother, feeling her tiny body tremble beside her. The sounds of destruction roared outside—the shouts of men, the wails of mothers, and the unmistakable crackle of gunfire. Each sound sliced through the stillness, tearing away any sense of calm as the noises could be heard closer to them. 

“Alison,” her mother whispered, holding a finger to her lips. “Whatever happens…don’t look back. Keep going, okay, you have to keep going, okay?” She nodded, unsure how to respond as tears burned in the corners of her eyes. 

Time stretched, the seconds feeling like hours as they waited in silence, clinging to each other in the dark. Allie could hear her mother’s whispered prayers, a soft chant of hope faltering beneath the weight of fear. The world outside had become a nightmare, a reality she couldn’t comprehend; she wanted to believe they would be safe, that this was just a dream from which they would awaken, but deep down, a hollow dread settled in her stomach. Where is Dad? What happened to Jace? Are they dead? 

“Mom, what’s gonna ha—”

She was interrupted by the door before them bursting open. Chaos erupted in their home. Allie heard her mother scream, the sound piercing through the air like shattering glass. The door splintered apart, crashing against the wall as three Batarian raiders stormed in, their four dark eyes gleaming with malice. Their muscular forms were adorned with makeshift armor—scraps of metal and leather that did little to disguise their brutal intent. They moved with an aggressive confidence, each step a reminder they were predators in search of easy prey. The air thickened with their guttural shouts echoing through the small house, barking orders at each other in a language Allie couldn’t understand.

This is it , she thought, I’m going to die. The warmth and security of her family disintegrated, leaving only fragments of memories swirling in the air around her. The shrill cries of her mother, desperate and pleading, filled Allie’s ears, urging her to move, to act. Time seemed to stretch as terror gripped her heart.

Her instincts kicked in, overriding the paralysis of shock. She darted across the room, her small frame slipping through the chaos. In one fluid motion, she grabbed the heavy metal cooking pot from the counter, its surface still warm from the evening meal. With a primal scream of her own, she swung it at the nearest raider, the clang of metal against flesh resounding like thunder in her ears. 

One of the raiders swapped at her with his knife, “Kra’tash!” he shouted and lunged at her; she flinched back, but not fast enough. Fire licked across her face—a sharp, searing line from brow to cheek. She gasped, eyes watering, but she refused to let go of the pot. She swung again, wild, desperate. The clang of metal against bone. She cried out for her mom, swinging the pot at the raider again.

The raider stumbled back, momentarily dazed, but his companions were quick to react. One of them lunged toward her mother, hands outstretched, but Allie was faster. She thrust the pot forward, striking the raider across the face with all her strength. The force sent him crashing to the ground where he writhed in pain, allowing her mother a moment to breathe, to escape.

“Run!” her mother shouted, her voice fierce despite the fear choking her. “Run, Allie— now! Go! ” Her heart raced as she felt the hot breath of another raider on her neck; her mother took a chance and threw herself at the Batarian. Allie turned to flee, knowing that Jace was still out there and their father was searching for him. She bolted out the door and sprinted off in the direction her father went; behind her violence erupted, but she refused to look back. She kept running until she heard an explosion and saw a shuttle land about 100 yards away. Mom said run but they’re gonna see me. I have to hide.

Spotting a cluster of low-slung bushes on the edge of their property, thick and overgrown, she dove into the foliage, the sharp branches scratching at her, no this is that hogweed stuff . Still…these bushes provided the perfect cover, she was scarred, but a raider would have to be half as crazy as she was to think of diving in here for her. She curled into a ball, heart pounding, listening to the chaos around her, trying not to cry from the pain of the cut on her face or the scratches stinging on her skin.

From her hiding spot, she could hear the raiders shouting, her mother’s cries blending with her own. I wonder if Gera and Omar are okay…Dad…Jace…I’m all alone now . Tears blurred her vision, but she focused on staying silent, her breath shallow, praying they wouldn’t find her. She hugged her knees to her chest, trembling as she listened for any sign of danger. I’m all alone now . She remained hidden, squinting through the leaves as shadows moved through her home, their dark figures lit by the flickering light from inside. I’m all alone . 

***

Hours passed before the Alliance came. She was cold, her body stiff from crouching in the underbrush, but she didn’t dare move. Every sound in the dark sent a fresh jolt through her nerves—wind rattling the dry leaves, the distant crackle of something still burning, the occasional, far-off cry of something not quite human.

Then—headlights. A sharp beam cutting through the trees, carving the night open. She flinched, heart slamming against her ribs as she peered out through the tangled branches. A convoy rumbled up the dirt road, their hulls catching the faint light of the stars. Alliance. The sleek, familiar silhouettes of their vehicles were unmistakable. Her breath hitched at the sight of armored figures disembarking shuttles, their dark blue plating gleaming in the dim light. They moved with precision, weapons drawn, scanning the ruins of what had once been home.

"Secure the area!" A firm, commanding voice rang out.

She knew that voice.

Commander Malik.

Allie swallowed hard. Malik had visited Mindoir before, had spoken at her school once—told stories of pirates brought to justice, of people saved. She had believed those stories. She had believed the Alliance would come. But now, seeing the soldiers sweep forward, searching for survivors, she felt something else rise in her chest. What if they were too late?

“Over here!” someone shouted. Allie stiffened. A soldier stood by what was left of the front door, a mess of splintered wood and blackened debris. Malik strode toward them, crouching to examine the wreckage. She gripped the branch in front of her so tightly it dug into her palm. Every instinct screamed at her to stay hidden. If the batarians were still here—if they saw her move—

“Stay alert! There might be survivors!” Commander Malik shouted in the distance. “Anderson, can your squad take the back? These guys were a ways out of town, they might be hiding still.”

It was only moments later she heard a voice nearby. “This way! I think I saw something move!” One of the soldiers pointed toward the thicket where Allie hid. The group turned, converging on her location. She held her breath, heart racing as the shadows loomed closer.

Anderson knelt down, scanning the underbrush with piercing brown eyes. “Is anyone there?” he called out, his voice firm yet laced with concern. “We’re here to help! You’re safe now!” 

Through the brush, she could see his dark hair was cropped short and flecked with grey, but he looked young, despite the lines of experience etched around his eyes. Don’t move.   Don’t move.   Don’t move. Don’t move. Light. A slow, golden spill as he reached forward, parting the branches.

She flinched, breath catching in her throat.

“There you are,” he murmured. The fight bled from his expression, something softer settling in its place. “My name’s David. What’s yours?”

Her mouth felt too dry, her tongue too thick, but somehow the words tumbled out. “A-A-Allie.” She swallowed, voice cracking. “I—I’m alone.”

A flicker of something crossed his face, there and gone. He crouched lower, hand steady as he reached out. “Did you get hurt, sweetheart?”

She shook her head. “They... took Momma.” The words barely made it past her lips. “T-The raiders came in the house—they broke the door—I lost my brother and—Dad went after him.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Anderson was already pulling her free from the brush, indifferent to the thorns that snagged at her clothes, her skin. When she stumbled forward, he caught her, holding her tight. She felt small against him, smaller than she should’ve been. But his grip was steady. Solid.

“Stay close to me, Allie.” His voice was quiet now, but it didn’t waver. “We’re going to find your family. I promise.” Then, louder: “You heard her! We need to search the house!”

The soldiers moved. Allie barely saw them. Her fingers curled into the fabric of Anderson’s sleeve, and for the first time since the screaming started, since the world split open around her, she let herself relax. 

***

They never found Jace or her parents.

Just bodies. A sea of the dead.

The thought lingered, clinging to the edges of her mind like the scent of burning that had choked Mindoir’s air for days. The Alliance had combed through the ruins, calling out for survivors, promising help, but there was nothing left to salvage. Days blurred into weeks, and the hope of a reunion dimmed like the distant stars that once dotted her childhood sky. There was no forgetting the moment the Alliance explained her parents were likely taken by the raiders. How do you keep going after that? Knowing you listened to their every direction, but it wasn't enough to fix everything---nothing would bring them back, she overheard two soldiers talking when they thought she hadn't been listening, batarians sell them or kill them almost immediately.

They took her to Earth, a place she’d only known from vids—cities that stretched into the clouds, streets packed so tight there was nowhere to breathe. The foster system shuffled her between strangers who looked at her like a problem to be managed. One couple took her in for a few nights, old and kind, but she didn’t belong there. She didn’t belong anywhere.

Eventually, she was taken in by the leader of the Tenth Street Reds, living in a place where the sun rarely shined and the air was thick with pollution and desperation. It was a different kind of home, one where the sun rarely touched the cracked pavement and the air reeked of rust, garbage, and sweat. The fields of Mindoir—golden in the late summer, soft under her feet—became another ghost swallowed by the concrete.

That life was gone now.

The scent of burnt coffee drifted into her room  Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. Remi and his stupid kettle again. She checked her omni-tool. 2:00 a.m. Of course. Another night wasted staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. If Remi was already making coffee, it meant something was happening. A deal gone bad. A turf war bubbling over. Something. He just hadn’t come to wake her yet.

Nights were the worst. Too long, too quiet. They stretched into something unbearable, a space where the past curled in the corners, whispering.

She remembered the first time she stepped into the Reds’ base—a cramped, graffiti-smeared apartment stinking of cheap cigars and desperation. They sized her up with cautious looks, some testing, some amused. But they let her stay. Here, survival meant knowing the rules: trust no one, watch your back, never show weakness. Hard lessons, but necessary ones. She learned fast.

Days were spent running messages, picking pockets, learning when to fight and when to run. Nights stretched into endless reruns of a nightmare she couldn’t escape. She’d wake, heart hammering, breath shallow, hands gripping the sheets like they were all that tethered her to the present. Sometimes, she’d swear she still smelled the smoke—thick, choking, clinging to her skin.

Do something. Do something. Do something.

But there was nothing left to do.

Shepard ran a hand through her hair, shoved on a hoodie, and stared at herself in the cracked mirror on her wall. The scar bisecting her face was an old wound, but it never stopped being new. She didn’t think about it—until she did. Until her reflection caught her off guard, and suddenly, she was staring into the past, trying to find traces of her parents in her features. Mom’s hair. Dad’s nose. But that was years ago. And she wasn’t their daughter anymore.

She pulled on her boots and stepped into the kitchen, where Remi hovered over the stove, glaring at the kettle like it had personally wronged him.

“I just can’t figure this shit out!” he yelled, slamming a fist against the counter.

Shepard rolled her eyes. “Didn’t Gordo show you how to use that thing?”

“Fuck Gordo.” A sharp silence followed, cut only by the sound of her drinking straight from the orange juice carton. Remi exhaled hard. “Sorry, AJ. Just a lot going on. I’m fucking tired.”

She set the juice down. “What happened?”

He threw up his hands. “What happened? The Crew happened. Kray’s out of lockup two days, and he’s already making moves, shaking down our people like he owns the damn city.” His fingers tapped against the counter, restless. “Fucker’s tryna take our turf, Shepard.”

“We’ll handle it,” she said, voice flat. “Just shut the hell up. You’re giving me a headache.”

Remi narrowed his eyes. “‘You’re giving me a headache,’” he mimicked, voice high and mocking. She didn’t react, just waited, arms crossed, until his smirk faded. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.” He shoved a cup toward her. “Here. If you close your eyes and pinch your nose, it kinda tastes like coffee.”

Shepard took it without looking. “Here’s to nothing.”

*** 

The night pressed down on her, thick with the scent of damp asphalt and old smoke. Shepard crouched in the alley’s shadows, her fingers grazing the rough brick behind her, seeking something solid, something real. A storm loomed overhead, swollen clouds swallowing the stars, but it was the brewing violence before her that made her pulse hammer in her throat.

The Reds had intercepted the Nightfall Crew, a rival gang that had been pushing into their turf for weeks. It was a reckoning long coming, the kind that never ended clean. She had seen this before—too many times. It always started with words, posturing, the illusion that control was still in reach. And then it wasn’t.

Kray, the Nightfall Crew’s leader, cut an imposing figure, his broad shoulders straining against his jacket, his presence as heavy as the storm in the air. He stood in the center of his men, a pack waiting for their alpha’s signal, their eyes glinting under the neon glow of a faulty streetlight.

“Give us the corner,” Kray said, voice low, deliberate, like he already knew the answer. He gripped a bat wrapped in rusted wire, tilting it just enough for the light to catch. “Maybe we won’t break every bone in your bodies.”

Shepard swallowed hard, glancing at Remi.

“We should back down,” she murmured, voice barely audible over the static hum of the city.

Remi didn’t look at her, his jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides. He was like a wound pulled too tight, ready to split open.

“You don’t know these guys like I do, AJ,” he muttered. “They’ll come after us no matter what. We have to stand our ground.”

But the moment slipped from her grasp. One of the Reds lunged—brash, reckless—and steel met flesh in an instant. The alley erupted into violence, fists and blades flashing under flickering neon. Shouts blurred into one another, the sickening crunch of bone reverberating through the night.

Shepard moved before she could think, weaving through the brawl, searching for a way to pull Remi and the others back before it was too late. But the fight had already spiraled beyond control. A gun cocked. Her head snapped toward the sound—

A Crew member raised his pistol, aimed square at Remi’s back.

“No!” Shepard lunged, slamming into Remi with all the force she could muster. They hit the ground hard as a bullet splintered the brick behind them. Grit bit into her palms as she scrambled to her feet, heart hammering in her ribs. The chaos churned around her, unstoppable. And she knew, in that moment, that she couldn’t keep doing this.

When the dust settled, the Nightfall Crew was gone, licking their wounds, but victory felt hollow. The Reds had won, but what had they actually gained? Shepard watched them laugh through split lips and bloodied knuckles, celebrating a fight that could have left them dead. Her stomach twisted.

Remi wiped the blood from his mouth, spitting onto the pavement. "This isn't over, Reds. Next time, we finish it."

Shepard's chest tightened. "What do you mean, 'finish it'? We ran them off, Rem. Let it go. They'll find another place to sell their red sand and shit." 

He shook his head, jaw clenched. "They’ll come back. We have to send a message. We go after Kray first. Hit them before they hit us."

The casual way he said it sent a chill through her. Until now, the Reds had been thieves, hustlers—small-time criminals scraping by in a city that didn’t care if they lived or died. They fought when they had to, sure, but murder? That was something different. That was a line she wouldn't cross. She wasn’t even an adult yet, and already, she was watching her world shrink to nothing but blood and street corners.

"You don’t get it, AJ. If we don’t hold our ground, they’ll keep coming for us. It’s them or us."

Shepard swallowed hard. "No," she countered, throat tight. "That’s not who I am. I didn’t join the Reds to become a killer."

Remi’s laugh was bitter. "You joined ‘cause we were the only ones who’d have you. Don’t act like you’re better than us now."

The words landed like a punch. But she didn’t waver. She couldn’t. She saw the truth in his face, the quiet understanding buried under the bravado. The gang was changing, and she couldn’t follow them down that road.

That night, as the adrenaline faded and the weight of reality settled in, Shepard made her choice. She wouldn’t let herself be swallowed by this life, not after everything she’d already lost. She would be eighteen in a few months. If she stayed, she knew exactly where she’d end up—dead in a gutter or rotting in a cell. There was still time to change her life if she wanted.

Before dawn, she slipped away from the Reds’ hideout, the streets empty beneath the pale glow of streetlights. The rising sun painted the sky in streaks of orange and gold. She pulled a worn card from her pocket, its edges frayed, the ink slightly smudged. 

Commander David Anderson, Systems Alliance.

She’d carried it for five years. Never used it. Calling meant remembering more than she wanted to. But tonight had proven one thing—if she stayed, she wouldn’t make it to eighteen. And if she was going to die, she'd be damned before she didn't make it mean something.

She would fight for something real. Something that wouldn’t cost her soul. David Anderson had pulled her from the fray before, right? Maybe he'd help her now too. 

Chapter Text

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the Citadel’s skyline outside the window. The silver towers of the Presidium stretched toward the stars, their lights twinkling against the endless black of space. Inside the office, tension buzzed in the air like a barely restrained storm. Ambassador Udina stood behind his desk, his arms folded across his chest as he stared at the holo-screen before him, its display showing personnel files flickering between various images and data points.

In front of him, Captain David Anderson stood with his hands behind his back, his stance military and unwavering. He had a quiet confidence about him, a presence commanding respect, but even he looked worn under the weight of the conversation they were about to have. Across the holo-screen, Admiral Hackett’s hologram flickered slightly, the only sign that he wasn’t physically in the room.

“Let’s not pretend this decision is easy,” Udina began, his voice sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. “We’re talking about the future of the galaxy, about who gets to represent humanity as the first Spectre. This isn’t just about qualifications—it’s about trust, about reliability.”

Anderson’s jaw clenched slightly; he’d known this conversation was coming, prepared for it, but still, he hated how politics seeped into everything—even something as crucial as this. His voice was calm but firm as he responded, “I understand the stakes, Ambassador.” He knew Udina wouldn’t care for his recommendation, even if he’d told him it would carry a lot of weight. 

“Well, what about Shepard?” Udina began, pacing behind his desk, his tone laced with skepticism. He paused before the window, his back to Anderson, staring out at the bright lights of the Citadel’s bustling core. “She grew up in the colonies, orphaned on Earth after Mindoir. That kind of upbringing comes with . . . complications.”

Captain Anderson didn’t waver. He met Udina’s words head-on, his eyes steady as he spoke. “She knows how tough life can be out there. Her family was killed when slavers attacked Mindoir. She’s seen the worst the galaxy has to offer, and she’s survived it.”

Anderson’s mind flashed, just for a moment, back to the reports from that day—the day everything changed for Shepard. He had been on one of the Alliance patrols sent to respond to the distress signal from Mindoir. The colony had gone silent, their last message garbled with screams and explosions. He remembered the way his stomach had twisted when they’d first entered Mindoir’s atmosphere, the sky thick with smoke, the charred remains of what had once been a thriving settlement stretching out beneath them. He could still see it—the burned-out shells of homes, the fields where crops had once grown reduced to mere ash. Homes full of life just days before now crumbled, blackened by fire. Bodies littered the streets, scattered like broken toys left behind by a careless child. The air was heavy with the acrid stench of death, and the sky was dark, blotted out by the smoke rising from the ruins. It was a sight that had burned itself into his memory, but it wasn’t just the devastation that haunted him. It was the survivors—or the lack of them.

Mindoir had been a quiet colony, far from the core worlds. A place where families settled, seeking a life of peace away from the politics of the galaxy. They hadn’t expected an attack; they hadn’t been prepared for the horror the Batarians would bring. The slave raiders had swept through with brutal efficiency, taking prisoners, killing those who resisted, and burning everything else to the ground.

And then, there was Shepard.

He remembered finding her, a small girl huddled in the wreckage of what had once been her home. She was just a child then—twelve years old—but when he’d seen her, she had already lived a lifetime of grief. Her clothes were torn, smeared with dirt and blood, and her face—her face was what stayed with him the most. Haunted, yes, but not broken. There was something in her eyes, something fierce, something that hadn’t been extinguished, even as the world around her had turned to ashes.

His troops had searched the area for survivors, some evidence that there were others, that her parents had survived. He was sympathetic, crouching down beside the girl before she would be sent back to Earth; he offered her a canteen of water, but she wouldn’t budge. She hadn’t cried since he’d found her the night before. She had stared at him with eyes far too old for her age—he knew that stare as acceptance—sorrowful, tragic acceptance. He’d seen it in his own eyes after losing a friend, and again when he and Kahlee Sanders decided to stay friends after she’d been promoted. She shared that same look, like she’d already made peace with the fact that the universe wasn’t fair, that the people she loved were gone, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. She couldn’t change that. Yet, there had been a fire there too, beneath the shock—an anger, a defiance, a will to survive.

“Are there others?” she’d whispered, her voice hoarse. Anderson hadn’t the heart to tell her the truth—not then. He had simply told her they would keep looking, even as he knew the odds were slim to none.

Hackett’s hologram flickered again as the Admiral interjected, his voice a deep, steady rumble. “That’s not the only thing she survived. She saw her whole unit die on Akuze, torn apart by thresher maws. She barely made it out alive herself. And that shit she pulled on Torfan? She could have some serious emotional scars.”

The silence that followed hung heavy in the air. Anderson knew it wasn’t just a possibility; Shepard did have scars. How could she not? That was part of why she was perfect for this. She had faced the horrors of war, of survival, and still stood tall. He straightened slightly, his voice unwavering as he responded.

“Every soldier has scars. Shepard’s a survivor .”

Udina turned, his brow furrowed, his face marked with doubt. “Is that the kind of person we want protecting the galaxy?” His words were heavy with implication, questioning not just Shepard’s capability but her very humanity. 

Anderson stepped forward, his voice steady but passionate. “That’s the only kind of person who can protect the galaxy.”

For a moment, Udina seemed to hesitate, his gaze locked on Anderson’s, searching for something—perhaps some sign of doubt, some crack in his confidence. he found none. Anderson’s belief in Shepard was unshakable.

A tense silence settled over the room, and then Udina exhaled slowly, turning back toward his desk. “I’ll make the call,” he said, his voice resigned but resolute. The weight of the decision hung in the air as he reached for his comm, the subtle click of a button echoing like the toll of a bell.

As Anderson stood there, watching Udina’s fingers move across the comm, he felt a flicker of pride and the weight of responsibility. Shepard was to be thrust into a role few could even comprehend—one that would require everything she had and more, but should anyone be able bear that weight, it was her. He knew this without a doubt.

Commander A.J. Shepard. Survivor of Mindoir, the last soldier standing on Akuze—the Butcher of Torfan. The galaxy didn’t know her name, but soon, they would.

In the year 2148, explorers on Mars discovered the remains of an ancient spacefaring civilization. In the decades that followed, these mysterious artifacts revealed startling new technologies, enabling travel to the furthest stars. The basis for this incredible technology was a force that controlled the very fabric of space and time.

They called it the greatest discovery in human history.

The civilizations of the galaxy call it... MASS EFFECT.

2183 CE - NORMANDY SR1

Commander Shepard made her way to the cockpit, her boots lightly tapping against the metal floor. She had done this walk countless times before, but something about today felt different, like the calm before a storm. The ship was preparing for its trip through a mass relay, a moment that always carried weight. This time, however, there was an undercurrent of tension that Shepard couldn’t shake. There was an air of tension on the Normandy with Nihlus, a Council Spectre aboard. She was mostly indifferent about him, cautiously so, but everyone else remained transparent in their feelings about him: they don’t like aliens on board.

She nodded briefly at Corporal Jenkins as she passed him in the corridor, his youthful enthusiasm reminded her if her earlier days in the Alliance. It would have been refreshing if she hadn’t felt so weary about the day.

“Commander,” he greeted her, his voice full of his excitement. 

Shepard offered a small smile but kept moving, her mind elsewhere. As she stepped into the CIC, Navigator Pressly nodded to her from his station. Everything felt routine, but Shepard’s instincts told her there was more going on than met the eye.

Joker’s voice crackled over the comms. “The Arcturus Prime relay is in range. Initiating transmission sequence.”

The Normandy glided effortlessly toward the glowing mass relay, the crew going about their duties with practiced precision. Shepard approached the cockpit and stood next to Nihlus, the Turian Spectre observing their every move. Joker’s hands flew across the controls, his sharp eyes never leaving the screens.

“We are connected. Calculating transit mass and destination. The relay is hot. Acquiring approach vector,” Joker declared, his voice steady but tinged with pride.

Shepard glanced at Nihlus. The Turian was a picture of calm, standing tall in his dark armor, his mandibles tight, his eyes focused on the stars outside the viewport. He was a Spectre, an elite agent of the Citadel Council, and his presence on this mission had everyone on edge—including Shepard, even if she wanted to believe his presence meant nothing else.

“The board is green. Approach run has begun. Hitting the relay in three... two... one…”

The Normandy shot forward, propelled through the mass relay in a brilliant flash of light. The familiar pull in her stomach as they transitioned across vast distances in an instant was a feeling she’d come to appreciate. There was a thrill to space travel, a beauty between the stars incomparable to anything else she’d known.

Joker ran through the systems check. “Thrusters, check. Navigation, check. Internal emissions sink engaged. All systems online. Drift... just under 1500 K.”

Nihlus gave a brief nod, “1500 is good. Your captain will be pleased.” He left.

Shepard didn’t miss the slight edge in Joker’s voice as he responded. “I hate that guy.”

Kaidan, seated next to Joker, raised an eyebrow. “Nihlus gave you a compliment—so you hate him?”

“You remember to zip your jumpsuit on the way out of the bathroom? That’s good. I just jumped us halfway across the galaxy and hit a target the size of a pinhead. So that’s incredible. Besides, Spectres are trouble. I don’t like having him on board. Call me paranoid.”

Kaidan smiled slightly. “You’re paranoid.”

Joker shrugged. “Yeah, well, only an idiot believes the official story.”

Shepard’s gaze stayed on the viewport for a moment longer before speaking, her voice even. “They don’t send Spectres on shakedown runs.”

Joker flicked a glance at her. “So there’s more going on here than the captain’s letting on.”

Before she could respond, Captain Anderson’s voice crackled over the comm. “Joker. Status report.”

“Just cleared the mass relay, Captain. Stealth systems engaged. Everything looks solid.”

“Good. Find a comm buoy and link us into the network. I want mission reports relayed back to Alliance brass before we reach Eden Prime.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. Better brace yourself, Commander. I think Nihlus is headed your way.”

Anderson’s voice came through again. “He’s already here, Lieutenant. Tell Commander Shepard to meet me in the comm room for a debriefing.”

Joker gave Shepard a look. “You get that, Commander?”

Shepard nodded, “He sounds angry. Something must have gone wrong with the mission.”

“Pfft—Captain always sounds like that when he’s talking to me,” Joker replied, his tone light but with a hint of nerves.

Kaidan smirked. “I can’t possibly imagine why.”

Shepard turned, leaving them to their banter. As she made her way toward the comm room, her thoughts turned over the details of the mission—what little she’d been told. A Spectre on a simple shakedown run? She’d never believed that for a second.

Nihlus was already waiting when she entered, the hologram of Eden Prime casting a soft glow over his armor. He didn’t turn right away, his gaze lingering on the projection.

He turned as she approached. “Commander Shepard. I was hoping you’d get here first. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

Shepard’s eyes narrowed slightly as she crossed her arms. “The captain said he’d meet me here.”

“He’s on his way,” Nihlus replied, his tone casual but direct. “I’m interested in this world we’re going to—Eden Prime. I’ve heard it’s quite beautiful.”

“They say it’s a paradise,” Shepard responded, her voice neutral. She hadn’t been to Eden Prime herself, but she had heard the stories. It was a symbol of humanity’s potential, a beacon of hope in the far reaches of space.

“Yes... a paradise,” Nihlus mused, his gaze lingering on the hologram. “Serene. Tranquil. Safe. Eden Prime has become something of a symbol for your people, hasn’t it? Proof that humanity can not only establish colonies across the galaxy but also protect them. But how safe is it, really?”

Shepard’s brow furrowed slightly. “Do you know something?”

Nihlus turned to face her fully. “Your people are still newcomers, Shepard. The galaxy can be a very dangerous place. Is the Alliance truly ready for this?”

Before Shepard could respond, Captain Anderson entered the room, his presence commanding as always. “I think it’s about time we told the Commander what’s really going on.”

Nihlus stepped back slightly, deferring to Anderson. “This mission is far more than a simple shakedown run.”

Shepard crossed her arms. “I figured there was something you weren’t telling us.”

Anderson’s expression was serious as he explained. “We’re making a covert pick-up on Eden Prime. That’s why we needed the stealth systems operational.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “I don’t like being kept in the dark, Captain.”

Anderson met her gaze. “This comes down from the top, Commander. Information strictly on a need-to-know basis. A research team on Eden Prime unearthed some kind of beacon during an excavation. It was Prothean.”

Shepard blinked in surprise. “Prothean? I thought they vanished fifty thousand years ago.”

Nihlus stepped in, his voice thoughtful. “Their legacy still remains. The mass relays, the Citadel, our ship drives—it’s all based on Prothean technology.”

Anderson nodded. “This is big, Shepard. The last time humanity made a discovery like this, it jumped our technology forward two hundred years, but Eden Prime doesn’t have the facilities to handle something like this. We need to bring the beacon back to the Citadel for proper study.”

Nihlus added, “Obviously, this goes beyond mere human interests, Commander. This discovery could affect every species in Council space.”

Shepard processed the information quickly, her mind already spinning with the implications. “Why didn’t we keep the beacon for ourselves?”

Nihlus’s eyes hardened slightly. “You humans don’t have the best reputation. Some species see you as selfish. Too unpredictable. Too independent. Even dangerous.”

Anderson’s voice softened. “Sharing that beacon will improve relations with the Council. Plus, we need their scientific expertise. They know more about the Protheans than we do.”

Nihlus shifted his weight, his gaze steady on Shepard. “The beacon’s not the only reason I’m here, Shepard.”

Anderson’s tone became more direct. “Nihlus wants to see you in action, Commander. He’s here to evaluate you.”

Shepard’s eyes narrowed. “Adds up—explains why I bump into him just about every time I turn around.” She laughed and the Captain smiled at her before getting back to business.

Anderson explained, “The Alliance has been pushing for this for a long time. Humanity wants a larger role in shaping interstellar policy. We want more say with the Citadel Council. The Spectres represent the Council’s power and authority. If they accept a human into their ranks, it shows how far the Alliance has come.”

Nihlus nodded. “Not many could have survived what you went through on Akuze. You showed a remarkable will to live—a particularly useful talent. That’s why I put your name forward as a candidate for the Spectres.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “You put my name forward? Why would a Turian want a human in the Spectres?”

Nihlus’s expression softened, almost imperceptibly. “Not all Turians resent humanity. Some of us see the potential of your species. We see what you have to offer to the rest of the galaxy—and to the Spectres.”

Anderson’s voice carried the weight of the Alliance’s hopes. “Earth needs this, Shepard. We’re counting on you.”

Shepard let the weight of Nihlus’s words sink in. It wasn’t every day a Turian Spectre vouched for a human, let alone recommended them for entry into the most elite organization in the galaxy. The idea of a human Spectre had always felt far off, something distant on the political horizon, but now, here she was—at the center of it all. Anderson and Nihlus’s eyes were on her, waiting for her response. The stakes were clear; the Prothean beacon, the mission on Eden Prime—it was all a test, a chance for her to prove herself. 

She squared her shoulders, pushing the doubts aside. If there was one thing she had learned through her life, from Mindoir, to the Reds, and to Akuze, it was that survival wasn’t about being ready—it was about stepping up when no one else could.

“So, what’s the plan, Captain?” Shepard asked, her voice steady.

Anderson nodded approvingly, sensing her resolve. “The beacon was moved to a secure location on Eden Prime, but the dig site’s still vulnerable. That’s where we come in. We’re going to assist the ground team and secure the artifact. It’s routine—but with Nihlus here, we’re expecting the unexpected.”

Nihlus stepped forward, his gaze sharp. “I’m going to scout ahead. I want to assess the situation personally before we make our move. I’ll be down there when you arrive.”

Shepard met his eyes. “You don’t trust the Alliance to handle this?”

Nihlus didn’t flinch. “It’s not about trust. I work better alone.”

Anderson gestured toward the door, signaling the end of the briefing. “Get your gear and prep your team, Commander. We’ll brief the squad on the way down.”

As Shepard turned to leave, Nihlus called after her. “Shepard.” She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. His expression softened just a fraction, his tone almost... approving. “Good luck.”

***

Shepard made her way down to the crew quarters, where Kaidan and Jenkins were already gearing up. The steady murmur of the Normandy’s systems and the low chatter of the crew settling into mission prep grounded her—there was no room for hesitation now.

Jenkins was practically vibrating with energy, rocking on his heels as he fastened the last of his armor. “Commander! Can you believe this? We’re heading to Eden Prime! Supposed to be beautiful down there.”

Shepard smirked, not unkindly. Jenkins was young, barely out of training, and radiating the kind of enthusiasm that hadn’t yet been dulled by reality. She remembered feeling that way once—before command, before Akuze.

“I’ve heard,” she said, adjusting her gloves. “But don’t let the scenery distract you. We’re here for a mission, not a sightseeing tour.”

Kaidan, already double-checking his biotic amp with methodical precision, chuckled. “Yeah, Jenkins. Try not to get killed admiring the view.”

Jenkins grinned, but there was an undercurrent of determination beneath his excitement. “I’ll be ready, Commander. Promise.”

Shepard turned to Kaidan, noting the quiet focus in his posture. Steady, dependable. She had come to appreciate that about him. “What’s your read on all this? Think we’re walking into something bigger than they’re letting on?”

Kaidan exhaled, expression thoughtful. “Wouldn’t be the first time a mission came with missing pieces. Nihlus being here says a lot—Spectres don’t just show up for routine ops. Feels like there’s more going on, but we’ll handle it.” He glanced at her. “We always do.”

Shepard nodded, settling into that same quiet confidence. Whatever waited for them on Eden Prime, they’d deal with it. Still, with a Spectre involved and talk of a Prothean beacon, it was hard to shake the feeling that they were standing on the edge of something far bigger than a routine deployment.

Back on the bridge, the Normandy slipped out of FTL, Eden Prime resolving into view on the vid-screen. Below them, the colony stretched in endless green, the picture of a thriving human settlement. Idyllic. Peaceful. At least, it should have been. The tightness in the air said otherwise.

As they neared the drop zone, Captain Anderson’s voice cut through the hushed tension. “We’re approaching the LZ. It’s quiet—too quiet. Joker, take us in low and slow. Stay off the radar.”

Joker’s hands moved smoothly over the controls, his voice light despite the edge creeping in. “Low and slow. Like we were never here.”

Anderson turned to Shepard, his expression unreadable but heavy with unspoken expectations. “This is it. You take point. Secure the beacon, assess the situation, and get back here. I’ll coordinate from the ship.”

Shepard gave a sharp nod, pulling on her helmet. The weight of the mission settled over her like the armor she wore—solid, familiar. “We’ll get it done, Captain.”

As the Normandy cut through the atmosphere, the view shifted. The green fields blurred past, giving way to something darker—smoke, thick and rising in the distance.

Then the comm crackled. Static swallowed the words, but the urgency was unmistakable.

“This is Gunnery Chief Williams of the 212! We’re under attack!—repeat—we’re taking heavy fire!—requesting assistance—Eden Prime is—” The signal fractured, then cut out entirely.

Anderson’s jaw tightened. “Get down there. Now.”

Shepard didn’t hesitate. She turned to her team—Kaidan and Jenkins already locked in and ready. A single nod, and they moved. The airlock awaited.

The Normandy’s engines whined as it hovered over the ground, the hatch opening with a hiss. Shepard stepped forward, the rush of wind and the scent of burning fields hitting her as soon as the doors opened. The peaceful paradise of Eden Prime was gone, replaced by destruction and chaos. She led her squad forward, the eerie silence of Eden Prime pressing down on them like a heavy fog. The once-thriving colony had been reduced to ashes and desolation, a haunting reminder of what had been lost. Eden Prime, humanity’s symbol of hope and growth, now lay in ruins, its pristine beauty replaced by smoke, debris, and death. Her heart clenched at the sight, the weight of the mission pressing harder on her shoulders with every step.

“Commander,” Nihlus’s voice crackled over the comms, a note of urgency threading through his tone. “This place got hit hard. Hostiles everywhere. Keep your guard up.”

Shepard’s jaw tightened. The tension in Nihlus’s voice didn’t escape her—this was no routine mission, no ordinary enemy, it gnawed at her gut like a predator circling its prey. The familiar dread from Akuze crept up, but she pushed it down. 

This wasn’t the time for ghosts.

As they moved cautiously through the smoke and haze, strange forms flickered at the edge of their vision, ghostly silhouettes shifting in the dim light. Kaidan frowned, squinting into the murk. “What the hell are those?”

“Gas bags,” Jenkins said, waving a dismissive hand. His youthful bravado was back, eager to regain his composure. “Don’t worry—they’re harmless.”

Shepard’s eyes lingered on the floating creatures, her instincts still on high alert. There was an eerie stillness to the colony, a silence that felt unnatural. Every soldier learns to trust that feeling—the quiet before an ambush, the calm before the storm.

As they pressed on, the scene grew darker, more harrowing. The ground was littered with charred corpses, human and alien alike, twisted and broken in ways that made Shepard’s stomach turn. The air, thick with the stench of burning flesh and metal, filled her lungs, the acrid scent of smoke clinging to her skin. Shepard’s fingers tightened around her rifle, the weight of her weapon an anchor in the chaos.

Jenkins crouched beside a body, his expression faltering for the first time. His voice was barely a whisper. “Oh god. What happened here?”

The rawness in his voice struck something deep within Shepard—an all-too-familiar pain. She remembered standing in the ashes of Mindoir, staring at the charred remains of the first twelve years of her life, feeling the same helplessness she saw now in Jenkins’s eyes.

Kaidan inhaled deeply, his face contorted in disgust. “Smells like smoke and death.”

Shepard held up her hand, signaling the squad to hold their position. Her instincts screamed at her—this place was wrong. Every muscle in her body tensed, waiting for the inevitable. The weight of her responsibility sat heavy on her chest. She was their Commander, and they were trusting her to lead them through this. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Never. Again.

However, Jenkins, eager and reckless, moved ahead without waiting for the all-clear. His youthful optimism pushed him forward, edging around a corner before Shepard could stop him.

“Jenkins, fall back—” she started, but her voice was cut off by the sharp whine of energy weapons.

In an instant, a swarm of geth recon drones emerged from the shadows, their metallic forms glinting menacingly in the dim light. Shepard’s heart seized, and everything seemed to slow. 

“Jenkins, watch out!” she yelled, her voice desperate and raw. She was too late. The drones unleashed a volley of fire, energy rounds ripping through Jenkins’s shields and slamming into him. The sound of the impact was sickening—his body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, before she could reach him. 

A moment of unbearable silence followed, the finality of his death settling over them like a suffocating shroud.

“Jenkins!” Kaidan’s voice cracked as he rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside their fallen comrade. His hands shook as he reached for Jenkins’s pulse, though he already knew the truth. Shepard stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She had promised herself after Akuze that she wouldn’t lose anyone else, that she wouldn’t let her squad die under her watch. Here it was again—death, ripping through her command like a blade through paper. Her fingers trembled as she crouched beside Jenkins, reaching down to gently close his lifeless eyes. “—ripped right through his shields,” Kaidan continued, his voice barely audible, laced with pain. “He never had a chance.”

Shepard swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat down. She couldn’t break now. Not in front of her team. Not when they needed her to be strong. She rose slowly, her heart heavy but her resolve steeling itself. “He deserves a burial,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the chaos raging inside her. “But we can’t help him now. I need you to stay focused.”

Kaidan nodded, though the grief hung heavy in his eyes. “Aye, aye, sir.”

They pressed on, their steps heavier, the loss of Jenkins a dark cloud hanging over them. The adrenaline coursed through her veins as more geth drones swooped in, their metallic whirs slicing through the eerie quiet. Each shot fired felt like an outlet for the emotions she had buried, her rifle bucking in her hands as they took down the drones with brutal efficiency; it was cold comfort. Every blast reminded her of the price already paid.

“Commander, I’ve got some burned-out buildings here,” Nihlus’s voice came through the comm again, grave and steady. “A lot of bodies. I’m going to check it out. I’ll try to catch up with you at the dig site.”

Shepard acknowledged with a nod he couldn’t see, though a pit of dread continued to gnaw at her gut. “Copy.” The landscape of the colony seemed to shift around them, every new corner revealing more devastation. And then they heard it—the unmistakable crack of gunfire, followed by a guttural scream.

Her pulse spiked, her body reacting before her mind caught up. She sprinted toward the sound, Kaidan at her heels, and there she was—Ashley Williams, the Gunnery Chief, thrown to the ground, scrambling to get her weapon in hand as a swarm of geth drones closed in around her.

In front of her, grotesque spikes had erupted from the ground, impaling the corpses of fallen soldiers and suspending them in the air like grim trophies. Shepard’s breath hitched at the sight, her skin crawling. The brutality of it—the sheer cruelty—struck her to her core.

“Williams!?” Shepard shouted, her voice slicing through the chaos. She leveled her rifle, firing off precise shots that tore through the geth drones. Kaidan followed suit, and together, they cleared the area.

When it was over, Ashley Williams, breathing heavily, brushed the dirt and grime from her armor as she stood. “Thanks for your help, Commander. I didn’t think I was going to make it.” She glanced at Kaidan, then back to Shepard, her eyes filled with a fiery determination. “Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams of the 212. You the one in charge here, sir?”

Shepard gave a tight nod, already assessing her for injuries. “Are you okay, Williams?”

“A few scrapes and burns. Nothing serious,” Ashley replied, her voice steady, though her eyes betrayed the trauma of the past few hours. “The others weren’t so lucky. We were patrolling the perimeter when the attack hit. Tried to get off a distress call, but they cut off our communications. I’ve been fighting for my life ever since.”

A pang of sympathy pulled at Shepard. She knew that kind of desperation, the way it clawed at you when you realized you were alone. “Where’s the rest of your squad?”

Ashley’s gaze dropped, and for a moment, her fierce exterior faltered. “We tried to double back to the beacon, but we walked into an ambush. I think…I think I’m the only one left.”

Shepard felt a sharp sting of recognition—Akuze, her squadmates torn apart, the guilt that had followed her ever since. Her family on Mindoir. Every shitty thing that had happened since. She could almost feel the weight of their eyes on her, accusing, demanding. Don’t go there , she told herself. They need you here. “This isn’t your fault, Williams,” Shepard said, her voice firm, though the ache in her chest told a different story. “You couldn’t have done anything to save them.”

Ashley straightened, though the weight of loss lingered in her eyes. She nodded, “Yessir.”

Kaidan chimed in, his brow furrowed. “The geth haven’t been seen outside the Veil in nearly 200 years. Why are they here now?”

“They must have come for the beacon,” Ashley said, her gaze sharpening as she glanced toward the horizon. “The dig site is close—just over that rise. It might still be there.”

Shepard nodded. “We could use your help, Williams.”

“Aye, aye, sir. It’s time for payback,” Ashley replied, her voice filled with steely determination. The fire in her eyes reminded Shepard of the resolve she found after Mindoir, the drive to survive no matter what. As they began their ascent toward the dig site, her mind raced, questions swirling faster than she could make sense of them. The geth, the beacon, the attack—it was all connected, but how?

“What else do you know about the geth?” Shepard asked, her voice cutting through the steady march of boots against the dirt.

Ashley took a moment, her expression thoughtful as they pushed through the smoke and ruins. “Just what I remember from history class,” she began, a shrug in her tone. “The geth are synthetics—non-organic lifeforms created by the Quarians to be cheap labor. They were meant to serve as a workforce, but... something changed. They started questioning their creators, wondering about their purpose. The Quarians tried to shut them down, but the geth rebelled—fought back.”

Shepard nodded, familiar with the story but listening for any new details. “And after that, they disappeared behind the Perseus Veil.”

“Yeah,” Ashley confirmed. “No one’s heard from them in almost 200 years. Until now.” 

Her eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon ahead. “Why come out of hiding now? And why Eden Prime? There has to be more to this.”

“They must be after the beacon,” Ashley replied, the intensity in her voice rising. “That thing’s a piece of history. If it’s as important as everyone thinks, the geth would want it as much as anyone else.”

Shepard’s gut twisted at the thought.  “What happened to the researchers at the dig site?” Shepard asked, pushing them forward, her boots crunching over the burnt-out debris scattered along the path.

“I don’t know,” Ashley said, her face darkening. “They set up camp near the beacon. The 232 was with them, but... I haven’t seen anyone from their unit since the attack.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Shepard replied, though the tension in her chest told her the chances of survivors were slim. “Have you seen a Turian around? He’s a Spectre—Nihlus. He’s been scouting the area.”

Ashley’s brow furrowed in confusion. “A Turian? No. There aren’t any Turians on Eden Prime... not that I’ve seen, anyway.”

Kaidan glanced at the commander, his voice carrying the same wariness she felt. “You’d know if you saw him. Nihlus is a Spectre. He carries enough firepower to take down an entire platoon.”

Ashley shook her head. “No Turians. I would’ve noticed that.”

Shepard’s stomach twisted. Something didn’t sit right. Nihlus was out there somewhere, and the sooner they found him, the sooner she could figure out what the hell was really happening. “Let’s keep moving,” she ordered, her tone firm despite her anxiety. The pieces weren’t adding up, and that unsettled her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

The landscape shifted as they neared the dig site, the once fertile ground of Eden Prime now littered with destruction. Ruined buildings, scorched earth, and bodies—human and geth—strewn across the field. The beacon had to be close.

“The beacon’s at the far end of this trench,” Ashley stated, her voice grim as they moved closer. Shepard saw the exhaustion in her eyes, the weight of the fight wearing on her; Ashley was tough, like all soldiers who had survived this long.

Kaidan glanced down at the grotesque sight of impaled bodies, their forms stiff and twisted, hanging lifeless from spikes that jutted from the earth like monstrous spears. His voice was low, a mix of horror and disgust. “Eden Prime will never be the same again.”

Ashley nodded, her voice cold. “That man was still alive when they stuck him on the spike. The geth didn’t just kill us—they wanted us to suffer.” Shepard felt a chill creep up her spine. The scene before her was more than just death—it was a display of power, a warning. Whoever was behind this wanted fear to spread, wanted them to feel powerless, and that made her anger burn hotter.

“Killing us isn’t enough for them,” Kaidan said, his jaw tight as they moved forward. “They’re using terror as a weapon.”

“Classic psychological warfare,” Shepard muttered, scanning the ridge as they approached. Her gut told her something was waiting for them just ahead. “They’re trying to send a message.”

Ashley’s gaze darkened. “Well, message received. Let’s make them regret it.” Shepard couldn’t withhold a smile—she liked Ashley; she reminded her of herself, or who she thought she was anyway. Who everyone said she was. 

As they approached the dig site, Shepard’s pulse quickened. She could feel the tension in the air, the same kind of tension she’d felt before walking into the worst firefights of her life. The beacon had to be here. When they arrived, all that was left was devastation.

“This is the dig site,” Ashley breathed, her eyes scanning the area. “The beacon was right here. It must have been moved.”

“By who?” Kaidan asked, frustration seeping into his voice. “Us? Or the geth?”

Ashley frowned. “Hard to say. Could be either. We need to find the research camp—maybe the scientists have answers.”

Shepard’s heart thudded in her chest. The beacon’s not here. This entire mission hinged on securing it, and now it had vanished. She forced the frustration down. They couldn’t lose focus. Not now.

“Do you think anyone got out of here alive?” Shepard asked, her voice taut with a hope that felt fragile, even to her.

“If they were lucky,” Ashley replied, her tone clipped. “Maybe some of them are hiding up in the camp. It’s just at the top of this ridge. Up the ramps.”

Shepard nodded, signaling for the team to move. They advanced with caution, weapons drawn, the weight of loss and urgency driving them forward.

Then, Nihlus’s voice broke over the comms, his tone sharp through the crackle. “Change of plans, Shepard. There’s a small spaceport up ahead. I want to check it out. I’ll wait for you there.”

She sighed, relieved. Nihlus was still out there, still moving, still a part of the mission. “Copy that. We’re on our way.”

Chapter Text

The sky loomed dark and ominous as they approached the spaceport, thick with a sense of foreboding that clung to the air like a heavy mist. The immense ship overhead, a shadow that seemed to blot out the stars, cast the spaceport in an unnatural twilight. Its engines emitted a deep hum, resonating through the ground beneath Shepard’s boots, like the heartbeat of some ancient beast stirring from a long slumber. Each step felt heavier than the last as they made their way toward the ridge. She felt on the edge, hairs on the back of her neck prickling against her suit. Every instinct screamed they were walking into something far worse than they could imagine. This isn’t just about the beacon anymore. The thought gnawed at her gut, making the air taste metallic, it felt like Mindoir, but this time, she feared, would take more than family—it would tear everything apart.

Before they crested the ridge, through the swirling smoke and twisted metal Nihlus stood still, too still, like a statue carved from shadow. Across from him, another figure loomed—another turian, his features sharp and angular, his silhouette imposing in the dim light. Their voices were carried on the wind, faint whispers of something sinister, barely reaching her ears.

Nihlus stood rigid yet at ease—comfortable…like he was in the midst of a friend, but the way the other turian moved with predatory grace, could set anyone’s teeth on edge. Something was deeply, terribly wrong. Nihlus’s voice, strained but calm, like a man trying to hold back a tide. “Saren. What are you doing here? This mission was classified.”

“When you left the Citadel, your files were transferred to me; the Council thought you could use some help.” 

“Ah,” Nihlus sighed, pacing. He turned his back to Saren as he reviewed the area. “Something is going on here, it’s a wasteland. The entire colony’s been destroyed—”

The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the air. The world seemed to stop for a beat, the sound echoing in Shepard’s mind like the tolling of a death knell; she ushered the team forward and as they crested the hill, she saw Nihlus’s body jerk, his knees buckling as he collapsed to the ground. Her heart lurched, a cold, hollow pit forming in her chest as she watched his lifeless form crumple onto the cold steel platform. The space between them felt impossibly vast, like an ocean opening up beneath her feet, threatening to swallow her whole.

Shepard ran, her boots pounding against the ground, the sound muffled by the roar of blood in her ears. Her lungs burned as she reached Nihlus’s side, dropping to her knees beside him. Her fingers trembled as they pressed against the side of his neck, searching desperately for a pulse, for any sign of life. Fuck is this even where I’d feel it? I should really take an alien physiology class.

Nothing.

The warmth of his body was already fading, his expression frozen in a moment of betrayal. Shepard swallowed against the bile rising in her throat, her chest tightening painfully. Not again. Not another one.

Behind her, Kaidan’s voice broke through the ringing in her ears. “What just happened?” Footsteps behind them set her mind back on task, her gun raised at another human, his hands raised in surrender. 

“Don’t shoot! I-I work here—I was behind these crates when those things attacked!” 

“Did you see what happened here?” Shepard asked, her gun still raised.

“That other turian…shot that one in cold blood…while he has back turned. It sounded like they knew each other—friends even.”

“Another turian?” Kaiden asked, meeting the Commander’s gaze as she lowered her gun. “What the hell is going on here?”

“He—the d-dead one, c-called him ‘Saren,’” the dock worker explained, still trembling. 

“Saren?” Ashley asked, like she recognized the name.

Shepard couldn’t pull her gaze from Nihlus’s face, the weight of failure pressing down on her like a stone, but she forced herself to respond. “Saren,” she spat, the name like venom on her tongue.

“That’s the name of another Spectre, isn’t it?” Kaiden wondered aloud. 

Shepard’s fists clenched at her sides. “Not anymore. He just killed Nihlus. He’s…he’s gone.”

Kaidan knelt beside her, his face pale with disbelief. “Why would a Spectre betray the Council like this?”

Shepard’s heart hammered in her chest. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” The storm inside her was building, fierce and unrelenting. She forced herself to stand, her legs shaky beneath her as the adrenaline dulled the pain of grief and sharpened her focus. The mission wasn’t over. Nihlus was gone, but his death wasn’t the end of it—there was still the beacon, still Saren, still answers she needed to find. “We need to find that beacon,” Shepard said, her voice low but hard. “If Saren’s after it, there’s more to this than we know.”

***

The squad approached the cargo train, the landscape around them a wreck of debris, metal, and scorched earth. The once-pristine colony was now a wasteland, with the faint hum of distant machinery and the whirring sound of geth troopers looming over them like an ever-present threat. The air felt charged, heavy with the scent of ozone and something else—something metallic, like blood on steel.

Shepard motioned for her team to move forward, her eyes scanning the dark horizon, where flickering green lights danced ominously in the distance. They stepped aboard the cargo train in silence, their boots clanking against the cold metal floor. The train lurched into motion, carrying them forward into the belly of the chaos, where the fate of the colony—and perhaps the galaxy—was waiting. The train’s rhythmic clatter soon gave way to the harsh reality on the ground. When they reached their destination, the sight that greeted them was enough to chill the blood. The massive Prothean beacon stood in the distance, its surface pulsing with an unnatural green glow that seemed almost alive, as though the ancient technology were awakening from a long slumber.

Ahead of them, Saren moved with the cold precision of a predator, his sharp features illuminated by the beacon’s light. He was directing his troops, his voice low and commanding, as he surveyed the scene.

“Set the charges,” Saren ordered the geth. His voice was clipped, each word a dagger. “Destroy the entire colony. Leave no evidence that we were here.” The green light from the beacon flickered like a pulse, casting long shadows across the ruins. Saren stood before it, close enough to touch, his face hard as stone. As the beacon’s light grew brighter, he stepped toward it. In an instant, it grabbed hold of him, lifting him into the air. His body floated, suspended in the beam’s glow, and the edges of his form shimmered as though reality itself were warping around him.

Shepard’s breath caught in her throat. What is that thing doing to him?

There was no time to ponder—their mission became terrifyingly clear.

“Demolition charges!” Kaidan shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos as they disembarked the train. “The geth must have planted them.”

Ashley’s face twisted with urgency, her eyes wide as she scanned the area. “Hurry! We need to find them all and shut them down before this place goes up in flames.”

The seconds blurred as they moved, racing against time. The scent of burning metal and smoldering bodies filled the air, mingling with the acrid tang of explosives. They pushed through waves of geth troopers, the metallic clang of their footfalls sending vibrations up through Shepard’s legs. The tension was electric, every heartbeat hammering in her ears as they scrambled to find the bombs.

The ground felt unstable beneath her feet as they defused the last of the demolition charges, each click of the deactivation process a small victory against the impending destruction. After clearing the final wave of geth, the squad made their way back toward the beacon. Shepard’s chest heaved with the exertion, the weight of their narrow victory pressing down on her shoulders like a heavy cloak.

She activated her comm. “Normandy, the beacon is secure. Requesting immediate evac.”

Kaidan’s face was lit with awe as he approached the Prothean artifact, the glowing green energy dancing across his features. “This is amazing. Actual working Prothean technology. I can’t believe it.”

Ashley shook her head, her voice tinged with disbelief. “It wasn’t doing anything like that when they dug it up. Something must have activated it.”

“Roger, Normandy,” Shepard replied over the comm. “Standing by.”

As the hum of the Normandy’s engines began to grow faint in the distance, Kaiden moved closer to the beacon, curiosity pulling him forward. The beacon’s light pulsed brighter, almost as though it were reacting to his presence. Shepard’s heart skipped a beat.

The beacon flared, its light lashing out like a serpent, wrapping around him as he stumbled backward in shock. 

“No!” Ashley’s voice was desperate, his grip firm as he held her back. “Don’t touch it! It’s too dangerous!” Shepard rushed in, grabbing him by the arm, and pulling him away from the beam’s grasp.

The moment Kaiden was pulled to safety, the beacon’s energy latched onto Shepard. She felt the searing pull deep in her bones, like invisible chains yanking her toward the light. Her body jerked upwards, weightless, her limbs flailing as she was pulled into the air. 

“Commander!” Kaiden yelled, but Ashley held him back—

“You can’t it’s too dangerous!” 

They could only watch as the green light swallowed her, enveloping her in shattering images, flashes of death tore through her consciousness like shards of glass. She saw planets burning, entire civilizations falling under the crushing weight of mechanical giants. Their forms were massive and dark, casting shadows over entire worlds as they obliterated everything in their path. 

Shepard was helpless, suspended in the air as the visions ripped through her mind. Planets burned in a fiery apocalypse, cities crumbled to ash, and aliens—millions of them—were slaughtered beneath the crushing force of dark, towering machines. Their red eyes gleamed like the fires of hell, sweeping across the galaxy with a cold, merciless precision. The screams of the dying echoed in Shepard’s ears, each one more haunting than the last. 

It wasn’t just destruction—it was extinction.

Her mind swirled with images of vast and ancient machines, ships, their shapes blotting out the sun as they descended upon helpless worlds. Their dark, metallic forms were like the harbingers of the end, the embodiment of death itself. The very fabric of the universe seemed to tremble under their approach, as if reality itself was being torn apart by their presence. She could hear them, their voices like whispers in her mind, a chorus of chaos singing annihilation. We are eternal. We are inevitable. The words cut through her, filling her with a deep, primal terror unlike anything she had ever felt. 

Shepard hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from her lungs as the visions snapped away like a severed connection. Her body was heavy, sluggish, as though the weight of the entire galaxy was pressing down on her chest. She gasped, her mind still reeling from the sheer force of the images that had invaded her thoughts. Through her blurred vision, she could see Kaidan and Ashley rushing toward her, their faces tight with concern. She could barely hear them over the pounding in her skull, her heart racing as if it were trying to escape her chest.

“Commander!” Kaidan’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent. “Shepard, can you hear me?”

Shepard’s limbs felt weak and unresponsive, but she managed a small nod, her breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. The ground beneath her was cold, unyielding, and the distant hum of the beacon’s energy seemed to pulse in time with the throbbing in her head. 

Ashley knelt beside her, her voice soft but shaken. “Don’t worry—we’ll get you to the….” 

Her hearing faded with a piercing ringing, tinnitus, and her vision swam; the weight of the beacon’s power still pressed against her mind, lingering like the remnants of a nightmare. She could still feel it—the dark presence of death, a massacre—lurking at the edge of her thoughts. 

Darkness overcame her. 

***

Shepard’s eyes opened to the safety of the Normandy's med bay. The metallic surface of the med bay bed beneath her was cold, but it also grounded her as she shook off the last remnants of sleep.

Ashley stood at the foot of her bed, her expression a blend of worry and relief. “Doctor? Doctor Chakwas? I think she’s waking up.”

The doctor approached, her eyes filled with concern, “You had us worried there, Shepard. How are you feeling?”

She pushed herself into a sitting position, cringing with the creak in her muscles. “Minor throbbing. Nothing serious. How long was I out?”

“About fifteen hours,” Chakwas replied, her tone steady but laced with an undercurrent of anxiety. “Something happened down there with the beacon, I think.”

Kaiden's weight shifted nearby, and she finally noticed him standing just a few feet away. “It’s my fault. I must have triggered some kind of security field when I approached it. You had to push me out of the way.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Shepard said, her voice firm yet soothing. She met his gaze, the weight of her words settling like a protective shield between them. “You had no way to know what would happen. Nothing that happened down there was your fault.”

A flicker of relief crossed Kaiden's features, his tension visibly easing into a soft, accepting smile. Chakwas interjected, “Actually, we don’t even know if that’s what set it off. Unfortunately, we’ll never get the chance to find out.”

Ashley looked down, her voice near a whisper, “The beacon exploded. A system overload, maybe. The blast knocked you cold. The Lieutenant and I carried you back here to the ship.”

“I appreciate it,” Shepard said, gratitude flooding her voice like sunlight breaking through clouds. "What's the damage, Karin?"

Dr. Chakwas studied her readings, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Physically, you’re fine. However, I detected some unusual brain activity—abnormal beta waves. I also noticed an increase in your rapid eye movement, signs typically associated with intense dreaming.”

“I was dreaming,” Shepard murmured, the remnants of her vision still vivid in her mind. “Not a dream. A vision,” she corrected herself, the weight of that realization settling heavily on her heart. “It was more like a nightmare,” she added, her eyes darkening as she recalled the horrors she had glimpsed. “I saw— I’m not sure what I saw. Death. Destruction. Nothing’s really clear.” The images flooded back—chaos and blood, faces contorted in agony.

“Hmm. I’d better add this to my report. It may— Oh, Captain Anderson—” The doctor’s words trailed off as the imposing figure of Captain David Anderson entered the room, his presence filling the space with authority.

“How’s our XO holding up, Doctor?” he asked, concern etched into his rugged features.

“All the readings look normal. I’d say the Commander’s going to be fine,” Chakwas assured him, but the lingering shadows in her eyes hinted at her unease.

Anderson turned to the Commander, his voice low and steady. “Glad to hear it. Shepard, I need to speak with you—in private.” 

Kaiden snapped to attention, saluting. “Aye, aye, Captain. I’ll be in the mess if you need me.” With a last, lingering glance at Shepard, he slipped out, the Gunnery Chief behind him, leaving the two officers in the subdued light of the med bay.

“Sounds like that beacon hit you pretty hard. You sure you’re okay, Allie?" he asked, his brow furrowed, portraying genuine concern. Ever since she'd asked for his help getting out of the Tenth Street Reds, he'd always looked at her like this when she was injured. She could never forget the way he looked at her after Akuze--it was like he knew exactly how she was feeling, and the look on his face...it was obvious he hated how she'd felt this kind of loss before and was forced to endure it again.

“I don’t like soldiers dying under my command,” she replied, a bitter edge creeping into her tone. The weight of Jenkins’ death pressed heavily on her heart, another reminder of her failures. 

Anderson shook his head, his expression a mix of sympathy and resolve. “Jenkins wasn’t your fault. You did a good job, Shepard.”

“I feel bad about it,” she insisted, the words tumbling out like a cascade of grief. “I was surprised to see Williams here—glad we didn’t leave her on Eden Prime,” she added, her voice growing firmer with the hope of changing the subject.

“I figured we could use a soldier like her. She’s been reassigned to the Normandy,” Anderson replied. 

“Good---Williams is a good soldier. She deserves it,” Shepard asserted, a flicker of pride igniting in her chest. "I wanted her here...she lost her whole squad, Anderson."

“That’s why I added her to our crew,” Anderson confirmed, his respect for her judgment evident. "Thought you'd feel that way. So what happened down there?" 

Shepard’s brow furrowed, her frustration boiling beneath the surface. “Intel dropped the ball, sir. We had no idea what we were walking into down there. That’s why things went to hell.”

“The geth haven’t been outside the Veil in two centuries, Commander. Nobody could have predicted this,” Anderson replied, but the tension in the room was palpable.

“I feel bad about Jenkins,” she said again, unwilling to let go of the guilt that clung to her like a second skin; she hadn’t meant to repeat herself, but the throbbing in her head brought it out.

“I won’t lie to you, Shepard. Things look bad. Nihlus is dead. The beacon was destroyed, and the geth are invading. The Council’s going to want answers.”

“We’ve got nothing to hide,” she countered, her voice rising with indignation. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Captain. Hopefully, the Council can see that.”

“I’ll stand behind you and your report, Commander. You know you’re a damned hero in my books,” Anderson said, his unwavering support a small comfort amid the turmoil. “But that’s not why I’m here. It’s Saren, that other Turian. Saren’s a Spectre, one of the best. A living legend, but if he’s working with the geth, it means he’s gone rogue. A rogue Spectre’s trouble. Saren’s dangerous, and he hates humans.”

“Hates humans?” Shepard echoed, a chill creeping down her spine. 

“He thinks we’re growing too fast, taking over the galaxy. A lot of aliens think that way. Most of them don’t do anything about it, but Saren has allied himself with the geth. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. I only know it had something to do with that beacon. You were there just before the beacon self-destructed. Did you see anything? Any clue that might tell us what Saren was after?”

“I’m not sure,” Shepard admitted, the memory flickering at the edges of her mind. “Just before I lost consciousness, I had some kind of vision.”

“A vision? A vision of what?”

“It was like—like a warning,” she said, her heart racing. “I saw synthetics. geth, maybe. Slaughtering people. Butchering them.”

“We need to report this to the Council, Shepard,” Anderson urged, his eyes narrowing with urgency.

“What will we say? I had a bad dream?” she scoffed, disbelief mingling with frustration.

“We don’t know what information was stored in that beacon. Lost Prothean technology? Blueprints for some ancient weapon of mass destruction? Whatever it was, Saren took it. I know Saren. I know his reputation, his politics—he believes humans are a blight on the galaxy.” 

“We prove Saren’s gone rogue, and the Council will revoke his Spectre status,” Shepard asserted, her mind racing with strategies and possibilities.

“I’ll contact the ambassador and see if he can get us an audience with the Council. He’ll want to see us as soon as we reach the Citadel. We should be getting close. Head up to the bridge and tell Joker to bring us into dock.”

Chapter Text

The vast Council Chamber loomed above Commander Shepard as she stepped into the heart of the Citadel, an imposing arena where the fate of every species hung delicately in the balance. The air was thick with tension, vibrating with the anxious whispers from onlookers who filled the expansive space. Their eyes—some filled with awe, others with skepticism—bore witness to the gathering of the galaxy’s elite.

Shepard’s gaze swept over the Council, each member seated on their elevated platform, embodiments of authority in their alien elegance. The turian Councilor, Sparatus, sharp-featured and proud, wore the weight of his species’ militaristic traditions like a finely tailored uniform. Beside him, the asari Councilor, Tevos, radiated serene confidence, her blue skin glowing softly beneath the chamber’s ambient light, slicked-back appendages framing her regal face, a queen in an ethereal court. She was beautiful; she could spend years getting lost in the asari—their biotics, their culture—an entire race lacking men. The salarian, Counselor Valern, with his elongated body and darting eyes, exuded a frenetic energy, his very presence a reminder of their race’s quicksilver intellect.

Above them, the holographic visage of Saren flickered to life, gliding effortlessly through the air like a predator waiting for the opportune moment to strike. His image was as imposing as the real thing—his confident posture and glinting eyes seemingly mocking the very assembly that held his fate in their hands.

“Commander Shepard,” the turian councilor began, “pleased to see you’re alright.” His words dripped with a formality both genuine and strained, a smile barely concealing a grimace in his mandibles.

Shepard nodded, her heartbeat a dull thud in her ears. The council’s collective scrutiny pressed against her like a physical force. 

Councilor Sparatus continued, his tone shifting, “That said, Nihlus is dead, the Prothean beacon is destroyed, and your report says the geth have returned. This is not good.” Each word felt like an avalanche, burying her under the magnitude of failure and loss.

The asari councilor interjected, her voice smooth and melodic, yet laced with urgency. “The geth haven’t traveled outside the Veil in two centuries.” The gravity of her statement hung in the air, a portent of looming threats.

“Not to mention,” Sparatus continued, “the C-Sec investigation of Saren has come back with no evidence to support your charge of treason.” Their words cut through the room’s warmth, sending shivers of disbelief down Shepard’s spine.

“There was an eye-witness account!” Ambassador Udina’s voice rose in protest, a tempest in the calm sea of the council chamber, desperate to break the surface of complacency.

Counselor Valern's eyes darted as he scrutinized the details, “I’ve read the report. The testimony of a traumatized dock worker is hardly credible.” His voice was a measured rhythm, like the ticking of a clock, each moment echoing with the weight of doubt.

From the hologram, Saren’s expression twisted into a sneer. “I resent these accusations,” he declared, his tone smooth yet dripping with disdain, like oil on water. “Nihlus was a fellow Spectre, and a friend.”

The words struck her like a slap, igniting a fierce fire within her. Captain Anderson’s fist pounded the podium as he shouted— “Which is why he let his guard down!”

Saren’s holographic form shifted, his gaze pinning Shepard with a predatory intensity. “Captain Anderson, you always seemed to be involved when humanity makes false charges against me. And this must be your protégé? Wasn’t destroying the beacon enough, Commander? You have to destroy my reputation too?”

“You’re the one who destroyed the beacon, then left me to be framed!” Shepard shot back. She felt the pulse of her resolve coursing through her, a current of defiance.

Saren’s retort was laced with condescension. “Sure, shift the blame to cover up your own failures. Just like Captain Anderson. It seems he’s taught you well.”

Shepard’s hands balled into fists, anger crackling through her veins like static. “I’ll teach you to—”

“Learn your place in the galaxy, human,” Saren’s voice slithered through the chamber like poison. “You’re not ready to join the council. You’re not even ready to join the Spectres.” His words were a blade, cutting through any pretense of civility, leaving a gaping wound of disdain in their wake.

Udina, his voice taut with frustration, interjected. “He has no right to say that! It is not his decision!”

Councilor Tevos raised a graceful hand, her voice calm but firm. “Shepard’s admission into the Spectres is not the purpose of this meeting.”

Saren scoffed, his hologram flickering with barely contained irritation. “This meeting has no purpose! The humans are wasting your time, Councilor, and mine.”

“You can’t hide behind the council forever. We haven’t even addressed Shepard’s vision—the one caused by the beacon," Anderson growled, leaning forward.

Shepard closed her eyes, the images flashing through her mind like a series of brutal shocks. Synthetics. Machines. A dying race. Genocide. The memory of the vision clung to her, wrapping around her thoughts like the grasp of something dark and insidious. It was a warning, a glimpse of something vast and terrifying.

Saren’s laughter rang out, sharp and cold, pulling her from the depths of her thoughts. “Are we allowing dreams into evidence now? How can I defend my innocence against this kind of testimony?”

Sparatus frowned, his voice growing sterner. “I agree. Our decisions must be based on facts and evidence. Not imaginings and speculations.” 

“If there’s nothing else you have to say,” the salarian councilor’s voice snapped like the closing of a book, “this trial is adjourned.”

And just like that, the moment slipped from her grasp. The truth, the urgency, the fear—all of it seemed to dissolve into the sterile formality of the chamber. Anderson stepped back from the podium, their failure felt suffocating.

Councilor Tevos's voice was the last thing Shepard heard before the bitter silence settled in. “Then, the council finds no connection between Saren and the geth. Nihlus may have been lost, but it seems Shepard did what she could to save him and the beacon.”

Saren’s hologram flickered once more, and in an instant, was gone. His mocking presence left a void that filled the chamber with a sense of finality, the bitter taste of injustice lingering in the air like ash.

She stood there, fists clenched at her sides, and teeth grinding against the unfairness of it all. The Council didn’t believe her. How could they not see what was right in front of them?

***

The air in the Presidium was lighter, but only marginally. The sheer openness of the space, with its sweeping walkways and glittering fountains, did little to alleviate the frustration building in Shepard’s chest. She walked alongside Anderson and Udina, the weight of the Council’s decision hanging between them like a storm cloud that refused to break.

“They didn’t listen,” Shepard muttered, her voice low and filled with disbelief.

Udina sighed, his irritation barely concealed. “It was a mistake bringing you in there, Anderson. You have too much history with Saren. The Council questioned our motives from the start.”

Anderson’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he dodged a passing keeper, the insect-like creature moving with mechanical efficiency as it adjusted a vent on the floor. He started speaking, but Shepard just stared at the keeper’s small, green body moved fluidly, its tiny claws clicking as it lifted the vent panel and adjusted the wiring beneath. Shepard felt a pang of unease as she watched it work—just another reminder of how little control they had in this place. “...to exterminate the entire human race,” Anderson’s words dropped like a stone into the pit of her stomach. Their finality echoed in her mind.

Udina rolled his eyes, frustration evident in the lines etched across his face. “Even if he’s half as dangerous as you say, he’s virtually untouchable. He’s a Spectre.” The words felt like a death sentence, the bureaucratic chains that held them down.

Another keeper scuttled across the walkway, moving toward the towering statue of a mass relay that stood proudly in the center of the plaza. Shepard watched as it attempted to adjust the massive structure, its small, frail arms pushing against something far too large for it to move. Udina annoyed the hell out of her; she agreed with Anderson, but they both knew politics would outweigh whatever they had to say—regardless how urgent.

Anderson’s voice cut through her thoughts, his tone edged with urgency. “I don’t know what else was in that beacon, but you can be sure Saren will find a way to use it against our ships, colonies—maybe even Earth.”

Udina’s eyes flashed with doubt. “You’re overreacting.”

“No, I’m not,” Anderson said, his voice low and resolute. “Saren is dangerous, and we’re running out of time.”

The keeper she was watching shuffled away, moving to another vent, and Anderson’s words hung heavy in the air. Her mind raced, the memories of that vision still gnawing at her consciousness. Images of devastation and mechanical horrors flooded back, and she clenched her fists, pushing the fear down.

“Saren has a head start,” Shepard muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “And we’re standing here talking.”

Anderson’s jaw tightened, his gaze hard. “I have a contact in C-Sec, Garrus Vakarian. He was leading their investigation into Saren. It’s as good a place to start as any.”

Udina turned to him sharply, frustration brimming beneath his diplomatic composure, he shoved a finger in Anderson’s face, “I will not have the Council use your history with Saren as an excuse to ignore anything we turn up.” His voice was clipped, as though he were trying to contain the fury bubbling just beneath the surface. “Shepard will handle this.”

“You can’t do that to him—” she started, but Anderson raised his hand. 

“It’s all right, Shepard. The Ambassador has a point—I’d like you to take this anyway.”

She looked at Anderson, nodding firmly. “No worries, Captain. I’ve got this.” 

Anderson gave her a steady look, his trust clear in his eyes. “I know you do.”

***

The Citadel Security (C-Sec) headquarters was so dark compared to the grandeur of the Presidium. The atmosphere was tense, bustling with the constant flow of officers, detainees, and various species moving in and out of holding cells and workstations. Shepard could feel the pulse of life here—efficient and relentless. She loved the Citadel for this reason; it was always busy—there was always something to do, and it felt alive. Growing up mostly around humans, she’d only encountered a few aliens taking trips to the human home-world, but her interest in them never faded or changed; different species meant different ideas, new approaches to life, and everyone had something different to make the galaxy better.

Humans, she thought, laughing a bit, were tenacious and stubborn. The asari were beautiful and multi-talented, their technological advancements and mastery of biotics making them both formidable and graceful. They were the bridge between tradition and progress, their long lives granting them wisdom that seemed to flow like water through everything they touched. 

The salarians, by contrast, were quick—both in mind and body. Their intellect and boundless curiosity propelled innovation across the galaxy, and their problem-solving skills made them invaluable in situations requiring swift action. Shepard admired their efficiency, how they could dismantle a puzzle or crisis before others even realized one existed. 

And then there were the turians, with their military precision and unwavering sense of duty. Shepard respected their discipline, their strict adherence to honor and responsibility. The way they approached everything with a soldier’s mentality reminded her of the best parts of humanity—the drive to stand tall in the face of adversity, to protect and serve for the greater good—to live with integrity, paragons of truth and love.

Other races, like the elusive drell, intrigued Shepard in different ways. Their spiritual connection to their memories, the way they saw life as fleeting yet sacred, always gave her pause, as though they held secrets to the universe no one else could grasp. The hanar, soft-spoken and diplomatic, communicated with elegance, their bioluminescent forms a gentle reminder of the beauty in calmness and careful thought. The elcor could always make her laugh, and there were times over the years she would attempt to imitate their speech if only to keep herself from breaking down; right before the thresher maw killed her unit on Akuze, she’d done this very thing to keep up morale, “with calm deliberation: we should proceed carefully.” She wished that was what she thought of whenever she remembered Akuze. It was rare for her to imagine how things were before.

Each species brought something unique to the table, something that made the galaxy better, stronger. They were different, yes, but it was in those differences that Shepard saw the true beauty of the Citadel—an intricate, living tapestry woven from countless threads of culture, knowledge, and experience. Maybe I’ll come here when I’m done with the Alliance; I’ll retire, get an apartment near the commons—something overlooking the water, somewhere I can look and remember the galaxy is so much bigger than me. Her chest swelled with pride, a smile on her lips, This is what I’m fighting for; this—this is what we can’t let Saren destroy.

She made her way up the stairs and toward the upper markets and Flux. The doors of the med clinic slid open, revealing a sterile corridor bathed in harsh, fluorescent light. Shepard stepped inside, the chemical scent of disinfectant immediately overwhelming her, sharp and biting, layered with the unmistakable undertone of burnt ozone—a telltale sign of recent gunfire.

The clinic was eerily quiet, too quiet for a place that should’ve been bustling with medical staff and patients. Instead, the silence hung heavy in the air, only occasionally broken by the faint, rhythmic beeping of med-bay equipment running on autopilot. She tightened her grip on her pistol as Kaidan and Ashley fanned out beside her, their movements deliberate, cautious. Something was off.

A few steps in, Shepard caught sight of the first body. Slumped over a counter, the man’s armor still smoldered from a point-blank shot to the chest. The smell of scorched fabric and singed flesh clung to the sterile air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood that seeped slowly into the cracks in the clinic’s floor. Her eyes flicked over the rest of the room—three more bodies, all dispatched with clinical precision. No wasted shots, no panic.

“Looks like we missed a party,” Shepard muttered beneath her breath, scanning for movement.

Suddenly, there was the sound of light footsteps—too precise to be a civilian, too calm to be one of the doctors. Shepard signaled for her squad to hold position, her pistol raised as she moved forward. Rounding the corner, her weapon was trained on a figure crouched behind an overturned med-station desk.

A turian.

He looked up, sharp, glowing eyes meeting hers, and his mandibles twitched in what could only be described as a wry smirk. The tension in the room hung for a second, like the pause before a fight breaks out. However, instead of reaching for a weapon, the turian straightened, his posture confident, not the least bit rattled by the gun aimed at him.

“Commander Shepard?” The turian C-Sec officer, regarded her with a casual ease, his rifle slung loosely over his shoulder. There was a subtle sharpness in his tone, the edge of someone who had long since stopped being impressed by ranks.

Shepard didn’t lower her weapon right away. “Depends. Who’s asking?”

His mandibles flickered again, his version of a smile. “Garrus Vakarian—C-Sec.” He gave a small nod toward the bodies. “I’ve been tracking these guys for weeks. Figured you’d end up here eventually, though.”

“How’d you figure that?” Shepard asked, keeping her posture firm. She holstered her weapon slowly but didn’t break eye contact.

Garrus shrugged, stepping around the desk with a calm that belied the tension in the room. His armor clinked faintly with every step, well-worn but meticulously maintained. “I have a knack for finding trouble. And from what I’ve heard, so do you.” His gaze flicked up to meet hers again, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “Heard about your mission on Eden Prime.”

“Word travels fast,” she remarked, her voice flat. “But I’m guessing you’re not just here to chat old war stories.”

Garrus’s mandibles twitched again in that almost-smile, a quiet acknowledgment he’d hit a nerve. He gestured around the clinic, where the bodies lay in haphazard positions, the aftermath of the firefight still fresh. “I heard you were looking for someone who might know about Saren. Looks like we’ve both been chasing the same lead. A guy called Fist—he’s an agent for the Shadow Broker.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “Keep talking.”

Garrus said, his voice taking on a more serious edge, “Fist’s been working for Saren, and he’s got a quarian named Tali sitting on evidence that could bring Saren down, but she’s in trouble. Fist isn’t the type to keep people around once they outlive their usefulness---and you know how they treat quarian's around here.”

Kaidan, who had been scanning the room, stepped forward. “You’re saying Saren’s already got the geth involved? Here?”

“Seems like it,” Garrus replied. “Whatever this quarian is carrying has Saren worried. Enough that he’s sent mercs to tie up loose ends. That’s why I was here first—Fist knew this was coming, so I took care of a few of his friends before they could make things worse.”

Shepard looked at the bodies again, taking in the precision with which they’d been taken down. No wasted movement, no unnecessary violence. This turian was good. She liked that. “So, you always freelance, or is this a special occasion?” Shepard asked, arms still crossed.

Garrus leaned back slightly, crossing his own arms. “Let’s just say I’m not great at waiting for orders. C-Sec’s been dragging its feet on Saren for too long. I figured I’d speed things up.”

Ashley snorted from behind Shepard. “A renegade turian. Who would’ve thought?”

Garrus’s mandibles flared briefly in amusement. “You could say that.” His tone shifted slightly, a flicker of frustration seeping through his usual calm exterior. “The Council’s not willing to see Saren for what he is—rogue. Corrupt. And dangerous. That’s why I’m here. I couldn’t sit back and watch anymore.”

Shepard’s expression softened a little. She understood that. The need to act, even when those above you preferred to bury their heads in the sand. It was something that resonated deep within her—Akuze, the nightmare of watching the people she was supposed to protect fall one by one because they had walked into something no one had prepared them for. She hadn’t prepared them for it.

“Alright,” she nodded, her voice taking on a more decisive edge. “I’m going after Fist. I could use someone who knows how to clean up a mess.”

Garrus tilted his head slightly, his expression turning serious but with a spark of humor still dancing in his eyes. “Are you saying you need someone to hold your hand?”

Shepard let a small, tight grin slip through. “Just try to keep up, Vakarian. This isn’t C-Sec anymore.”

Garrus straightened, a faint flicker of excitement in his posture. “Wouldn’t dream of slowing you down, Commander.” As Shepard turned toward the exit, Garrus fell into step beside her, his stride matching hers as though they’d been working together for years. There was an ease to his presence Shepard hadn’t expected—sharp, deadly, but with a subtle sense of humor that loosened the tension in her shoulders. As they walked through the clinic doors, Garrus shot her a sidelong glance. “You know,” he started, his voice casual, “there’s a rumor the only reason you survived Akuze was because you’re too stubborn to die.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow, shooting him a sidelong look. “That a problem for you?” It was unusual for Akuze to come up this way, but she appreciated that he didn’t apologize or commend her for her ‘heroic actions.’ 

Garrus chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all. I like stubborn. Keeps things interesting.”

Shepard smirked, feeling the tension ease. “Just wait till you see me in a firefight.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Garrus replied, the humor in his voice unmistakable.

No doubt Garrus would prove to be a valuable asset, but more than that—he felt like someone who would challenge her, push her, and perhaps most importantly, understand her in a way few others did. 

This mission just got a lot more interesting.

Chapter Text

The thrum of the bass line vibrated through Shepard’s chest as she stepped into Chora’s Den. The dim lighting cast a seductive glow over the room, making the holographic displays dance even more erotically. She could feel the heat rising from the bodies pressed close together on the dance floor; was it strange, she considered, to be here, trying to take the edge off when Saren was still out there? Still, Chora’s Den was a far cry from the orderly chaos of C-Sec or the sterile hallways of the Presidium. Here, the lighting was low, casting everything in shades of crimson and deep violet. The heavy bass thumped through the walls like the pulse of a living, breathing thing. The air was thick with the strong smell of alcohol, sweat, and the faint, sweet scent of whatever smoke the patrons were inhaling.

Shepard found herself tucked away in a shadowed corner booth, a sanctuary in the chaotic rhythm of the nightclub bouncing around her. The music throbbed, a heavy, pulsing beat a near-match with the cadence of her heart. The dim lights flickered in time with the erratic energy of the place, casting fragmented shadows on the dancers swaying across the floor. Low, sultry lighting cast shadows that danced across the dimly lit tables and the gleaming bottles behind the bar. Her eyes settled on a dancing asari across the room. Looks like fun . But getting a dance from a beautiful woman wouldn’t take away the pit in her stomach.

She leaned back, her eyes skimming the crowded club. She felt out of place, a soldier dropped into a world where nothing made sense. It had been Garrus’s idea to come here and take a breather while they gathered intel on Fist. “You can’t run on fumes forever, Shepard. No offense, but you look like you need a break,” he’d told her, his voice full of that calm pragmatism she was beginning to appreciate. 

And maybe he was right. After everything that had happened on Eden Prime, after the Council had practically dismissed her warnings about Saren, her nerves were frayed, stretched thin like an overstressed wire. She reached for the glass in front of her, the amber liquid catching the light as she swirled it idly. A drink was just what she needed to take the edge off, if only for a moment while she waited for Garrus to catch up with her. 

Her eyes scanned the crowded club with a mix of detachment and guarded vigilance. Asari dancers swayed gracefully on elevated platforms, their lithe forms moving with an otherworldly elegance that drew the eyes of everyone in the room. Turians and humans, a few krogan, mingled at the tables, some engrossed in games of chance while others leaned in close over drinks, their voices mixing with the steady beat of the music. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and perfume, a heady mix that filled her senses as she watched the club’s patrons weave through the crowd. She took a sip of her drink, the smooth burn of the alcohol momentarily distracting her from the weight of responsibility heavy on her shoulders. Her eyes drifted to the dance floor, where bodies moved in sync with the music, lost in the moment. 

Garrus is right , she thought. For a brief second, she allowed herself to let go, to forget the impending dangers that awaited her.

Here, in this darkened nook, she could disappear. She could watch the world pass by—detached, invisible—and for a few moments, she didn’t have to be Commander Shepard. She loved bars and clubs for this reason. In a place like this, she could disappear. She could be no one. No one here cared who she was. No one cared about what she’d done or what she had yet to face. In the anonymity of a crowd, she could breathe. The weight of her title, of her responsibilities, seemed to lift if only by a little. No one expected her to have her shit together. Not here. In this booth, with the world spinning on without her, she could remember who she was—who she used to be. 

Allie . Alison Jane Shepard.

There was a time when that name felt familiar, like a second skin. She could almost taste it, like smoke curling at the edges of her thoughts, just out of reach. Allie—the girl who ran wild through the fields of Mindoir, laughing with her brother, her bare feet kicking up dust as they chased each other across the open land. Mindoir had been home —a place where she was safe, where her world was small but full of warmth. A place obliterated in an evening, into the night, and left to rot in wait for the Alliance to arrive after most the damage had been done.

The memory hit her like a bullet, sharp and unrelenting. The screams. The smoke. The fire. The bodies. She could still hear her mother’s voice, a frantic cry for her to run, to hide. The faces of the Batarian slavers flashed in her mind, their cold, unfeeling eyes as they descended on her home, destroying everything she loved. The smell of burning flesh clung to her senses, the sound of her brother’s laughter drowned out by the crackle of flames and gunfire.

She closed her eyes, willing the images away, but it was moot—they were always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to drag her under. Her fingers curled tightly around the glass in front of her, the cool surface grounding her, keeping her tethered to the present. She couldn’t let herself get lost in the past— not now . Not again .

It was Akuze that haunted her the most. The barren wasteland, the oppressive silence before everything went to hell. She could still feel the ground trembling beneath her boots, and hear the thunderous roar of the thresher maw as it tore through her unit like they were nothing more than paper dolls. She had screamed for them, her voice hoarse, desperate, as her squadmates were swallowed by the earth, their bodies shredded by the creature’s massive maw.

She had been helpless. Powerless. All of that training and I still couldn’t save anyone .

The memory always started with silence. Akuze had been so quiet—too quiet.

She could still feel the weight of her boots on the cracked, sun-baked earth, the heat radiating from the ground in a wave-distorted horizon. The planet seemed dead when they landed—no life, no movement, just the oppressive stillness that wrapped around everything like a shroud. Her unit had been deployed on a mission to investigate an N2 class they lost communications with; the unit had appeared to disappear despite only going out for routine field work. Shepard remembered feeling uneasy, but no one else seemed concerned. They had joked about it, the Marines brushing off the tension with easy banter, just another assignment on another backwater planet. 

The ground beneath her feet hadn’t felt right. Something about the earth—it was too brittle, too fragile, and she felt it in her gut something was lying in wait beneath the surface, ready to shatter the calm. But she’d ignored it. They all had. That was her first mistake.

Shepard’s breath caught in her throat as the memory dragged her deeper into the past. She could see her unit again, scattered across the landscape, their silhouettes outlined by the pale, washed-out light of Akuze’s distant sun. They were laughing, some of them talking about what they’d do when they got back to the ship. She had been walking a few paces behind them, her eyes scanning the horizon, her instincts twitching with a nervous energy she couldn’t explain.

And then, the ground trembled.

At first, it was subtle, a low vibration Shepard felt more than heard. She remembered stopping, her heart skipping a beat as the earth beneath her boots seemed to shift. She’d called out to the others, but they had barely reacted. They kept walking, kept joking until the ground cracked open like the maw of some ancient beast.

It happened so fast.

The tremors intensified, and before Shepard could shout a proper warning, the first of her squadmates was gone—swallowed by the earth in an explosion of dust and rock. A scream tore through the comms, and then the beasts emerged, towering figures of destruction shattering any illusion of safety.

Thresher Maw.

She could still see them in her mind’s eye, the massive, serpentine creatures erupting from the ground like a nightmare given form. Their bodies were covered in dark, chitinous armor, the segmented plates gleaming in the pale sunlight as they twisted and writhed, their massive jaws opening wide to unleash an echoing road across the wasteland. The sound was so loud it rattled her teeth, and for a moment, everything froze—her mind, her body, time itself—paralyzed by the sheer size of them. The Thresher Maw weren’t merely a predator; they were forces of nature, living earthquakes that devoured everything in their path. She’d killed one or two before with her unit— one , but there were at least seven of them. How could her tiny unit kill a colony of those beasts? It was like asking her to prevent an earthquake, to stop a flood, and try as she did—she still left with water in her lungs, parts of herself lost in the disaster. 

She remembered the chaos that followed. The sound of gunfire filled the air, Marines shouting orders lost in the deafening roar of the creatures. Her squad scattered, scrambling for cover, but it didn’t matter. The Maws struck fast, their long, snake-like bodies burrowing in and out of the ground with terrifying speed, jaws snapping down on soldiers as though they were nothing more than insects. Each time one dove back beneath the surface, the ground would shake violently, throwing soldiers off their feet, making it impossible to focus or think.

They didn’t stand a chance.

This isn’t your fault, Williams—you couldn’t have done anything to save them.

The Maw’s acid spit melted through her words as they pierced through her memory; she could still smell the burning flesh, and hear the screams of her comrades as they were torn apart, one by one, by the relentless onslaught. She’d fired her weapon until her hands ached and the barrel overheated, but it was like kicking a dead varen—pointless, futile. 

She heard Sergeant Jansen’s voice barking orders through the comms, trying to rally the squad, but the fear had already set in. They were being picked off, and there was nothing anyone could do. Shepard had seen it in his eyes, the realization they were all going to die, right before the Maw tore him in half. Feeling helplessness haunted her. Powerlessness. She had been trained to lead and fight, but on Akuze, all that training had meant nothing. She’d watched her entire unit fall, consumed by the monster that tore through them like they were nothing, her own legs frozen in place as she struggled to keep herself from screaming.

The comms had gone silent after a while, the only sound left was the Thresher Maw’s roars and the crack of the earth splitting open. Shepard had run, stumbling through the dust and debris, her heart pounding in her chest, her lungs burning with every breath. She didn’t know how she’d survived—maybe it was luck, maybe instinct—but she’d made it to the ridge just as the Maw dove beneath the ground one last time, disappearing into the earth as if it had never existed. 

The silence had returned, but it was different now. It was the silence of the dead.

She’d been the only one left. The sole survivor. The barren landscape stretched out before her, littered with the remains of her squad—her friends. The weight of their deaths pressed down on her like the gravity of a planet collapsing in on itself. She remembered sinking to her knees in the dust, her body trembling, her hands shaking as she stared at the bodies that surrounded her.

Her vision blurred, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. No, no, no, no, no, no—

This was worse than Mindoir, where she had only been a child. She hadn’t been able to protect her family then—-but here, on Akuze—she had been their leader, their commander. And she had failed them.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the images to fade, but they wouldn’t. They never did. They lived inside her, crawling beneath her skin, whispering in the dead of night, always reminding her of everything she couldn’t change, every person she couldn’t save.

I should have done more. I should have saved them. I could have tried harder to kill them all. Never mind  how many she did manage to kill. It didn’t matter. Nothing would change what happened.

Regardless of how many battles she fought, and how many enemies she destroyed, the guilt always returned, gnawing at her from the inside, like the Thresher Maw waiting beneath the ground—ready to strike.

Colonists found her on her knees in blood-soaked dirt, her lips chapped with dehydration and dread. “Don’t—no, leave me here!” she had tried to yell, to shout at them as they loaded her into a sky car. They told her she’d saved the colony—there was no longer any activity showing the maws were still underground. Maybe they retreated, the colonists and scientists hypothesized, perhaps she killed them all.

It didn’t matter. . . she didn’t deserve to be alive. It should have been her. It should’ve been me .

She tried to remind herself she’d done everything she could—it wasn’t her fault, but the ghosts of Akuze didn’t care. They followed her, creeping into her dreams, turning sleep into a battleground. She would wake up in a cold sweat, her chest heaving, the echo of her unit’s dying screams still ringing in her ears. What did Chakwas tell you? C’mon—you can’t keep doing this to yourself, Shep.  She forced herself to take a slow, steady breath. She wasn’t on Mindoir anymore. She wasn’t back on Akuze. She wasn’t killing Batarian slavers.  She was in a nightclub, tucked away in a booth where no one knew who she was, and that was the only thing she could cling to right now.

No, she wasn’t just Allie anymore. She hadn’t been since the Alliance brought her to Earth. When she’d run with the Reds, she had become AJ, her initials her buffer, a way to shield herself from the raw, bleeding parts of who she used to be. AJ was tough, scrappy—a survivor. The streets of Earth were a far cry from the wild fields of Mindoir, but she adapted. She had to. The gang gave her a new identity, a purpose, and for a while, it felt like enough. The Reds found her when she was malnourished and eating any scraps she could find in the city she'd run away to after her worst foster home. A lot of cities were blasted to hell during the First Contact War, making it easier for places already systemically challenged to fail. By the time she'd gotten there, many gangs were blood in, blood out---she was lucky, she thought, that the Reds found her before anyone worse did. 

Then even that was stripped away, and AJ was gone too; all that remained was Shepard. Commander Shepard.

It was better this way. Really. To be nothing more than a rank, a title. It was safer. It was easier to wear the armor of a soldier, to be a symbol, a leader, instead of whoever she was beneath the hard suit. Commander Shepard didn’t have the luxury of personal attachments or vulnerability. She was just a face behind a name, a figure people could follow into battle. 

Yet here, in this booth, surrounded by strangers who didn’t care about her rank, who didn’t expect her to carry the galaxy on her shoulders, she felt the cracks. The edges of her carefully constructed facade crumbling. For a fleeting moment, she let herself feel the loneliness that came with the life she wanted, the life she had. Only a moment.

Shepard stared into the glass in front of her, the reflection of the nightclub’s dim lights swirling in the liquid like distant stars. Is this what it felt like to be lost in space—adrift, untethered, with nothing but the vast unknown stretching out before her? Spaced. Alone. Only a body until she was bones—only bones until she was dust—only dust until she was air.

She closed her eyes again, the music of the club subdued by her memories. The beat, the laughter, the conversations around her—all of it white noise, meaningless compared to whatever happened in her mind. Here, in the shadows, she could pretend. She could pretend she wasn’t Commander Shepard, the sole survivor of Akuze, the orphan of Mindoir. The Butcher of Torfan. She could be someone else. Anyone else? To herself at least, and sometimes Anderson, she could be Allie. 

She opened her eyes, the cold edge of resolve slipping back into place. Shepard was needed again. Garrus appeared in her periphery, his familiar form weaving through the crowd with purpose. His presence brought her back to reality, the urgency of their mission snapping into focus once more.

He sat across from her, his sharp eyes scanning the room like a hawk watching over a field of mice. His mandibles twitched slightly, betraying his unease. Despite his earlier suggestion to relax, it was clear that Garrus couldn’t quite switch off the “C-Sec officer” mode, not even here. He’s just like me, she thought. A smile twitched her lips, but it was too subtle for anyone to notice.

“You’re brooding,” Garrus noted, his gravelly voice barely audible over the music. He took a sip of his own drink. 

Shepard gave him a sidelong glance. “I’m thinking.”

“About Fist?” he asked, leaning forward.

She shook her head; Fist was at the back of her mind. Instead, her thoughts were tangled in things long before Saren’s betrayal, the Council’s dismissal, and the haunting visions from the beacon. 

“I just... can’t shake the feeling we’re running out of time,” Shepard admitted, her voice low, almost drowned out by the bass-heavy music that throbbed through the club.

Garrus nodded, his sharp gaze softening for a moment. “We’ll find Fist. And we’ll get to Saren. One step at a time.”

Shepard opened her mouth to respond when the low, lilting voice of an asari dancer interrupted her train of thought. “You look like someone who could use a distraction.”

Shepard turned her head, and there she was—an asari, all smooth blue skin, and languid grace. Her violet eyes traced over Shepard’s form with interest, her lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. The asari leaned on the edge of the booth, her posture casual, but there was something distinctly seductive in the way she moved, like a panther circling its prey.

“I'm Vala,” the asari purred, her voice thick with promise as she slid closer, "but you can call me yours for tonight." Shepard could feel the warmth of her body even through the dim light and the music. “Care for a dance?”

Shepard swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise in her chest. It wasn’t often that someone got close enough to make her feel... off-balance. She wasn’t a stranger to the body of another; she’d had a few flings, but nothing lasted longer than a few months at a time. She’d blamed it on the Alliance— I’m sorry, I’m just gone so much…you deserve someone who can be here with you…you don’t understand—it’s just Shepard…I don’t talk about the past. Let's just pretend it didn’t happen. I’m fine… No… don’t touch me—of course, I trust you…it’s easier if we focus on you…no one knows that, even Anderson doesn’t call me that…of course, you’re special…it’s not like that…you’re right…I’m sorry…I think I’m better off alone…

Her instinct was to pull away, to retreat back into the armor of her command and professionalism, but something in Vala’s gaze held her there. Her mind spun, trying to find a response, though she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, the pressure of the mission, or just the fact she hadn’t felt this kind of attention in a long time.

“I—” Shepard started, her throat dry. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her heart hammering in her chest.

Garrus, oblivious to the sexual tension between them, took a casual sip of his drink. “Shepard’s less lover and more fight,” he remarked, his mandibles twitching with the ghost of a grin.

The asari didn’t back down. If anything, her smile grew wider. “Oh, a soldier, hmm? I like that. I love human women with your physique...so...strong.” She reached out, letting her fingers barely graze the edge of Shepard’s hand. The touch raised the hair on her arms and neck. She met Vala’s gaze, her pulse racing. She could do it, she could let everything—the mission, command, Saren, Akuze, Mindoir—she could let it go, let the memory blur around the edges, distant and hazy.

Before she could decide, however, the heavy door to the club opened, and the hulking form of a krogan barged in like a storm breaking over calm waters. His sheer presence sent a ripple through the room. People moved aside instinctively, sensing the violence coiled beneath his thick armor and scarred face.

He didn’t need to speak for the room to acknowledge him. His scarred visage and massive frame were enough to command respect and fear. The asari’s attention snapped away from Shepard, her eyes narrowing as the Krogan made his way through the club, heading straight for the back where Fist was hiding. He must have been the bounty hunter. 

Shepard’s body tensed as the reality of the situation slammed back into focus. The mission. Fist. Saren. There was no time for distractions. She glanced at Garrus, who was already on his feet, his hand resting on his holstered weapon. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled to the asari. “Party’s over.” She stood up, ready for the confrontation ahead. 

The asari, now forgotten, stepped back with a coy smile, giving Shepard a parting glance that promised this wasn’t over. “Another time, then,” she said, her voice a soft whisper against the pounding music. Shepard didn’t respond, her focus already shifting to the chaos that was about to unfold. The krogan was making his way to the back, and with a krogan involved, things were about to get violent.

Garrus cocked his head toward the back door. “We need to move.”

“Let’s go,” Shepard said, her pulse quickening again—this time not from the asari’s touch. Shepard moved around the center bar and slipped between patrons, the pulse of the club’s bass now a distant hum behind the heavy door they’d just passed through. Shepard’s breath was steady, but the tension in her muscles betrayed her readiness for the chaos that awaited. The krogan—a beast of muscle, scars, and brute force—had already made his move, heading toward the back where Fist was hiding. She wasn’t about to let this get out of hand without her.

“Fist is in the back,” Garrus remarked, his voice barely audible over the pounding music. “He won’t be expecting us, but he’s got muscle.” 

Shepard nodded, feeling the weight of her pistol at her side, the steady presence of Garrus and her squad behind her. Fist was just another cog in Saren’s operation, but he was the key to finding Tali—and the evidence she had against Saren. They moved quickly through the crowded bar, the patrons barely registering their presence until they reached the back door, guarded by two Krogan bouncers. The moment the guards saw Shepard and her squad, their expressions turned from bored indifference to wary aggression.

The larger of the two Krogan stepped forward, blocking their path. “No one sees Fist without an appointment,” he growled, his voice like gravel.

Shepard didn’t break her stride, her eyes narrowing as she met the krogan’s gaze head-on. “I’m not here for a drink. Step aside.”

The krogan chuckled, crossing his thick arms. “Or what, human? You think you can just walk in here?”

Without missing a beat, Garrus raised his rifle, the barrel aimed squarely at the krogan’s head. “We’re not asking twice.” For a moment, the tension hung in the air, thick as smoke. The krogan's eyes flicked between Garrus and Shepard. The cold, determined look in their eyes must have convinced him because with a low grunt, he stepped aside.

“Good choice,” Shepard muttered as they moved past. 

The air here was different—heavier, with the metallic scent of oil and gunpowder lingering like the aftermath of a firefight. The back room was just as dim and grimy as the front, but quieter. The noise of the club faded behind the thick metal door, replaced by the hum of electronics and the faint clink of glass. They reached the final door just as the echoes of a struggle reached their ears—a crash, followed by a grunt. Shepard’s hand went instinctively to her pistol. The hallway was poorly lit, shadows stretching across the walls, creating a sense of foreboding that thickened with every passing second.

She nodded to Garrus, who positioned himself by the door, his sharp, turian gaze scanning the corridor for threats. Shepard took a breath and pressed the door control.

Fist’s office was dimly lit by an overhead light—she hated overhead lights. At the center of the space stood Fist—his sweat-slicked face pale and drawn, eyes wide with panic. His back was pressed against the wall as he faced the imposing figure of the Krogan. He was a mountain of scars and muscle, his hulking form practically filling the room with raw, dangerous energy. His eyes glinted beneath his heavy brow, a cold, predatory gaze locking onto Fist with the lethal promise of violence. He casually clung to a shotgun in his massive hands, and the way his finger rested on the trigger made it clear he would fire any second.

The room felt too small for a Krogan. His very presence seemed to warp the space, making it feel oppressive, as though the walls were inching closer under the weight of the violence that simmered just below the surface. The tension was palpable, thick like smoke that clung to the back of Shepard’s throat. Her fingers twitched near her holster, ready for anything.

Fist stood stammering, his hands raised defensively. “I-I have credits! Lots of them!” His voice cracked with desperation. “Or—or did you come for the quarian? Take her! She’ll only speak to the Shadow Broker anyway!”

The Krogan’s eyes didn’t waver, his massive frame completely still, the shotgun leveled directly at Fist’s head. “It’s over Fist,” he rumbled, his voice a low, menacing growl. It wasn’t a threat. It was a fact. Shepard could feel the tension radiating from Garrus beside her, a tightening grip on his rifle. The whole room seemed to hang in suspended silence, waiting for the inevitable. 

Her hand tightened around her pistol, but she held her ground. “Where's Tali?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet like a knife. 

Fist finally acknowledged her, “The quarian?" he scoffed through laughter. "Even if I told you, it wouldn’t matter. Saren’s too powerful. He’s got the Council in his pocket, and he’s already—”

The shotgun blast roared through the room like thunder, and Fist’s body hit the floor with a sickening thud, his wide eyes already glassy and vacant. The acrid smell of burned ozone filled the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood as it slowly pooled beneath Fist’s crumpled form. 

She thought, momentarily, she had pulled the trigger, but then her eyes fell on a krogan merc's gun and she knew. She didn’t flinch. She had seen enough death, felt its crawl too close too many times. The silence that followed felt still buzzed with the echo of the shot under her skin.

“We could’ve taken him alive,” Shepard said through gritted teeth. She kept her weapon drawn, her mind already racing ahead to what came next.

The merc glanced at her, his expression unchanging, his eyes as cold and indifferent as ever. “Exactly,” he shrugged with a kind of casualness only a krogan could muster. “I don’t get paid for detainment.” He turned his full attention to her, taking a step forward before she could respond. His heavy boots clanked against the metal floor, each step carrying the weight of his brutal history. Up close, his scars were more visible, cutting across his rugged face like old battlefields. “Name’s Wrex,” he said, his voice still that deep, gravelly rumble that made the air feel thick. “Urdnot Wrex. I was hired to deal with Fist. I don’t leave a job half done.” 

The casual way he referred to killing left Shepard momentarily speechless, but only for a second. She was used to dealing with soldiers who killed for survival. Wrex? He seemed to do it because it was just another job.

“We don’t shoot unarmed prisoners,” she remarked, kneeling beside the body to close the open eyes. 

Wrex snorted, holstering his shotgun with a dismissive shrug. “Why not? How many people have died on his watch? He brought this on himself. Besides, what’s that human saying—don’t you have bigger fish to fry?”

Garrus released a low sigh, shaking his head. “This is getting messy, Shepard."

“Tell me about it,” she murmured, stepping forward and kneeling beside Fist’s desk Her fingers brushed against the data pad on his desk, and she grabbed it quickly, scanning through the information. Her eyes lit up as she read the file. “He’s got coordinates,” she said, her voice sharp with urgency. “She’s in the alley behind markets.”

“I’m getting out of here,” Wrex stated, turning to leave. “My job’s done.”

“Wait—” Shepard called, stopping him. “Whatever contract you had is over. Join me.”

Wrex’s eyes glinted with interest, though his expression remained unreadable. He looked Shepard up and down, then glanced at Garrus, who stood slightly off to the side, his sniper rifle still at the ready.

“What’s the job?” Wrex rumbled. “And the payoff.”

Shepard met his gaze without flinching. Krogan couldn’t resist an opportunity to fight. “I can’t offer you credits, but I can offer you something better. A chance to hunt down a rogue Spectre and turn geth into piles of scrap metal.”

Wrex paused for a moment, considering her offer. Then, with a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver down her spine, he nodded. “You’ve got my attention. For now.”

Garrus nodded, his expression hardening. “We should go, Shepard—Tali won’t last long if Saren’s mercs find her first."

Shepard nodded, “Then let’s make sure we find her first.”

Chapter Text

***

The Council Chamber loomed around Shepard as she entered, its vast space amplifying the quiet tension pressing at her ribs. The air carried a faint sterility, tinged with the distant hum of Citadel systems. Elevated above, the Turian, asari, and salarian Councilors sat like fixtures of the station itself, their expressions as inscrutable as ever. It was impossible to tell if they were prepared to listen or simply waiting for an excuse to dismiss them.

Udina stood rigid before them, his voice clipped with restrained triumph as he played the recording. A distorted crackle gave way to Saren’s voice.

“Eden Prime was a major victory. The beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the Conduit.”

Shepard barely had to close her eyes to see the ruins again. The air thick with smoke. Jenkins hitting the ground before he even had a chance to fire. Husks writhing in unnatural animation, the remnants of the colonists they used to be.

“And one step closer to the return of the Reapers,” came the second voice—smoother, feminine, touched with something almost reverent beneath its menace.

The shift in the chamber was immediate. Even at their distance, she caught the subtle movements: a tightening of shoulders, a glance exchanged too quickly.

Udina seized the moment. “You wanted proof? There it is.”

A silence settled, thick and waiting. Shepard barely breathed as the Council weighed the words in a balance only they could see.

At last, Councilor Sparatus exhaled, his voice measured but leaving little room for doubt. “This evidence is conclusive. Saren will be stripped of his Spectre status. All efforts will be made to bring him in to answer for his crimes.” Shepard forced herself to remain impassive, though the tension in her shoulders eased by a fraction.

Then Councilor Tevos spoke, her tone quieter but laced with something sharper. “I recognize the other voice. Matriarch Benezia.”

Shepard turned slightly. “Who is she?”

“Matriarchs are the final stage of an asari’s life cycle,” the Councilor explained, her expression unreadable. “Revered for their wisdom, their experience. They act as guides--as mentors. Benezia is one of the most influential among them. A powerful biotic. And she does not move without purpose.”

The significance of that name settled across the chamber. Shepard felt it, too. Saren already commanded the geth. Now he had an asari matriarch at his side? This was more than a rogue Spectre on the run—this was a campaign.

“I’m more interested in the Reapers,” the salarian Councilor cut in, his keen gaze locking onto her. “What do you know about them?”

Tali stepped forward, her voice filtered through her suit but steady. “Only what we extracted from the geth memory core. The Reapers were an ancient race of machines that wiped out the Protheans, and then they vanished. The geth believe the Reapers are gods, and Saren is their prophet.” Shepard glanced at Tali, the enormity of what she’d said joining the weight on her shoulders. She had seen the vision. The Reapers weren’t just some long-lost myth—they were real. And they were coming. "We think the Conduit is the key to bringing them back,” Tali continued. “Saren is searching for it. That’s why he attacked Eden Prime.”

The Councilors exchanged uneasy glances. Sparatus spoke first, his voice edged with skepticism. “You don’t even know what this Conduit is. Saren thinks it can bring back the Reapers. That’s bad enough, but listen to what you’re saying. Saren wants to bring back the machines that wiped out all life in the galaxy? Impossible.”

Impossible. She had seen what happened when people ignored the signs—on Mindoir, Akuze... on Eden Prime. The same disbelief that cost lives before was now threatening to cost the entire galaxy. “It has to be,” the Turian continued. “Where did the Reapers go? Why did they vanish? If they were real, we would’ve found something. Some trace of their existence.” 

Shepard’s patience snapped. “I tried to warn you about Saren, and you refused to face the truth. Don’t make the same mistake again.”

The asari Councilor leaned forward, her tone conciliatory. “This is different, Commander. You’ve proven that Saren betrayed the Council. We all agree that he’s using the geth to search for the Conduit, but we don’t know why.” 

I just told you why! she wanted to scream.

Councilor Valern's voice was crisp, cutting through the tension. “The Reapers are obviously just a myth, Commander. A convenient lie Saren is using to bend the geth to his will.”

A myth. The word was almost laughable. “Fifty thousand years ago, they wiped out all galactic civilization. If Saren finds the Conduit, they’ll do it again.”

The silence stretched this time, tension mounting in the space it left behind. The Council was listening—but listening was not the same as believing.

Counselor Sparatus exhaled, his tone resigned. “Saren is a rogue agent. He no longer has the rights or resources of a Spectre. The Council has stripped him of his position.”

“That’s not enough,” Shepard’s voice cut through the chamber. “He’s in the Traverse, planning his next move. You need to send a fleet before he disappears again.”

Sparatus's mandibles twitched in irritation. “A fleet cannot hunt down one man, Commander. And sending military forces into the Traverse could ignite war with the Terminus Systems.”

Tevos's agreement came swiftly, “We will not be drawn into open conflict over a handful of human colonies.”

The dismissal struck like a lash, but Shepard refused to let it shake her. “Then I’ll do it. I don’t need a fleet. Just the authority to act.”

Udina started to protest, but Tali silenced him with a sharp whisper and a light smack to the arm. “Boshtet! Quiet.”

The Council exchanged another glance, something unsaid passing between them before their omni-tools flickered to life. A long pause stretched before the asari Councilor gave a single nod. The salarian exhaled, a quiet concession. The turian, ever pragmatic, leaned forward.

“Commander Shepard,” he began, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Step forward.” Her heart quickened, but she held her composure, stepping to the center of the chamber as the Council addressed her.

“It is the decision of the Council,” Tevos intoned, “that you be granted all the powers and privileges of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch of the Citadel. Spectres are not trained, but chosen. Individuals forged in the fire of service and battle, whose actions elevate them above the rank and file.”

Her voice carried with it centuries of tradition, and Shepard could feel the gravity of what was happening. “Spectres are an ideal,” the Salarian Councilor continued. “A symbol. The embodiment of courage, determination, and self-reliance. They are the right hand of the Council, instruments of our will.”

Sparatus's intense gaze sharpened, his voice unwavering. “Spectres bear a great burden. They are protectors of galactic peace—our first and last line of defense. The safety of the galaxy is theirs to uphold.”

The asari Councilor smiled faintly. “You are the first human Spectre, Commander. This is a great accomplishment for you and your entire species.”

“I’m honored. Thank you, councilors,” she replied, a smile twitching on her lips.

“We’re sending you into the Traverse after Saren,” the Turian Councilor added. “He is a fugitive from justice, and you are authorized to use any means necessary to apprehend or eliminate him.”

Shepard met their gazes, her resolve firm. “Any idea where to find him?”

The salarian Councilor nodded. “We will forward any relevant files to Ambassador Udina. This meeting of the Council is adjourned.”

***

Shepard and Captain Anderson stepped into the open expanse of the Presidium; it was brighter out here, the air was fresher and she was happier than when she’d entered, but even here with Citadel stretched out in all directions—bright, gleaming, a symbol of unity and power—she still felt suffocated.

The wide walkways of the Presidium arced gracefully over the shimmering water below, reflecting the artificial sunlight that bathed the enormous space in a surreal glow. Towering trees and pristine gardens lined the paths, the faint scent of foliage mixing with the sterile, controlled atmosphere of the station. It was beautiful, but in the artificial way everything on the Citadel was—calculated, controlled, and flawless to a fault. There was no room for rawness, for imperfection, and now, no room for doubt.

Ambassador Udina was already walking ahead, his steps brisk, his usual stiff posture even more pronounced. He didn’t look back, didn’t congratulate her, didn’t even seem to acknowledge the enormity of what had just transpired. Typical. Always focused on the next move. Shepard watched him for a moment, her jaw tightening. There was no time for celebration in Udina’s world—just the constant grind toward an ever-elusive goal.

Anderson’s voice broke the tension. “Congratulations, Commander.” His tone was warm, filled with pride that only made the weight on her shoulders feel heavier. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Shepard forced a smile, though the reality was still settling in. The first human Spectre. The words rang in her mind, louder and more daunting now than when the Council spoke them. She should have felt something—accomplishment, pride, even vindication—but all she could feel was the cold realization that this was just the beginning. A title doesn’t make you ready for the burden. Now, the weight of the galaxy’s expectations had been dumped squarely on her shoulders.

“I guess I should be honored,” she muttered, eyes forward, tracking Udina’s retreating figure. “Doesn’t feel real yet.”

Anderson chuckled softly, his voice lowering as they walked. “It never does at first. But you’ve earned this, Shepard. I’ve known it for a long time.”

There was a pause, and Shepard’s gaze flicked to Anderson, her mind flashing back to Akuze, to the burning sky of Mindoir, and to the endless battles she’d fought since. For Shepard, Captain Anderson was more than a mentor. From the moment she entered the Alliance, his presence had been constant, guiding her when everything else seemed to be falling apart. Anderson wasn’t like the other commanding officers who barked orders from behind desks or held rank like a shield; he was a soldier, through and through. He understood what it meant to face the darkness head-on, to shoulder the weight of impossible decisions, and Shepard respected him for that. He had seen her at her lowest—after the horrors of Akuze, when the nightmares still haunted her—and had never once doubted her ability to rise above it. That faith meant more than she could put into words. 

Now, as she stepped into a role even he’d been denied, the gravity of this inheritance struck her harder than she could have expected. Anderson had been there at every critical moment in her career, a steady hand on her shoulder, but now the roles had shifted. He had passed the torch, trusting her to do what he couldn’t—and that trust was a burden and a comfort all at once. Shepard didn’t want to disappoint him. More than anyone else, Anderson was the one person whose opinion truly mattered to her. He had seen her potential long before the Council or the Alliance had, and now, standing on the edge of something far bigger than either of them, she could only hope she would live up to his example. 

“I just don’t want to let anyone down,” Shepard admitted, more to herself than to Anderson. Her hand unconsciously brushed the hilt of her pistol in search of comfort. “If I screw this up—”

“You won’t,” Anderson said firmly, cutting through her thoughts with the unwavering confidence of someone who had already seen her prove herself, time and again. “You’re the best damn soldier I’ve ever served with. Saren won’t know what hit him.”

Ahead, Udina paused, finally turning back to look at them. The usual pinched expression on his face was present, but there was something else now—a simmering frustration that Shepard had come to recognize as his default mode of operation.

“Come on, Shepard,” Udina said, his voice clipped. “We’ve got a lot to set up, and there’s no time to waste.”

Anderson gave her a look—one of those unspoken exchanges communicating volumes without words. Ignore him. Focus. Shepard swallowed back the irritation always accompanying Udina’s presence and nodded, picking up her pace to catch up with the ambassador.

***

The docking bay pulsed with the restless energy of Citadel traffic. Engineers weaved between vessels, their clipped voices rising over the rhythmic hiss of hydraulics and the deep reverberations of docking thrusters. The air carried a sharp tang of engine grease, mingling with the sterile, recycled oxygen of the spaceport. Shepard moved in step with Anderson, her stride steady, though her thoughts churned beneath the surface, tangled in the weight of new responsibilities.

Ahead, docked at the far end of the platform, the Normandy SR1 waited. Its sleek frame cut a sharp silhouette against the bright sprawl of the Citadel, the dark hull catching the light at angles that hinted at the speed and precision built into its design. Shepard felt something shift in her chest at the sight of it.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Anderson’s voice drew her focus back to the ship she already knew as well as her own hands. “She’s all yours now, Shepard.”

She blinked, her steps faltering for the briefest moment. Taking her? A glance at Anderson, confusion flickering across her face. “Wait—what do you mean? You’re not coming?”

Anderson kept walking a few paces before turning to face her, the unspoken weight of his decision clear in his expression. “The Council doesn’t want me involved, Shepard. They’ve made that clear. This mission is yours now.”

She stared at him, a tight knot forming in her stomach as realization settled in. He wasn’t coming. He was stepping down. The words landed heavier than she expected. “You’re passing command to me?” It slipped out before she could fully process it, quieter than she intended.

Anderson gave a slow nod, reluctant but firm. “The Normandy’s yours now.” His voice held steady, but beneath it, there was something else—resignation, maybe. “You’re humanity’s first Spectre. The Council wants to make it clear this is your mission, not mine.”

“You mean Udina wants that? Come on, Captain, I want the truth—why are you really stepping down?”

“You needed your own ship, Shepard; you already know the crew, and they know you. You’re a Spectre now, and Spectres don’t answer to anyone but the Council. Besides,” he paused, fixing her with a look that brokered no argument, “it was time for me to step down.”

“Come clean with me, Captain. Aren’t I owed that much?”

“I was in your shoes twenty years ago, Shepard. They were considering me for the Spectres—”

“Why haven’t you ever mentioned this?”

“What was I supposed to say? ‘I was being inspected, but I blew it’?” Anderson exhaled sharply. “This isn’t something I’m proud of, and I’m only telling you now because we’ve always told it to each other straight. I’ll give you the whole story some other time—the point is, I had my shot. It came and went. Now you have the chance to make up for my mistakes—to prove humanity’s ready.”

Shepard’s mind reeled, memories surfacing of the countless times Anderson had guided her, stood beside her, fought for her. He had been a constant presence, a steady hand through victories and failures alike. And now, he was stepping back, entrusting her with everything. The weight of it settled deep, heavier than any title.

“So you’re just… retiring?” The words felt too small for what was happening. Her gaze flickered between him and the Normandy, as if looking away might make it feel less real.

“It’s not how I expected my time to end,” Anderson admitted, eyes lingering on the ship. There was pride there, but also something else, buried in the lines of his face. “But this mission—stopping Saren—requires more than what I can give now. The Council’s made their decision.”

Why did it feel like she was losing something? Like this was the last time she would see him as the Captain she had always known?

“I didn’t ask for this,” she murmured, voice low. “I… Anderson—not like this.”

Anderson looked at her for a long moment before placing his hands on her shoulders, the gesture grounding in its rarity. “No one’s ever ready, Shepard. But you’re more prepared for this than anyone. I know you are.” He hesitated, glancing away. “From the moment I found you on Mindoir, after Torfan, after Akuze—Shepard, I’ve always known you were something special. You’re going to change the galaxy. I’ll be here whenever you need me.”

She met his gaze, and in it, she saw the history between them laid bare. Every battle. Every hard-won moment of trust. There was nothing she could say that would truly encompass what this meant—what he had meant to her.

After a beat, Anderson finally spoke again, voice carrying quiet conviction. “This is your time now, Shepard. You’ve earned it. And you won’t be alone—you’ve got a crew that trusts you.”

She steadied herself, pushing back the creeping uncertainty. Anderson trusted her. He believed in her enough to put this ship, this mission, in her hands. That had to mean something.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said, voice steadier now. “I won’t let you down.”

A flicker of pride crossed Anderson’s face. “I know you won’t.” His expression shifted, something more pressing settling into his features. “Before you go,” he continued, “there’s something you need to know about Saren’s plans. We’ve got a lead.”

Shepard straightened, her focus sharpening. A lead.

Anderson’s voice lowered. “Saren’s working with Matriarch Benezia. From what we heard in that recording, she’s dangerous. But it’s her daughter, Dr. Liara T’Soni, who might be the key to all of this.”

Shepard frowned, gears turning. “Dr. Liara T’Soni? What does she know?”

“She’s an expert in Prothean technology,” Anderson explained. “She’s been on an archaeological dig somewhere deep in uncharted space. We don’t know the full details yet, but she could be our best shot at understanding what Saren’s after—what this ‘Conduit’ really is.”

Shepard nodded, pieces slotting into place. “Where is she?”

“That’s the tricky part,” Anderson admitted. “She’s been out of contact. Last we heard, she was in the Artemis Tau cluster. You’ll have to find her.”

Shepard exhaled, absorbing the new objective. “I'll start there.” No hesitation now, only resolve.

Anderson gave a quiet nod. “Just be careful. If Saren’s after her, you might not be the only one looking.”

Shepard turned toward the Normandy, the ship waiting. "I will, Captain. I promise."

Chapter Text

The Normandy glided through the star-filled void, cutting across the black expanse like a sleek predator on the hunt. Shepard stood on the bridge, arms crossed, her gaze distant as the stars outside blurred into streaks of light. The Artemis Tau cluster was still ahead of them, the coordinates locked in, and her crew moving like cogs in a well-oiled machine. Even with all the pieces in place, there was something unsettling about the quiet. Too much time to think. She needed something to do. 

Shepard’s mind wandered, though she didn’t want it to; she hated these moments of stillness, where old memories crept in—Mindoir. Akuze. Torfan. The places echoed in her mind, images of burning skies, blood-soaked ground, and the faces of the dead blurring together, always accompanied by the feeling there would always be something out of reach, some part of her that couldn’t fully let it go. She should go down to talk with Dr. Chakwas; after all, she had been the closest confidant she had on the ship now. She didn’t want to do that, however. The doctor would order her to get some shuteye—it was nothing some good R&R couldn’t fix, she’d be told. There was no time for that. 

She blinked, focusing on the stars again. Saren. He was the priority now. Hunting him down, stopping whatever hell he was planning to unleash. There was no time to get lost in the past. No time for doubts.

“I heard what happened to Captain Anderson,” Joker started, his voice cutting through her thoughts. “—survives a hundred battles just to get taken out by some backroom politics. Just watch your back Commander; if things go south with this mission, it’ll be your ass they want on their chopping block next.”

She nodded, agreeing with him as she looked at the terminal. “Captain Anderson should be in charge—I feel like I’m stealing his ship.” 

“Hey,” Joker said, his voice tilted, “the captain got screwed, but it’s not like you could’ve stopped it. If it’s not already clear, Commander, nobody is blaming you. We’re behind you one hundred percent.”

“Thanks, Joker.” 

“Now, intercoms open—you got anything you wanna say?” 

She nodded, reaching for the coms. I need to be honest with them . “This is Commander Shepard speaking. We have our orders: find Saren before he finds the Conduit. I won’t lie to you, crew—this mission will not be easy. This began on a human settlement in the Traverse, but Saren won’t stop there. His geth armies won’t stay on the fringes of Citadel space for long. It’s time for us to step up and do our part for the rest of the galaxy—to show everyone what humanity is made of. Our enemy knows we’re coming, and when we go into the Traverse, he’ll be ready for us. But we’ll be ready too. We need to do this—not just for our own sake but for the sake of every other species in Citadel space. Saren must be stopped, and I promise you all: we will stop him.” She released the comm and stepped away from the terminal. Joker didn’t give her time to be anxious about her speech.

“Well said, Commander. ‘Captain would be proud.”

 “The Captain gave up everything so I could have this chance. We can’t fail,” she said, her voice softer now, almost only saying it to herself. 

“We’ve got your six, Commander. We’ll be in the Artemis Tau cluster in about an hour,” he said, his usual dry tone tinged with focus. “Smooth sailing so far. Not a blip on the radar.”

She nodded, staring out the viewport. “Good work, Joker,” she replied, keeping her voice steady, though the tension in her chest hadn’t fully loosened.

Joker turned slightly in his seat, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “And, you know, Commander,” he began, his voice dipping into that familiar sarcastic drawl, “it wouldn’t kill you to relax a bit. Maybe try looking at the stars without the fate of the galaxy hanging over your head for once.”

Shepard almost smiled. Almost. “Thanks for the advice,” she said dryly, her lips twitching just a bit. “But I think I’ll stick to worrying about the galaxy.”

Joker shrugged, returning his focus to the controls. “Suit yourself, Commander.” She left him alone and made her way through the CIC. 

She always appreciated Joker’s attempts to lighten the mood, even if she rarely let it show. His humor was a reprieve from the constant pressure, a reminder that not everything had to be so damn serious all the time. Still, she couldn’t let herself relax. She needed more to go on—something beyond a snipe hunt for a Prothean expert who may have information about her mother or, more likely, be in cahoots with her. 

The hiss of the doors sliding open pulled Shepard from her thoughts. She stepped onto the crew deck, the hum of the Normandy’s engines a steady backdrop as she walked. This part of the ship always had a different feel—a kind of restless energy. The crew was settling in, but some of them were still feeling her out—they had to be, right? Captain Anderson had told her they trusted her, that the Normandy’s crew would follow her as they followed him. Joker’s words from before they landed on Eden Prime had echoed in her head ever since the Council appointed her a Sprectre. Spectres are trouble—call me paranoid , he’d said. Worse, she had kind of agreed with him when he’d said it because she’d felt uncertain about Nihlus, too. 

As she passed through the crew’s quarters, she caught sight of Kaidan at one of the terminals, his brow furrowed in concentration. His fingers moved swiftly over the controls, his posture rigid, as though any break in his focus might cause everything to fall apart. Shepard approached him, her boots making soft clicks against the metal floor. “Lieutenant,” she said, leaning against the edge of the console.

Kaidan looked up, straightening immediately. “Commander.” He gave a small nod, then glanced at the terminal. “Just going over the ship’s systems. Everything’s running smoothly.”

She studied him for a moment, noticing the slight tension in his shoulders, and the way he kept his eyes on the data. He was always so—composed. 

“You seem like you’ve got something on your mind, Alenko,” she said, her tone casual, but there was a hint of curiosity beneath it.

Kaidan hesitated, his dark eyes flicking back to hers before he spoke. “It’s nothing, really. Just... adjusting to all of this.” He gestured vaguely, indicating the ship, the mission, everything. Shepard watched him carefully. She understood what he wasn’t saying. They were all adjusting. She wasn’t the only one who had been thrown into this mess.

“It’s a lot,” she affirmed quietly, though there was no softness in her voice—just recognition. “You’ve been through worse.”

Kaidan gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Yeah. Guess we all have. Mind coming back later? I wanna look over everything before we start our next mission.”

Shepard nodded and didn’t push him any further. There was no need to talk everything through, no need for reassurances or deep dives into their shared trauma. They both knew what it was like to carry weight without complaint. So instead, she just clapped him on the shoulder—brief, but solid—and moved on. That was enough.

Garrus Vakarian was hunched over the weapons locker, adjusting the sights on his rifle with the precision of someone who’d done it a thousand times. His mandibles twitched with concentration, but even from a distance, Shepard could tell there was something else bubbling beneath the surface—restlessness, maybe. He always seemed coiled, ready for action. One and the same.

When she approached, Garrus glanced up, his sharp Turian eyes gleaming with curiosity and amusement. “Commander,” he greeted, that dry, almost lazy tone of his voice immediately recognizable. “You look like someone with a lot on her mind. Or maybe just someone who’s about to ruin my perfectly good day with more orders.”

Shepard smirked, crossing her arms and leaning against the bulkhead. “Maybe both,” she shot back. “Though I’d say you’re the one who looks like you’re overthinking.”

Garrus released a low chuckle, setting his rifle down for a moment. “Guess I’m still adjusting to this whole ‘freedom’ thing. You know, not having bureaucrats breathing down my neck every time I make a decision.” His mandibles twitched in what Shepard had come to recognize as a Turian grin. “Thanks for bringing me aboard, Commander. Already feels better than C-Sec.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye. “Just ‘better than C-Sec,’ huh? I was hoping for something a little more flattering.”

“Well, give me a few more days, and I might say ‘slightly better,’” Garrus quipped, his tone playful. “But seriously, it’s different. Less... red tape. Spectres, you make your own rules; you’re trusted to handle things however you see fit.”

Shepard shrugged, pushing off the wall and taking a step closer. “I think it’ll have its advantages.”

Garrus nodded, his mandibles twitching again as he picked his rifle back up. “Exactly my point. At C-Sec, it’s always about protocol and procedure. Doesn’t matter if you’re chasing down a suspect or trying to save someone’s life—there’s always someone ready to slap you on the wrist for doing things ‘the wrong way.’ Here? Feels like I can finally breathe.”

Shepard chuckled lightly, watching him with a critical but friendly gaze. “I guess if the job gets done,” she shrugged, hoping she didn’t seem nervous.

“Oh, they’ll get done,” Garrus said, his tone turning mock-serious. “Just maybe with a little more style than C-Sec would’ve allowed.”

Shepard grinned, her nerves settling a bit. “As long as you’re not planning to blow up half the Citadel, I think we’ll be fine.”

Garrus chuckled again, the sound rough but genuine. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Commander. I save the fireworks for special occasions.”

She shook her head, still smirking. “Good to know, but seriously, Garrus—act as you see fit. I trust your judgment. Just don’t make me regret it.”

His expression softened slightly, the humor fading into something more sincere. “You won’t, Shepard. Thanks for trusting me. Means a lot.”

Shepard nodded, her arms still crossed, an unspoken understanding between them now. They were bound to be good friends. She could feel it. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to get along just fine, Vakarian.”

“Likewise, Commander. Just don’t hold it against me if I start showing off,” he quipped, his mandibles twitching again as he returned his attention to the rifle.

Shepard rolled her eyes, turning to leave. “Careful, Garrus. I might just start showing off too.”

He chuckled again, his voice trailing after her as she left. “Now that I’d like to see.”

“Catch ya later, Garrus.” 

“Sure, Commander.”

Shepard moved through the crew deck, catching glimpses of her team—Williams, working on her rifle with a look of quiet determination, and Wrex, leaning against the wall with his usual Krogan indifference. They were all here, ready to follow her lead, but there was still a distance between them. Shepard could feel it, a gap that wasn’t quite bridged yet. They respected her. They trusted her. She couldn’t force connection, couldn’t make her crew feel what they needed to feel. It would come with time, or it wouldn’t. Either way, she had a job to do, and if she had to lead without getting too close, that was fine. She was used to it.

She crossed the deck and entered her private quarters. She’d been in here before when Anderson was captain. She still couldn’t believe he wasn’t on board. The silence that fell over the room was welcomed, and they wouldn’t be landing somewhere soon, she’d try to close her eyes for a while. Instead, she poured herself a cup of coffee—Anderson must have put some on for her when he left the ship because it was fresh and still hot. She smiled at the thought of it, thinking about the times they would sit in here and talk shit; he’d taught her how to take apart and put together a gun in here, advise her before missions, swap stories. He kept a special roast in here for these occasions because he knew she would only drink the Alliance-grade coffee-flavored sludge in the mess as a last resort. 

Sipping the coffee, she slipped into her desk chair and opened a glowing terminal. Dr. Liara T’Soni’s profile filled the screen, the young asari’s serene expression almost at odds with the situation. Shepard stared at it for a moment, critically running through the variables, analyzing the situation like a battlefield. She leaned closer to the terminal, scrolling through the data Liara had collected and sent to the University of Serrice, forwarded to Admiral Hackett, and now to her. Prothean technology on Therum—what was Saren after? More importantly, how does someone with her reputation fit into all of this? Her brow furrowed as she considered the facts.

Dr. Liara T’Soni. Doctor of Anthropology of the Prothean Era. 106 years old. Shepard knew little of asari culture, but most asari maidens weren’t pursuing doctoral degrees from prestigious universities; most asari she’d met were maidens and worked as dancers on the Citadel. There was, of course, the asari Councilor, Messana Tevos, in her matron stage, but she’d mostly only ever encountered maidens. 

Yet, Dr. T’soni was an expert on Prothean technology, and if the Council’s intelligence was to be trusted, she had been studying those ruins for years. She’s smart, then. Smart enough to have caught Saren’s attention. Shifting her weight, she crossed her arms as her eyes lingered on the young asari’s image. Matriarch Benezia’s daughter. That was a problem. It complicated things in ways Shepard didn’t like; Benezia wasn’t just any asari matriarch—she was one of the most powerful biotics in the galaxy, a political powerhouse, and now, Saren’s ally. That made Liara a potential asset and a potential threat. Her loyalties could be with her mother. Could she be trusted?

She wasn’t sure, but she knew one thing: if Saren was after Liara, it wasn’t for nothing.

“She’s not gonna be easy to find,”  Shepard muttered under her breath, scrolling through more of the data on the dig site. Artemis Tau was a mess of unexplored worlds—dangerous, and isolated. Saren had likely sent mercs, maybe even geth, to retrieve her. If Liara was still out there, she was either hiding or trapped. Either way, time wasn’t on their side.

She ran a hand through her red hair, eyes narrowing at the screen. What’s the angle here ? She thought of Saren’s next move, always staying a step ahead, playing a game the rest of them didn’t even know the rules to. Whatever Liara knew, it was critical to understanding Saren’s endgame—and that made finding her more than just a retrieval or rescue mission. 

Her gaze sharpened, mental gears turning faster. Liara’s an archaeologist. She understands the Prothean relics better than anyone. So much so that, according to this file, she was highly criticized for her extensive research and interest in it. Other academics believed, while academically fascinating, was irrelevant to the asari; the Protheans were long extinct, likely primitive, and the asari rejected the hypothesis that they could have been more technologically advanced than them. By their account, Dr. Liara T’Soni’s interest in the Prothians, on a grand scale, was little more than a pursuit of long-dead ghosts. Ouch, she thought. Wait until they hear she was probably right. Word of the beacon on Eden Prime will get out, and every scholar who criticized her will wish they hadn’t. The thought brought a smile to her face—a future checkmate she hoped to witness.

If Saren was after the beacon on Eden Prime, it meant he needed something—information, knowledge of the Protheans, the Conduit. Her vision meant the Protheans were wiped out by the Reapers; Saren was trying to follow their trail, using their technology. The beacon was proof of this; the Reapers weren’t a myth—they were real, and they were coming.

“T’Soni'd make one hell of an ally,” she murmured. “At the very least she's going to have the best idea what Saren’s after.”

However, she couldn’t afford naivety. Shepard’s gut twisted slightly as her mind circled back to Benezia. Could Liara be playing both sides? It wasn’t impossible. Shepard had seen enough betrayal to know blood ran deep, even when loyalties should have shifted, and Benezia was smart—manipulative. Shepard couldn’t put it past her to use her own daughter to achieve Saren’s goals.

Still, there was something about Liara that tugged at Shepard’s thoughts, something she couldn’t fully define. The way she looked in that profile image—calm, intelligent, with a kind of quiet vulnerability. She doesn’t seem like a pawn. Shepard thought back to some of the asari she had met over the years—dancers, politicians, commandos, warriors. They had a certain grace, but always with a sharpness underneath. Based on this data profile, Liara T’Soni was an unconventional academic. If she was as knowledgeable in person as she was on a data pad—and if one thing was true, Shepard needed information more than anything—then she’d be an invaluable asset in the effort against Saren. She couldn’t shake a nagging thought in the back of her mind, though. Why hadn’t Liara reached out to the Council? If she knew something about Saren, why had she stayed quiet?

Shepard leaned back from the console, her mind already piecing together a plan. The Artemis Tau cluster would take her to four potential systems: Knossos, Macedon, Sparta, and Athens. Liara’s last known location was in Knossos. That’ll be our first stop . If we don’t find her there, we’ll move through the rest of the cluster, system by system. It wasn’t efficient, but with limited intel, it was the best option.

She glanced at the mission logs. Feros and Noveria were still out there—other pieces of the puzzle provided by the Council. They’d suggested Feros might hold more clues, but it was Liara who could give them a direct lead on the Protheans, and subsequently the Conduit. Saren’s not going to wait for us to catch up.

She tapped the console, pulling up a small galaxy map, her mind running over the logistics. We hit Knossos first. Land, assess the situation, extract Liara if she’s still there. If not, we move on. If Saren’s forces were already on her trail, we could be walking into a fight. Shepard’s lips pressed into a thin line. I need Garrus and Wrex for this one. We’ll need firepower, and I trust them both to handle what’s coming. She crossed her arms, her mind working over the details. Kaidan’s biotics would be useful if we run into heavy resistance. Tali could help if we need tech support, but I’ll keep her in reserve for now. Garrus and Wrex up front. No need to risk more than we have to. She linked to Joker’s private comm channel, “When we get through the relay, set a course for Knossos.”

She locked the data pad, and the screen went dark. For a moment, Shepard stared at her reflection in the blank screen. Her own eyes met her gaze, calm but critical.  

“Aye, aye, Commander,” Joker’s voice crackled through the comm system in her quarters. “We’ve got trouble, I think.”

“Do you have an update?” she asked, looking upward and feeling awkward about the absence of others nearby. 

“We’ve entered the system and, Commander, I’m picking up some strange readings—really strange, coming off the damn charts on Therum. It looks like it’s coming from an underground a few clicks away from the drop-off zone.”

“Thanks, Joker; we should start there.”

Chapter Text

The Normandy eased out of FTL, the darkness of the Knossos system expanding before them, its distant star casting faint light on the barren planets scattered throughout the sector. Somewhere in this system, on the volcanic world of Therum, Dr. Liara T’Soni was trapped—if she was even still alive.

Joker’s voice rang out, his hands expertly guiding the ship, “It looks like a whole lot of nothing out here. Not exactly the vacation spot I had in mind.”

Shepard’s gaze was fixed on the galaxy map, her thoughts already on the mission. “Where’s our target?” she asked, scanning the data before her.

Joker’s fingers danced over the console. “Therum. Volcanic, hostile, and plenty of Prothean ruins. Liara’s supposed to be down there, though no one’s heard from her team since they went dark.”

The name of the planet hung in the air— Therum. A harsh world with extreme surface temperatures, where molten rivers carved through jagged, rocky terrain. Somewhere among those ruins, Dr. Liara T’Soni was waiting. Or worse, Saren had already beaten them to her.

“Take us in,” Shepard said, the command coming smoothly, despite the weight behind it.

Joker chuckled lightly, but his voice held an edge of seriousness. “Right. Just remember to keep an eye on your boots, Commander. Lava doesn’t exactly play nice.”

***

The familiarty of the hanger bay was comforting despite the distant roar of Therum’s volcanic activity echoing through the Normandy’s hull. The mako was prepped and ready, its armor gleaming under the bright lights of the hangar.

Garrus stood near the vehicle, tinkering with his sniper rifle. His mandibles twitched slightly as he glanced up, catching Shepard’s approach. “So, Therum, huh?” he said with a wry grin. “Place looks like it’s straight out of a bad vid. Lava, heat, probably not much in the way of pleasant conversation.”

Shepard smirked, pulling on her gloves. “Awe, I wouldn’t want you to get bored, Vakarian. Try not to fall in.”

“Can’t make any promises, Commander,” Garrus replied, his eyes glinting with dry humor. “But I’ll do my best to keep my armor in one piece.”

Wrex, standing next to the mako, grunted in amusement. “Worry about the geth, not the lava. I’ve handled worse.”

Shepard took a breath, her mind quickly running through the plan. The dig site wasn’t far from the landing zone, but the terrain would be rough. Volcanic fissures, unstable ground—getting to Liara was going to be a challenge. The mission was clear. 

“Therum’s hostile. Saren might have sent forces to capture Liara. Expect heavy resistance,” Shepard said, her tone all business now. “We find her, and we leave. No wasting time. We can't afford to let Saren's forces take Liara--she's a leading prothean expert in her field. She's gotta know something that can help us.”

Garrus gave a mock salute. “In and out. Sounds like a solid plan.”

Wrex hefted his shotgun, a grin tugging at the corners of his scarred face. “Good. I’m tired of waiting.”

The squad moved with purpose, climbing into the mako, the heavy door sealing behind them with a loud clang. As the vehicle roared to life, Shepard gripped the controls, feeling the familiar pulse of adrenaline surge through her. 

The mako dropped from the Normandy’s hold, plunging toward Therum’s surface. The heat hit them immediately, shimmering in the air as they hurtled toward the ground, volcanic peaks jutting from the earth like jagged teeth. Rivers of molten rock snaked across the landscape, casting an eerie orange glow over everything. 

The mako jolted as it hit the rough terrain, the volcanic surface unforgiving beneath the vehicle’s wheels. Shepard’s hands remained steady on the controls, guiding them through the treacherous landscape. This place was a death trap. Lava pits glowed ominously on either side while the sharp ridges of volcanic rock loomed like jagged teeth, ready to consume anything that strayed too close.

Garrus shifted in his seat, scanning the horizon with the mako’s sniper. “Not exactly the scenic route, is it?” 

Shepard huffed a small laugh, but her focus didn’t waver. “Unless you like molten rock and toxic air, I’d say this place leaves a lot to be desired.”

Wrex grunted from the back, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve seen worse. Just don’t fall in, and you’ll be fine.” 

Despite the banter, the weight of the mission hung heavily in the air. Shepard couldn’t help but wonder what Liara was thinking when she first came here. Was she excited to uncover the Prothean ruins, oblivious to the chaos that would soon follow? Or was there a part of her that knew Saren’s shadow was looming?

Joker’s voice broke through the comms, pulling her from her thoughts. “Commander, geth patrols are up ahead. Looks like they’ve set up shop near the dig site. You’re not going to have much of a welcome party.”

Shepard grimaced. Of course, Saren had geth here. The synthetic soldiers had been showing up everywhere, like shadows following Saren’s every move. This mission was already more complicated than she liked. “Copy that, Joker. We’ll handle it,” Shepard said, keeping her voice steady. She looked to Garrus and Wrex. “We’ll hit them hard and fast. If we let them dig in, this could get ugly.” 

“Works for me,” Wrex growled, his shotgun gleaming as he prepped it for combat.

Garrus nodded, his eyes already scanning for targets. “I’ll pick off the ones up top. Let’s keep this quick.” 

The mako rumbled to a stop near the ridge, and Shepard climbed out, her boots hitting the ground with a thud. The heat from the planet’s surface hit her immediately, waves of it rolling off the ground in shimmering ripples. Therum wasn’t just dangerous—it was alive, breathing fire and heat, ready to devour her. No time . Her eyes swept the area. The dig site was still several clicks away, but the geth had set up defensive positions near the entrance. They were waiting for anyone foolish enough to try and breach their lines. No way around it. We’ll have to break through. 

“Let’s move,” Shepard ordered, her voice hard with focus. She led the squad toward the nearest ridge, crouching low to stay out of sight. They reached the top of the ridge, and the geth came into view below. Patrols, two mechs at the main entrance, and a few drones buzzing overhead like insects. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was enough to be a problem.

Shepard glanced at Garrus. “You take the high ground. Wrex, you’re with me—we’ll push forward and draw their fire.”

Wrex’s grin was nothing short of feral. “Just don’t get in my way, Commander.”

Garrus nodded. “Try not to miss, Wrex. I’d hate to have to clean up after you.”

Shepard smirked but remained laser-focused. “They’re not well organized—we can exploit that.”

As the battle unfolded, Shepard’s mind split between the chaos around her and the thoughts still swirling in her head. Focus, Shepard. Keep your head on straight. The geth fired relentlessly, their energy bolts searing the air, but Shepard’s squad moved with precision. Garrus picked off targets from above, his sniper with a near silent pop , while Wrex tore through the front lines like a wrecking ball, his biotics throwing geth into the air with ease. 

“Nice shot, Shepard—didn’t know you had it in you!” Wrex laughed as he fired his gun at one of the large mechs.

Her own movements were fluid, and calculated. Her training, her instincts—everything she’d learned as a soldier, and everything she’d survived—told her to focus, to see the battlefield like a puzzle to be solved. If they pushed hard enough, the geth would fall back or be killed.

And sure enough, they did.

With the last geth destroyed, the dust and heat settled around them. Shepard exhaled sharply, her heart still pounding from the intensity of the fight. She wiped the sweat from her brow and looked toward the entrance to the dig site. 

“We should send them a ‘thank you’ card for making this so easy,” Garrus joked, rejoining the crew.

“The dig site’s just up ahead,” she said, her voice unsteady as she caught her breath. “Let’s find Liara and get the hell out of here.”

The dig site was a crumbling maze of ancient stone and metal, half-buried beneath layers of volcanic rock. The air inside was thick with the smell of sulfur, the oppressive heat making it hard to breathe. Shepard led her squad deeper into the ruins, her mind switching gears. This seems like a great place to spend your free time , she thought. The deeper they went, the more Shepard’s thoughts churned. Hell of a place to die. Literally, it’s scorching in here. It seemed there wasn’t anything of significant use on the planet so far, aside from a couple of mods in a weapons locker and some medi-gel; nothing that seemed Prothean anyway. This chick must be crazy to hang out in this heat.

As they continued through the tight corridors, her mind circled back to Dr. T’Soni’s profile on the Normandy—the part where Liara had been described as brilliant but isolated. A genius, sure, but isolation could twist a person’s thinking. On a serious note, this was something Shepard knew all too well. The longer you spent alone, the harder it became to see things clearly.

“Looks like there’s an elevator there, Commander,” Garrus remarked. “It’s probably the only way down.” 

“Right,” she agreed, her hand hovering over a terminal to unlock it. “Seems like someone doesn’t want us getting down there.”

“This has been too easy,” Wrex added. “Where’s the challenge?”

With a laugh, Shepard finally hacked the terminal, they entered the elevator and began their descent. 

“Remember when elevator music was good?” Garrus joked. 

“When was elevator music—” Shepard started before the walls of the elevator shook and cut her off. “What the—” she stammered, losing her balance as the elevator dropped, the sides of it screeching with the tension. 

“Gravity’s a bitch, isn’t it?” Wrex laughed. She shook her head, holding back a chuckle as the door parted. Surprised it still works , she thought as she stepped out. 

“Well this looks fun,” Garrus added as they took in the broken platform. “Only one way down.” Shepard started downward, her feet hitting the next platform with a thud. 

“Uh—hello? Could somebody help me?” a feminine voice called from nearby. Finally. She jogged forward and discovered an asari trapped in a containment field. “Please?” Shepard approached the blue force that held the asari. “Can you hear me out there? I’m trapped—I need help.”

“Liara T’Soni, I presume?” Shepard asked.

“Thank the Goddess, I did not think anyone would come looking for me. Listen, this thing is a Prothean security device; I cannot move, so I need you to get me out of it.

“There’s some kind of repulsion field in the way.” Her eyes scanned the area for a way to help. 

“Indeed. It’s a Prothean barrier curtain—I knew it would keep me safe from the geth; when I turned it on, I must have hit something I wasn’t supposed to. I was trapped in here—you must get me out, please!” she pleaded.

“It’s, okay, Dr. T’Soni—we’ll find some way to help you.”

“There is a control in here that should deactivate this thing; you’ll have to find some way past the barrier curtain. That’s the tricky part—the defenses cannot be shut off from the outside. I don’t know how you’ll get in here,” Liara rambled. “Be careful—there is a Krogan with the geth. They have been trying different ways to get past the barrier.” 

Shepard nodded, the air growing heavier as she turned back to her squad, already strategizing. A Krogan working with the geth? That spelled trouble. Krogan weren’t known for their subtlety—if one was here, they would be facing brute force, not to mention the geth, who were relentless in their precision.

“Well, that makes things more interesting,” Garrus muttered, scanning the area for threats. His sharp Turian eyes were already calculating potential angles of attack.

Shepard’s mind raced as she studied the terrain. The narrow platforms, the unstable ground—this wasn’t going to be a simple firefight. If the Krogan and geth were close, they could use the landscape to their advantage. Elevation would be key. Her eyes flicked back to the entrance they had come through—there were likely more geth waiting.

“Great. Another Krogan,” Wrex said with a low growl, his shotgun already in hand. “Let’s see how he stacks up.”

Shepard motioned to Garrus. “You take the high ground, pick off the geth before they can overwhelm us. Wrex, you’re with me. We’re going to deal with that Krogan up close.”

Garrus flashed a confident grin, already moving to find a vantage point. “I’ll try not to shoot all of them before you get there.”

“Don’t miss any either,” Shepard shot back, her voice tight with anticipation as she led the way across the crumbling platform. She couldn’t afford to be slow.

The squad moved forward, and just as expected, the telltale glow of geth optics shimmered in the distance. The ground began to tremble—heavy footsteps and the mechanical hum of geth drones grew louder. They were closing in. Shepard raised her pistol, her voice sharp and commanding. “Engage! Keep them off balance!”

Garrus perched high above, his sniper rifle aimed down at the approaching geth. His first shot rang out with deadly precision, the energy bolt striking a geth in its weak spot, sending it crashing to the ground. “One down!”

Wrex, however, was already in the thick of it. The ground rumbled beneath his heavy steps as he charged toward the Krogan, his biotics flaring in bursts of blue light. “I’ve been waiting for this!” he growled, his grin feral as he closed the gap. Shepard followed, her pistol firing with quick, calculated shots. She needed to think ahead. The geth wouldn’t relent, but the Krogan would be the real challenge. If they didn’t take him down fast, he could crush them—and with the geth still advancing, they were running out of time.

The Krogan spotted them and let out a roar, his massive frame barreling toward them. His shotgun boomed, sending blasts of fire in their direction. “Move!” Shepard yelled, diving behind cover just as the shot exploded where she’d been standing. The heat from the blast seared her armor, but she barely registered it. Stay calm. Focus. 

Wrex met the Krogan head-on, their collision like two freight trains smashing together. He roared in return, slamming into the enemy Krogan with his shoulder, sending them both staggering back. “Finally! A real fight!”

Shepard, flanking around, took aim at the geth. Garrus’ rifle fired above, precision shots taking down two more. “We’ve got them on the run, Commander!” But it wasn’t over. The Krogan roared again, enraged by Wrex’s biotic slam. He recovered quickly, swinging his shotgun like a club and knocking Wrex backward.

Shepard took the opening. “Wrex, duck!” she ordered, and without hesitation, Wrex dropped low, giving her a clean line of fire. Her pistol barked twice—two rapid, focused shots aimed at the Krogan’s exposed chest. The heavy armor cracked, and the beast staggered, roaring in defiance. It wasn’t enough. Krogan were notoriously hard to kill, their regenerative abilities buying them time even after what should’ve been mortal wounds. Wrex, out of the way, gritted his teeth and activated his biotics, focusing on the Krogan’s staggering form. You can regenerate, but not if you can’t move. He released a powerful biotic lift, hoisting the other  Krogan into the air, his massive form flailing as gravity lost its grip on him.

“Now!” she yelled, and Wrex didn’t need to be told twice. With a grunt of effort, he aimed his shotgun, firing a point-blank shot that sent the Krogan crashing to the ground, unmoving. 

He rolled his shoulders, grinning down at the fallen enemy. “Should’ve stayed home.”

The battlefield fell quiet as the last of the geth fell, courtesy of Garrus’ steady aim. Shepard exhaled, scanning the area for any remaining threats. Clear. For now . “We need to move,” Shepard said, reloading her pistol. The Prothean containment field shimmered in her periphery, and behind it, Liara was still floating in a stasis bubble. Shepard knelt beside the fallen Krogan, the adrenaline still pumping through her veins as she scanned the wreckage. The immediate threat was gone, but they were far from safe. Liara was still trapped, and she could feel time slipping away.

“We need to get her out of that containment field,” Shepard wondered, standing and moving toward the terminal that controlled the barrier.

Garrus approached, his rifle still ready. “The system’s locked down pretty tight. Whatever this is, it’s ancient, and I doubt our tech can interface with it.”

Shepard glanced at the containment field, a shimmering wall of energy surrounding Dr. T’Soni. There had to be a way through, something they hadn’t thought of yet.

Wrex grunted, wiping a bit of blood from his forehead as he came to stand next to Shepard. “Krogan would just blow a hole through it. I don’t suppose that’s the plan?”

Shepard smirked briefly and turned to the left, noticing a large, weathered mining laser attached to a control console. Her eyes flicked over the machine—it was old, built for excavation in these volcanic tunnels. “You might be onto something, Wrex,” she grinned.

“Hell yeah!”

“This a mining laser,” Shepard said, nodding toward the hulking machine. “We can use it to blast our way through.”

Garrus tilted his head, considering the option. “It’ll be loud, but it could work.”

Wrex, however, grinned. “Now that’s more like it.” Shepard approached the console and studied the controls, her fingers moving across the buttons with precision. The terminal hummed to life, the laser powering up with a low, mechanical growl. She could feel the vibration beneath her feet as the ancient machine whirred into action. The mining laser blasted a searing hole through the ground, sending fragments of rock and debris tumbling into the pit below. Shepard shielded her eyes from the dust as the laser hissed to a stop, revealing a jagged opening that led to the lower platform beneath Liara’s stasis field. 

“That’ll do,” Shepard muttered, leading the squad through the opening. Therum was already unstable—this wouldn’t help matters . The heat intensified as they dropped onto the platform, the ground trembling beneath their feet.

“Guess that’s one way to get in,” Garrus quipped, keeping his sniper rifle ready as they crossed the platform toward a narrow elevator. Shepard moved quickly, the platform creaking with each step. They reached an elevator—a rusted, ancient lift—and stepped on, the controls sparking to life. The ride was short, taking them behind where Liara’s stasis field shimmered in the oppressive heat.

Liara’s eyes widened in shock when she heard them appear behind her. “Oh—how did you get in here? I didn’t think there was any way past the barrier!”

“We blasted through with the mining laser,” Shepard said plainly, her voice steady. 

“Of course, yes—that makes sense,” Liara said, clearly rattled but grateful. “Please get me out of here before more geth arrive. That button over there should shut down the containment field.”

Shepard moved toward the console, but Garrus stepped closer, his voice cautious. “Hold on, Commander. Her mother is working with Saren. Can we trust her?”

Liara’s expression shifted, a mix of frustration and hurt flashing in her eyes. “I am not my mother! I don’t even—I don’t know why Benezia joined Saren. I don’t want anything to do with that Turian bastard.”

Shepard studied her for a moment. The fear was real. If Liara were working with Saren, this wouldn’t make sense. “If she was with Saren, the geth wouldn’t be trying to kill her,” Shepard said, her tone firm but calm.

Relieved, Liara sighed. “Thank you. Please—get me out.” Shepard hit the button on the terminal, and the field around Liara flickered before disappearing. Liara stumbled forward, her legs weak from being trapped for so long.

“Any idea how we get out of this place, doc?” Shepard asked, scanning the crumbling ruins around them.

“There’s an elevator back in the center of the tower,” Liara replied, pointing toward the far side of the platform. “At least, I think it’s an elevator. It should take us out of here.”

Wrex snorted. “Better hope it works. This place is coming down.”

Liara looked around, her disbelief still palpable. “I—I still cannot believe all this. Why would the geth come after me? You think Benezia’s involved?”

Shepard’s gaze hardened as she pieced it together. “Saren’s looking for the Conduit. You’re a Prothean expert. He probably wants you to help him find it.”

“Conduit? But I don’t know—” A sudden rumble shook the platform, cutting her off. The ground quaked violently, sending cracks splintering across the floor beneath them.

“What the hell was that?” Garrus shouted, gripping his rifle.

“These ruins are not stable!” Liara’s voice rose in alarm. “The mining laser must have triggered a seismic event. We have to hurry—the whole place is caving in!”

Shepard tapped her comm. “Joker, get the Normandy airborne and lock in on my signal. We need immediate extraction.”

“Aye, Commander,” Joker’s voice crackled back. “ETA, eight minutes.”

Shepard turned to the squad. “Let’s move—now.”

Without hesitation, they sprinted toward the elevator, the tremors growing stronger with each passing second. This place was falling apart fast. The ground beneath them cracked with each step, large chunks of rock and debris falling away into the molten depths below. Therum’s instability was getting worse by the second. Above them, the cavern ceiling trembled, sending dust and small rocks cascading down.

“Great. Now all we need is a lava flow to spice things up,” Garrus quipped, his mandibles twitching with grim humor.

“Careful what you wish for,” Shepard murmured back, her pace quick but measured as they made their way across the unstable platforms. They were close now—just a little longer and they’d be in the clear. However, the geth weren’t about to let them leave so easily.

Ahead, the familiar hum of geth units echoed through the ruins, their sleek mechanical forms emerging from behind cover. Energy shields snapped into place, and before Shepard could issue an order, the geth opened fire. A krogan battlemaster appeared from a platform across from them. 

“Surrender,” he said flatly, his voice low like Wrex’s. “Or don’t—that would be more fun.” 

“In case you haven’t noticed, this place is falling apart?”

“Exhilarating isn’t it? Thanks for getting rid of those energy fields for us—now hand over the Doctor.”

Liara scoffed, “Whatever it is you want, you are not getting it from me.” 

Shepard smiled, “Yeah, she’ll be staying with me, actually. Thanks for asking though.”

“Not an option,” the Krogan bellowed. “Saren wants her, and Saren gets what he wants—kill them, and spare the asari if you can.”

“You think Saren will cry about it when he doesn’t get his way—or is that wishful thinking?” Garrus remarked, getting into position.

Wrex growled, raising his shotgun. “Time to remind them who’s in charge!”

Shepard’s instincts kicked in immediately. “Take cover! Focus fire on the heavies first.”

Garrus was already moving to higher ground, taking a sniper’s position behind a large rock formation. His rifle let out a sharp crack as he took aim, dropping a geth trooper with a perfect headshot. “Sniped and dropped!” he called, his voice calm and steady.

Wrex charged ahead, biotics flaring around him as he slammed into a geth, sending two of the machines flying with a shockwave. “Let's wrap this up before someone gets hurt,” he grunted, his shotgun barking as he finished off a stunned geth with a single shot. Shepard moved in tandem with her squad, her pistol barking out controlled shots as she focused on taking down the larger geth mechs. They needed to clear a path quickly—every second wasted brought the ruins closer to total collapse. The tremors were worsening, and cracks were beginning to spread along the ground.

“Liara, stay back and find cover!” Shepard shouted over the gunfire, catching sight of the asari scrambling to stay out of the line of fire. Liara’s face was pale, her eyes wide with fear, but she nodded, ducking behind a nearby column.

Shepard took aim at a geth Destroyer as it lumbered forward, its heavy cannons charging up for an attack. She squeezed off several rounds, but its shields absorbed the hits, barely wavering. “Garrus, hit that Destroyer—now!”

“On it,” Garrus replied, and a second later, his sniper round tore through the Destroyer’s shields, sending sparks flying. Wrex wasted no time, charging in with a biotic slam that shattered the machine’s armor, bringing it to its knees.

“Got it!” Wrex growled, finishing the machine off with a point-blank shotgun blast. Shepard pressed forward, taking down the last of the geth with the help of a well-placed biotic throw—Wrex? It sent the geth crashing into the side of the platform. She exhaled, her breath coming in heavy from the intensity of the fight. 

“Thanks, Wrex,” she panted, her eyes scanning the area for any potential misses.

“Wasn’t me,” the Krogan grumbled. She turned around, confused, and she saw Liara standing shyly beside a column, a guilty expression on her face. 

“It was only fair,” she stated, matter of factly. “I am a very capable biotic and you have already saved my life.” 

“Thank you, Dr. T’Soni,” Shepard said, hoping if anyone saw the heat in her cheeks, they’d attribute it to the fight. “We’re clear, but we need to move,” Shepard ordered, her eyes darting to the crumbling structure around them. The entire place was falling apart. Large chunks of rock were breaking free, smashing down with enough force to shatter anything beneath them.

“Let’s hope that elevator of yours works, Dr. T’Soni,” Garrus said, reloading his rifle as they sprinted toward the central tower.

Liara, still shaken but holding her ground, pointed toward the far end of the platform. “The elevator should be just ahead. If we can make it—” Another massive tremor shook the ground, and a deafening crack echoed through the cavern. The floor beneath them buckled, sending debris flying. Shepard caught herself on a nearby ledge, her eyes locking on the elevator in the distance.

“We’re running out of time,” she muttered, pushing herself back to her feet. “Go! Move!” They ran as the ground beneath them continued to crumble, molten rock spilling into the cracks. The elevator loomed ahead, barely operational but still intact.

Shepard tapped her comm. “Joker, get the Normandy ready. We’re almost there.”

“Aye, Commander. I’ve got you on my sensors. Hurry up, though—I’m not sure how long this place is going to hold,” Joker’s voice crackled back, the urgency clear. The squad reached the elevator, Shepard slamming her hand onto the controls. The doors creaked open, and they all piled in just as another quake rattled the ruins. The elevator groaned to life, slowly rising toward the surface. 

Shepard shouted, her hand flying to her comm, “Joker, get the Normandy in position now! We’re coming out!” 

“We’re cutting it close, Commander!” Joker’s voice came back, the Normandy’s engines roaring to life in the background. “ETA in sixty seconds. Heavy enemy forces!” Shepard steadied herself as the elevator reached the surface, the doors creaking open to reveal the Normandy hovering just above the dig site, its engines glowing bright against the fiery landscape. They had to move, and fast.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Shepard growled, sprinting toward the waiting ship.

Chapter Text

The cargo bay doors sealed with a low, echoing thud, the oppressive heat of Therum began to melt away, and the tension still clung to Shepard’s skin. Too close. The sterile, recycled air of the Normandy replaced the thick, sulfurous atmosphere of the volcanic planet, but the adrenaline still coursed through her veins. Too damn close . Shepard took a moment, standing in the cargo bay’s dim lighting, letting the hum of the ship’s engines vibrate under her feet. For a second, she allowed herself to breathe. Another successful mission, but the cost was always lurking in the back of her mind.

Joker’s voice crackled through the comm system, breaking the fragile silence. “That was too close, Commander. Ten more seconds, and we would’ve been swimming in molten sulfur.”

Shepard’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles, but her chest still felt tight. “I’ll be sure to avoid landing in volcanoes from now on, Joker,” she replied, her tone steady but wry. Humor was a temporary release, a momentary distraction, but the weight of responsibility was always there, ready to settle back onto her shoulders. 

Joker’s chuckle was sharp, but there was a note of relief beneath it. “Much appreciated, Commander. Just for future reference, the Normandy’s sensors tend to fry in lava pits. Volcanic landings? Not our specialty.”

Sarcasm—the last line of defense against panic. Shepard had long appreciated Joker’s ability to crack a joke even when a mission had nearly ended in disaster. He was like that—able to lighten the heaviest of situations with his biting humor. It could have been the end of them, this she knew, but Joker always managed to assuage the anxieties of what didn’t happen that could have killed her and the squad. She glanced over at her team, their armor streaked with dust and sweat, their faces grim yet alive. Alive . Her gaze lingered on Wrex for a moment, his imposing figure towering near the bulkhead, then on Garrus, still meticulously inspecting his rifle. Finally, her eyes landed on Liara, who stood close to the wall, her chest rising and falling in shallow, exhausted breaths.

The young asari’s wide eyes were still filled with shock, her blue skin glistening with sweat. “Your pilot…” Liara’s voice was soft, laced with disbelief. “He makes jokes even after all of that?”

Shepard’s focus shifted to her, assessing the young scientist’s mental state. She’s not used to this. She nodded slowly. “It’s a coping mechanism,” she explained, her voice steady but sympathetic. “You’ll get used to it. Joker? Call the crew for a debriefing.” 

Liara blinked, her brow furrowing as if trying to reconcile the human tendency to joke in the face of danger. “I see. It must be a human thing.” She shook her head, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. “I haven’t had much experience with your species, Commander. But... I am grateful. You saved my life back there—not just from the volcano, but from the geth. They would have killed me or… taken me to Saren.” 

Shepard studied her for a moment. Liara’s brilliance was obvious—her reputation as an expert in Prothean history was well-earned—but she was shaken, scared. And why wouldn’t she be? She’d been trapped, alone, isolated in those ruins for who knew how long. She gestured Liara and the rest of the crew to the conference area for a debrief. Shepard could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her body trembled from the aftermath of terror and the long hours of tension. She had to handle this carefully. Liara wasn’t a soldier. She was an academic caught in the crossfire of a galactic war.

The Normandy hummed softly as Shepard, along with Garrus, Wrex, Ashley, and Kaidan, sat around the briefing room’s table. The room was dim, only illuminated by the soft glow of the tactical map hovering above the display. It felt intimate—almost too quiet after the chaos of Therum. Liara T’Soni sat nearby, her posture slightly slumped, as though the weight of her recent ordeal pressed down on her. Her blue skin seemed even more pale under the ship's artificial lighting, and her expression was thoughtful, yet tinged with a hint of exhaustion. Shepard could see it in her eyes—the strain of years of isolation, suddenly thrust into a world of violence. How much longer before this world hardens her? Shepard thought. The galaxy does that to everyone, eventually.

Kaiden, thankfully, waited until everyone sat down before digging into Liara, “What does Saren want with you? Do you know something about the Conduit?” His voice was firm, yet not unkind—the typical gravel she’d gotten used to from him. 

Liara crossed her arms tightly, almost as if trying to hold herself together. There was fear there, but also confusion—uncertainty . “No, I don’t know anything about the Conduit, only that it’s connected to the Protheans’ extinction. That’s my real area of expertise— However, I’ve spent the last fifty years dedicated to understanding what happened to them. But—I don’t know why Saren would be interested in me. I never imagined I’d be caught up in something like this. ”

“Fifty years? Exactly how old are you?” Kaiden asked, crossing his arms. 

“I hate to admit it but I am only 106.”

“Damn—I hope I look that good when I’m your age!” Ashley remarked through a huff of laughter.

Liara, unbothered, continued, “A century may seem a long time for a short-lived species like yours, but among the asari, I am barely considered more than a child. That is why my research has not received the attention it deserves—-because of my youth other asari scholars tend to dismiss my theories on what happened to the Protheans.”

Shepard kept her expression neutral, but her mind raced. Liara was at the center of something monumental, yet she didn’t seem to understand just how deep it went. There was a vulnerability to her, but also a strength. The asari was smart and capable, but the significance of the galaxy’s dangers hadn’t yet hardened her, and it could be dangerous, she thought—the kind of danger that made you hesitate at the wrong moment. “I have my own theory about why the Protheans disappeared,” she started.

Liara’s voice broke, soft at first but gaining strength as she spoke, her words tinged with the same passion Shepard had seen when they first met. “With all due respect, Commander, I’ve heard every theory out there about the Protheans. The problem is finding evidence to support them; the Protheans left remarkably little behind. It’s almost as if someone didn’t want the mystery solved.”  Shepard crossed her arms, leaning against the bulkhead as she listened, her eyes studying Liara’s face. She’s smart.  

Liara continued, her tone shifting to one of revelation, as though the words had been waiting too long to be spoken aloud. “It’s like someone came along after the Protheans were gone and cleansed the galaxy of clues, but here’s the incredible part: according to my findings, the Protheans weren’t the first galactic civilization to mysteriously vanish. This cycle began long before them.”

Ashley shifted her weight next to Shepard, her brow furrowing. “What cycle? What are you talking about?”

Liara’s eyes flashed with the intensity of her conviction. “The galaxy is built on a cycle of extinction. Each time a great civilization rises up, it’s suddenly and violently cast down. Only ruins survive. The Protheans rose from a single world until their empire spanned the entire galaxy, yet even they climbed to the top on the remains of those who came before them. Their greatest achievements—the mass relays, the Citadel—are based on the technology of those who came before.”

Shepard felt a knot tightening in her stomach. This was bigger than anything she’d imagined. She pushed herself off the bulkhead, her expression hardening. “And then? What happened to them?”

Liara met her gaze, the weight of her words landing like a hammer. “And then, like all the other forgotten civilizations throughout galactic history, the Protheans disappeared.” The room went still, the gravity of her statement hanging in the air. Garrus shifted next to her, the soft click of his armor breaking the silence. “I’ve dedicated my life to figuring out why.” Liara’s voice was quieter now, almost as though the words themselves exhausted her.

Shepard paused for a moment, bracing herself. “They were wiped out by a race of sentient machines—the Reapers.” The images from the beacon on Eden Prime flared in her mind. Machines. Destruction. 

“R-Reapers, but I have never heard—how do you know this, what evidence do you have?”

“There was a damaged Prothean beacon on Eden Prime; it burned a vision into my brain. I’m still trying to sort out what it all means.”

Liara’s eyes widened slightly, her scientific curiosity and awe pushing past her exhaustion. “Visions—yes,” she whispered, as though confirming a theory she had long suspected. “That makes sense. The beacons were designed to transmit information directly into the mind of the user. Finding one that still works is extremely rare. No wonder the geth attacked Eden Prime—the chance to acquire a working beacon, even a damaged one, would be worth almost any risk. However, the beacons were only meant to interact with Prothean physiology. Whatever information you received, Commander, must have been confusing and unclear. I’m amazed you were able to make sense of it at all. A lesser mind would have been destroyed by the process. You must be incredibly strong-willed, Commander.” 

Shepard blushed, but let the compliment slide. Ashley spoke up before her, frustrated, “Okay, This isn’t helping us find Saren or the Conduit.”

Liara blinked, clearly reining in her scientific enthusiasm. “Of course. You’re right. I—I’m sorry I let my scientific curiosity get the better of me.” Her shoulders slumped a little, and for a moment, she looked so young. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any concrete information that can help you find the Conduit or Saren.”

Shepard stepped forward, her tone firm but not unkind. Liara was a brilliant mind—she could be a valuable ally in more ways than one . “I don’t know why Saren wanted you out of the picture, but I think we’ll be a lot better off if you stick around.”

Liara’s eyes softened, a flicker of gratitude breaking through the exhaustion. “T-Thank you, Commander. Saren might come after me again, and I… I cannot think of anywhere safer than with you… My knowledge of the Protheans could be useful, and I will assist however I can.”

Wrex, standing at the edge of the group, glanced between them, his tone pragmatic, “And her biotics will definitely come in handy when the fighting starts. We could use someone else who can fling the geth across the room.”

Shepard allowed herself a small smile. Wrex always had a way of cutting through the noise. “Good to have you on the team, Liara.”

Liara smiled back, though her exhaustion was clear. “I am very grateful to you all, but…” she swayed slightly, her hand reaching out to steady herself on the nearby console. “I’m afraid I’m feeling a bit light-headed.”

Shepard noticed the way Liara swayed slightly on her feet, a pale tint to her normally, bright blue, vibrant skin. The mission had taken a toll on all of them, but for Liara, the physical and emotional strain was starting to show . Shepard’s eyes narrowed with concern, “When was the last time you ate or slept, Doctor?”

Liara blinked as if she hadn’t thought about it, her brow furrowing. “It—it is probably just mental exhaustion coupled with the shock of discovering the true fate of the Protheans…I need some time to process all this…still, it could not hurt to be examined by a medical professional. It will give me the chance to think things over. A-Are we finished here, Commander?”

“Yes. Dismissed. Dr. Chawkwas is down in the medbay, I can take—” 

Joker’s voice broke through the comms once again, interrupting her. “Mission reports have been filed, Commander, and the Council’s on the line. You want me to patch you through?”

Shepard closed her eyes for a moment, pinching her nose, and bracing herself for another round with the bureaucrats. Of course, they want to talk now . She let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of their scrutiny already pressing down on her. “Patch them through, Joker.” Shepard reached out, placing a hand on Liara’s shoulder, her voice softening. “You need to rest. Dr. Chakwas will take care of you.”

Liara nodded, her exhaustion now fully apparent. “Yes… you are right. Thank you, Commander.”

“Garrus, please show Liara to the medbay.” 

“On it, Shepard.” 

***

Shepard strode through the corridors, her mind churning as she prepared for yet another Council briefing. The anticipation was familiar, a mix of frustration and determination that always coiled tight in her chest before these meetings. Every word, every piece of intel could either push them closer to stopping Saren or delay them in bureaucratic gridlock.

The soft hiss of the comm room doors sliding shut behind her felt like stepping into a battleground. Shepard stood tall as the holographic forms of the Council flickered to life before her. The imposing figures of the Turian, asari, and Salarian Councilors filled the small space, their faces stern and unreadable in the hazy blue light of their projections. The tension thrumming in the air met with the weight of their judgment pressing down on her—every time she spoke with them they found some way to devalue whatever she had to say. 

The Turian Councilor was the first to speak, his voice sharp and dismissive, each word carrying a subtle undercurrent of skepticism. “Commander Shepard, we have received your report. I understand Dr. T’Soni is now aboard your ship.”

Shepard’s jaw clenched almost instinctively, a reaction she barely managed to suppress. The knot of frustration tightened, but she forced herself to remain calm, her voice steady. “Yes, that’s correct. She’s on our side. The geth were after her.”

The asari Councilor raised an eyebrow, her expression a delicate balance of disbelief and thinly veiled contempt. “Benezia would never allow Saren to harm her own daughter.”

Shepard resisted the urge to snap back, but the doubt gnawed at her patience. Her pulse quickened, and she fought to keep the rising tide of anger in check. “Maybe Benezia doesn’t know everything. Or maybe there’s more to Benezia than we realize.”

The Salarian Councilor’s sharp gaze fixed on Shepard, his expression clinical, almost dissecting her every word. “At least the mission was successful.”

 “Yes, despite the destruction of a significant Prothean ruin,” the Turian added. 

The thin veil of control cracked for a moment and her teeth clenched so tightly she thought they might crack. “There were geth all over those ruins. We were lucky to make it out alive.”

The Salarian Councilor’s eyes narrowed, his voice cutting through the air with cold precision. “Of course, Commander. The mission always comes first.” Shepard met his gaze, her eyes burning with a fire held just beneath the surface. Every interaction with the Council felt like a game of survival—a delicate dance of words and restraint, when all she wanted to do was shake them into action. Didn’t they see what was happening? Couldn’t they feel the growing threat hanging like a shadow over everything they held dear? Her entire life, she could only trust one thing—her instincts. They were yet to fail her, and she was confident they’d always be right. Now? Her instincts told her Liara was an ally, and there was a larger threat than Saren—the Reapers.

“Good luck, Commander,” the asari Councilor closed, her tone clipped, almost dismissive as the transmission ended. The holograms flickered out, and the room fell into silence. Shepard stood there for a moment, trying to calm herself down. They didn’t get it. They didn’t see the bigger picture—the sheer magnitude of what was at stake. Saren wasn’t just some rogue Spectre causing trouble in the Traverse. This was bigger, darker, and more insidious than they could fathom—and the Council’s skepticism? It grated on her nerves like nails on steel.

Shepard turned sharply, her boots tapping rhythmically against the metal floor as she strode toward the doorway. Her mind raced, full of a dozen unspoken arguments she wished she’d hurled at the Council. They were stalling, and she didn’t have time for it. Saren was moving faster than they realized. As she reached the door, Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko appeared, his expression a mixture of worry and quiet intensity. 

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice softer than usual. “Commander, do you have a moment?”

Shepard paused, forcing herself to take a breath before facing him. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

Kaidan shifted his weight, glancing around as though the walls themselves were listening. “Off the record, Commander—I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. Saren’s looking for records of galactic extinction events, yet the Council refuses to provide backup. It doesn’t sit right with me.”

Shepard’s brow furrowed as his words mirrored her own gnawing thoughts. Kaidan was right—there was something deeply wrong here. “The Council doesn’t want to believe anything’s wrong,” she agreed, her tone laced with a hint of bitterness. “But what can we do? We’re just one ship against all of this. 

Kaidan’s gaze grew more intense, his eyes locking onto hers. “But an organization as old as the Council? You’d think they’d see this coming.”

Shepard let out a dry, humorless chuckle, shaking her head. “You have too much faith in the Council, Alenko. They’re more interested in maintaining the status quo than protecting the galaxy.” She could feel her frustration spilling into her words, the bitterness she’d been holding in beginning to seep through. Calm down, Shepard. Remember: focus before fury … at least around the crew . 

Kaidan’s jaw tightened at her words, but he didn’t argue. After a moment, he spoke again, quieter now. “I’m sorry, Commander—it’s just, I signed on to make a difference—to protect people, but how can we do that when the people in charge refuse to listen?”

Shepard’s expression softened slightly at his honesty. Kaidan wasn’t the only one questioning things—hell, she’d been questioning herself more and more lately; she couldn’t be transparent about her doubts—not now. Not when her crew needed her to be strong.

“Don’t apologize for being honest, Kaidan,” she said, her voice low but steady. “We all have our reasons for being here. Some of us to prove ourselves… some of us to escape.”

Their eyes met for a long moment, and Shepard saw something like relief flicker in Kaidan’s gaze. He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing just slightly, “I just wish I had more answers, Commander.”

Shepard offered a small, tired smile. “We’ll find them, and we’ll stop Saren. Trust me.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Kaidan’s lips, his eyes warming with gratitude. “Thanks, Commander. I needed to hear that.”

With a nod, Shepard turned away, heading toward the med bay. As she walked, Kaidan’s words lingered in her mind, weaving themselves into her doubts. The Council didn’t believe in the Reapers, didn’t believe in the threat they posed—they didn’t believe her, and Shepard had seen it. She felt it, in the pit of her stomach—a looming shadow, stretching across the stars. Every step they took, every mission, felt like a race against the darkness creeping in.

The doors to the med bay hissed open, and the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air—a sharp contrast to the weight of the thoughts that clouded Shepard’s mind. Inside, Dr. Chakwas stood near the examination bed, adjusting a terminal while Liara sat nearby, still pale from the ordeal on Therum. Liara’s eyes flicked up as Shepard entered, her lips curling into a small, tired smile. “Commander,” she greeted softly, relief mingling with curiosity in her tone. “Have you come to check up on me?”

Shepard crossed the room, allowing herself a moment to push her frustration aside. “I was worried about our newest crewmate. How are you feeling, Dr. T’Soni?” 

Dr. Chakwas turned toward Shepard with a reassuring nod. “She’s recovering well, Commander. The heat exhaustion was the worst of it, but she’ll be fine with some rest. Her biotics will recover fully in no time.” Shepard nodded and turned her attention back to Liara. Despite her pale complexion and obvious fatigue, there was a resilience in her eyes that Shepard couldn’t help but respect. She had been through hell, but she hadn’t broken. Not yet.

Liara offered a small smile in return, “Dr. Chakwas has been wonderful. I have never received such thorough care before.”

Shepard leaned against the bed’s edge, offering a wry grin. “You’re in good hands here, Liara. Dr. Chakwas is the best.”

Liara’s expression softened, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “I never properly thanked you for rescuing me from the geth, Commander. If you hadn’t arrived when you did—” 

There was sincerity in her words, a genuine gratitude that tugged at something in Shepard. She wasn’t one to bask in praise—there was always another mission, another objective to achieve—but something about the way Liara said it, the quiet vulnerability in her voice, made the moment feel more personal. Shepard waved a hand dismissively, though her voice softened. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad we got there in time. You’re a valuable ally, Liara. You’re a part of the crew now—we take care of our own.” 

Liara’s eyes flickered with surprise, as though the idea of belonging somewhere was foreign to her. It made Shepard pause, if just for a moment. Liara was brilliant, no doubt—one of the foremost Prothean experts in the galaxy—but that isolation, the solitude of her work, had clearly left its mark. There was a quiet loneliness in the asari that Shepard recognized, a rippled reflection of her own life before the Normandy. “I—I know you took a risk bringing me aboard. I’ve seen how some of your crew look at me. They don’t trust me.”

Shepard straightened, her gaze steady and unwavering. Trust your instincts. “Don’t worry about them. I trust you. You’re not your mother, and I have faith you won’t let me down.” The words weren’t just for Liara’s sake—they were for the entire crew. She needed to set the tone, to make it clear that trust was earned by action, not by family ties. Benezia may have sided with Saren, but Liara was not her mother. She would make sure everyone understood that.

Liara blinked, clearly surprised by the sincerity in Shepard’s tone. “It—it means a great deal to hear you say that, Commander.”

After a pause, Shepard shifted her stance, crossing her arms casually, and leaned against the wall adjacent to Liara. “Tell me more about yourself, Liara. Before all of this.”

Liara hesitated, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Me? I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell, Commander. There were expectations placed on me as the daughter of such an influential Matriarch. Most of my life has been spent on remote dig sites, studying Prothean ruins. It’s not the most exciting life by most standards.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “Sounds isolated, and dangerous.”

Liara chuckled softly. “Yes, it was often quite dangerous, but I never minded the isolation. It was… comforting, in a way. I was always more interested in the past than the present. I suppose it kept me from following in my mother’s footsteps.”

Shepard smirked, her voice light with amusement. “So, rebelling against your parents is a rite of passage in every species?”

Liara’s expression softened with a small, nervous laugh. “Yes, I suppose it is; though, in my case, I think I’ve spent more time trying to escape the shadow of my mother than anything else.” The asari’s face softened when she spoke about Benezia—not with anger or bitterness, but a kind of resigned sadness. She was disappointed—not hateful. She could understand that.

“It’s not easy living up to someone else’s expectations,” Shepard said, her voice quieter now, almost reflective. “But it sounds like you’ve done just fine on your own.”

Liara blinked, her surprise evident. “Thank you, Commander.” For a moment, the two of them sat in a comfortable silence, the tension of the past few days easing ever so slightly. Shepard could feel the bond forming between them, fragile but undeniable. Liara was different from the aliens aboard—she was more than just a brilliant scientist or a skilled biotic. There was a depth to her, a vulnerability that Shepard found... intriguing. Maybe it was the lack of sleep clouding her emotions more than usual. 

Liara shifted again, glancing down at her hands before speaking softly. “I think... I need some time to process everything that’s happened. It’s a lot to take in—the Reapers, the Protheans, everything I thought I knew…”

Shepard nodded, pushing herself away from the wall. “Take all the time you need. We’re not going anywhere for a while. If you need anything, my quarters are just opposite the control panel. Sometimes the LT hangs out there when he’s got paperwork. It’ll take some of the crew some time to get used to aliens aboard an Alliance vessel, but nobody here bites,” she said. Then, laughing, she added, “Well, maybe Wrex does. In any case, if you have any concerns—please reach out.”

“Thank you, Shepard,” Liara murmured, her voice laced with sincerity. “And... thank you again, for saving me.”

“Anytime,” Shepard replied with a small smile, turning to leave. 

Her boots echoed softly on the metal deck as she made her way toward the mess. The weight of the conversation with the Council still hung over her, it even felt her crew disagreed with her. It always seemed like nothing had changed since she was a kid on Mindoir, running around with other humans on the colony, and watching the way they treated aliens. She’d never understood why there was any disdain for them—sure, there was the First Contact War, but a hundred or so years had passed since then. While it might be different for other species, most humans—on the colony anyway—were too young to remember that, or they were just kids when it happened. Her parents hadn’t even been old enough to enlist during the war. So why did it matter? And why was everyone so concerned about Liara’s presence on the Normandy? If the Council had met her or known anything about her, they’d see she was hardly a threat. Sure, she had her biotics, but so did all asari. Dr. T’Soni was a scientist—a scholar. In her experience, people who read books and wrote papers the way Liara did rarely yielded the same aptitude for murder and deception. 

The familiar hum of the mess hall met her ears and turned her thoughts away. The crew was scattered around the tables, some huddled in quiet conversation, others lost in their thoughts, meals half-finished. Shepard’s eyes quickly scanned the room, but her focus sharpened when she spotted Kaidan near the back, leaning against the counter, his eyes on her as soon as she stepped in. Well, guess I’m gonna have to hold off on the nap I wanted.

“Commander,” Kaidan’s voice rang out, a little more clipped than usual, though his gaze remained steady. 

“Lieutenant,” Shepard replied, her tone neutral, though she could feel the subtle tension in the air between them. She crossed the room, giving him a cursory nod of acknowledgment before pulling out a seat across from him. Kaiden poured two cups of coffee and passed one to her before sitting down. “What’s your opinion about the last mission, Alenko?” 

“Doctor T’Soni? Uh, she seems like a sweet girl, nice enough. Easy on the eyes. I mean, if you like the bookish sort,” he replied. 

Shepard raised an eyebrow, her lips curling slightly at the corner. “Oh, I do. Remember, Lieutenant, I saw her first.”

Kaidan’s expression softened for a moment, but his next words came out quieter, awkward, almost reluctant. “They do say asari are open to that sorta thing. Ma’am.” He cleared his throat, avoiding her eyes. “I’ve noticed you two seem to have a, uh, connection.” I checked on her in the medbay. I’d do it for anyone else on the team, what the hell is he getting at?

Shepard shifted in her seat, feeling the change in the air between them. There was something different about Kaidan’s tone, something more hesitant. She took a sip of her coffee, letting the silence stretch between them for a beat. “Look, Kaidan,” she began, her voice steady but careful. “Liara’s here to help. She’s not just a good asset to the team—she’s an ally. That’s all. Nothing more.”

He didn’t respond immediately, just staring at her, lips pressed into a thin line. It didn’t seem he was buying it—not completely, anyway. He’d never been one to let things go that easily. “You’re right,” he said finally, voice quiet. “She’s an ally. And I’m glad to have her on the team. But I also know how you work, Shepard. How you... connect with people.” His eyes flicked to hers, then quickly away. “I just don’t want you to get distracted. Not with everything we’re up against.”

Shepard’s hand tightened around her coffee cup, and she exhaled slowly, letting the tension slide off her shoulders. Jesus fuck is this awkward. He knows I’m a lesbian, right? I thought it was obvious to everyone. “I’m not getting distracted, Kaidan. I’m focused. The mission comes first. Always.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a long moment, there was a quiet understanding between them. Kaidan was always so damn perceptive. She thought she saw a flicker of something else in his eyes, something he wasn’t saying, something he wasn’t ready to confront.

“I know,” he said quietly, giving a small nod. “I just don’t want to see you lose yourself in all of this. It’s easy to get caught up in... in what we want, and forget what we’re really here for.”

Shepard nodded, her gaze softening. “You don’t have to worry about that, LT.” He gave her a tight, understanding smile but didn’t push further. Instead, he took another sip of his coffee, the weight of the unspoken between them hanging in the air. The moment stretched, heavy with things left unsaid. “I’ll keep my head in the game,” Shepard added after a pause, her voice firm but tinged with something else—something she didn’t know how to name.

Kaidan looked at her, a little of the tension easing from his posture. “Good,” he replied. “Just don’t forget about the people around you.”

Shepard’s smile was small, but genuine. “I won’t.”

With a nod, Kaidan finished his coffee and stood, pushing the chair back with a soft scrape. “I’ll catch you later, Commander.” His words were light, but there was a quiet sincerity in them. 

“Yeah,” Shepard said, watching him leave. “See ya, Kaidan.”

Shepard remained where she was. She hadn’t meant for the conversation to veer off course, but somewhere between the mission and Kaidan’s pointed words, it had. She tried to keep it all focused—on the job, on the fight—but it lingered. With a quiet sigh, she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. She couldn’t help it. No matter how much she wanted things to stay simple, it seemed like they never did

Chapter Text

Shepard’s quarters were steeped in stillness, an unnatural silence settling over the space after the relentless noise of Therum. The Normandy’s distant thrum pressed against the edges of her awareness, but it was too faint to fill the void left in the wake of battle. Sitting at her desk, she let her gaze blur over the flickering Alliance insignia on her terminal. A slow breath, then another. The quiet left too much room for thought.

Her fingers tapped the controls, and the encrypted message blinked to life. Admiral Hackett’s voice broke through the silence, rough-edged and uncompromising.

“Commander Shepard, I’ve got a situation developing in the Skyllian Verge.”

She straightened, shoulders drawing taut. The Skyllian Verge. Even before the details, her mind was already piecing together what it could mean—pirates, slavers, hostages, border conflicts. None of them were ever simple.

“We’ve picked up intel that a group of Batarian extremists have hijacked an asteroid,” Hackett continued, his tone clipped. “They’ve got it on a collision course with the human colony of Terra Nova.”

Shepard’s fingers stilled against the metal edge of the desk. An asteroid. Not a strike team, not a raid. A blunt-force catastrophe designed for nothing but mass destruction. The data scrolled across the screen—orbital projections, estimated impact, population density. Hundreds of thousands of lives, reduced to numbers in a report.

“The leader calls himself Balak,” Hackett went on. “Wants the release of Batarian prisoners in exchange for sparing the colony. But we believe he has no intention of negotiating. The asteroid is already locked onto its course. Time is running out.”

Shepard exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. Balak wasn’t leveraging hostages. He was making a point—one written in craters and blood.

“Why us?” she asked, her voice measured despite the coil of tension in her gut. “Can’t the Alliance send a fleet?”

Hackett’s image flickered slightly as he leaned forward. “You’re the closest ship, and we don’t have time to mobilize another force. You need to get there, disable the propulsion systems, and neutralize the threat.”

Shepard scanned the schematics. The Batarians had outfitted the asteroid with thrusters—advanced, precise, designed for guidance rather than brute force. That meant there was a way to shut them down. That also meant Balak knew exactly what he was doing.

“Understood, Admiral.” Her voice was steady, even as exhaustion tugged at the edges of her focus. “We’ll handle it.”

Hackett’s expression softened by a fraction. “Good luck, Commander. Hackett out.”

The hologram dissolved, and Shepard was left alone. She leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as the reality of it settled over her like armor. The Conduit, Saren, the Reapers—none of that stopped the rest of the galaxy from tearing itself apart. Terra Nova wasn’t just a colony. It was people—families, workers, civilians who didn’t sign up to be targets. The kind of people she swore to protect.

Her fingers curled into a fist before she pushed herself up. No time to dwell. No time to hesitate.

The Normandy’s bridge was alive with the soft glow of monitors when she stepped inside, but Joker barely glanced up as she approached. His fingers danced over the controls, effortlessly guiding the ship through the stars.

“Commander,” he greeted, spinning his chair slightly to face her. “Something on your mind?”

“We have a mission. Set a course for the Skyllian Verge.” She didn’t bother easing into it. “There’s an asteroid on a collision path with Terra Nova. We need to stop it.”

Joker’s expression shifted, his usual smirk faltering. “An asteroid?”

She nodded. “Batarians rigged it with thrusters and sent it straight for the colony. We’re the only ones who can intercept.”

Joker let out a low whistle, already inputting the coordinates. “That’s a new one. You’d think they’d stick to shooting at us the old-fashioned way.”

Shepard crossed her arms, watching the navigation data shift. “They’re not looking for a fight. They’re looking to send a message.”

Joker gave a small shake of his head. “Hell of a message.” His hands moved over the controls with practiced ease. “Plotting the course now. Should be there in a few hours.” He hesitated, glancing at her. “And not to sound like an ass or anything, but you look like you’ve seen better days.”

She let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Yeah. Long day.”

“There’s time for a little R&R before we get there,” he offered, his voice lighter but still edged with concern. “Just saying.”

Shepard nodded, the ghost of a smirk flickering across her lips. “I’ll think about it.”

She lingered on the bridge a moment longer, watching as Joker’s hands deftly worked the controls. Her body felt heavy, weighed down by the responsibilities she carried, each mission stacking higher than the last. Terra Nova, Feros, Noveria. Find the Conduit before Saren.  There was no shaking the gnawing feeling at the back of her mind—the urgency of a new mission, the asteroid on a collision course with a major human colony, the Batarians’ callous disregard for life. It seemed trust would never come easy with the Batarians. However, she wanted to, and part of her still held onto the hope that every species could find common ground—especially given what she’d witnessed on Mindoir, with the Batarians razing her home to the ground. 

Growing up, she wanted to believe that for every cruel act, there was an equal and opposite act of kindness, that for every desolate place, there was somewhere hopeful and full of life. However, the Batarians, with their history of violent expansion, the slave trading, and their role in the Skyllian Blitz, tested that idealism. They saw themselves as the galaxy’s outsiders, pushed to aggression by human encroachment, and their government’s policies seemed almost designed to fuel that resentment. Of course, she knew not every Batarian was a human-hating, callous slave trader, but it was difficult to separate the individual from the bloody history. 

Each time she faced them, she struggled with that internal conflict: her desire to see unity across species and her recognition that some, like the Batarians, were intent on creating divides. Her mission now was just another reminder of how her idealism couldn’t shield her from reality. If there going to be peace in the galaxy, she would have to fight for it, even against those who’d rather watch it burn. In a way, the whole situation mirrored the way the Council had dismissed the Reaper threat, but this was different. This was immediate, and for once, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to keep it all together. 

Joker’s words echoed in her head: You look like you’ve seen better days. She huffed quietly, forcing a smirk to her lips as she turned away from the cockpit and made her way toward the stairs and down to her room. R&R. Sure . Maybe a few minutes to breathe before everything came crashing down again. She tepped into the narrow hallway leading to her quarters. The familiar sight of the ship—the quiet corridors, the occasional crew member nodding in greeting—did little to soothe the knot of anxiety coiling in her chest. As she reached her door, she hesitated for a split second before stepping inside, thinking it might be better to go talk to Chakwas or check in on other crew members. But her eyes were getting heavy just thinking about it.

The quarters were dimly lit—an intentional choice. It was easier to think when the lights were low, not quite on or off—or, at least, to avoid the thoughts that gnawed at her when the darkness set in. Shepard sat on the edge of her bed, exhaling deeply as she ran her hands over her face, feeling the cool metal of her dog tags press into her palms. 

She barely closed her eyes before the images came rushing in—too many faces, too much death. Mindoir, Akuze, Eden Prime. Her breath caught in her throat as the weight of it all threatened to crush her. Her mind raced, skimming the surface of each memory, unwilling to go deeper but unable to escape them entirely. Fingers tightly gripping the bedsheets, desperate to tether herself to the present. 

Her heart pounded louder in her ears. The silence of the room was suffocating. The space around her felt too small, too quiet, too...alone. She had always been good at compartmentalizing, shoving the pain into a box and locking it away, but it wouldn’t stay there forever. It never did. The box was cracking, and she could feel the pressure building behind it. Her thoughts spiraled, tangling together in a chaotic loop. I need to keep moving. If I stop, it’ll catch up. If I stop, I’ll drown. A shiver ran down her spine as her body tensed, her muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. She stood abruptly, pacing the small space, quick and uneven steps. She could hear her pulse in her ears, feel the constriction in her chest—she couldn’t get enough air, hands trembling into clenched fists goawaygoawaygoawaygoawaygoaway---

But it never did. 

The memories—Akuze, the screams of her unit, the sickening sound of the Thresher Maw breaking through the earth—clawed at her mind, refusing to stay buried. She quit pacing, bracing herself against the wall as the room swayed around her. She gasped through her breaths, unable to gain control of them, her vision blurring as she struggled to ground herself in the present. Breathebreathebreathebreathebreathebreathe.

Suddenly, the door chimed softly, pulling her from the edge of the spiraling chaos.

“Commander?” Dr. Chakwas’ voice was gentle, but it felt like a jolt of electricity to Shepard’s already frayed nerves. 

Shepard swallowed, trying to force the rawness from her voice as she turned toward the door. “Come in.” 

The door slid open, and Dr. Chakwas stepped inside, her brow furrowed with concern. “I was filing some reports when I noticed you hadn’t checked in with the med bay after the mission. I thought I’d see how you were holding up.”

Shepard forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Just...decompressing. It was a rough one.”

Dr. Chakwas’ eyes softened as she crossed the room, her presence steady and grounding. “You’ve been through more than your fair share of rough missions, Commander. It’s okay to feel its significance. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Shepard exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she turned away from the doctor’s gaze. “I’m fine, Doc. I just need a minute.”

“You’re not fine,” Chakwas said softly but firmly, her tone unyielding. “You’ve been running on adrenaline for too long. You’re not just a soldier, Shepard. You’re human.”

Shepard’s throat tightened, her fists clenching at her sides. The room felt too small again, the air too thick. Human. That word had always felt like a weakness. It was easier to be a soldier, to follow orders, and to focus on the mission. Being human meant acknowledging wounds she couldn’t heal by pushing through them.

“I can’t afford to stop,” Shepard said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I stop…”

Dr. Chakwas didn’t push further and didn’t try to argue. Instead, she stepped closer and rested a hand on Shepard’s arm, a gesture so simple but filled with quiet understanding. “Shepard. Talk to me. How’ve you been sleeping?”

Shepard’s shoulders slumped, her body finally giving in to the exhaustion she had been holding at bay for so long. “I haven’t,” she whispered.

“Well, at least you’re not lying anymore,” the doctor chuckled softly. “And your exercises?”

“Helpful in a pinch, but it never lasts.” 

“I see,” she nodded. “Perhaps, the next time you’re on the Citadel you should see the Consort.”

“I told you before, Doc, I don’t want to try the weird melding therapy thing. It’s not going to work on me. I’m too ‘in my head’ already—letting the Consort in there is just gonna screw me up even more.”

Dr. Chakwas’s expression softened further, but there was a note of determination in her eyes. “It’s called Neural Integration Melding, Commander. Or NIM therapy, if the name’s intimidating,” she added with a slight smirk. “It’s not about replacing who you are or dredging up pain for the sake of it. It’s about processing the unprocessed and releasing what you’ve been forced to lock away.”

Shepard’s jaw tightened, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Doc, I’ve read the research you sent me. It’s… asari therapy. Commandos who go through it have their heads hardwired differently. It works for them because they’re—well, they’re not me.”

Chakwas shook her head gently. “You’re right. The asari have trained for this, but they created it because they’ve had to face similar trauma—some of them hundreds of years’ worth of it, and while it’s an asari method, it’s grounded in psychology; Sha’ira knows how to calibrate her melding to what’s comfortable, effective, and safe for humans.” She placed a steadying hand on Shepard’s shoulder. “It’s no different than a new treatment for a particularly nasty wound, except it’s one that the mind is suffering.”

Shepard crossed her arms tightly, her fingers digging into her sides. “I’m not sure I want someone poking around in my head, Karin. I… I don’t know if I want someone else to know…everything I—”

“It’s not about uncovering everything,” Dr. Chakwas interrupted. “NIM therapy aims to help regulate memories without you needing to relive them. It’s meant to restore balance,” she explained, her tone gentle. She rested a hand on Shepard’s shoulder. “Think of it like triage for the mind. She’ll guide you through areas of your experience where you’re still carrying stress or shock, and the melding helps ease it back so you’re not under siege. And the best part? You’re in full control the entire time.”

Shepard looked away, her jaw still clenched. The idea of another person—not just anyone, but someone like Sha’ira—seeing her darkest moments, the memories she could barely face herself, felt invasive. “I’m just not convinced I need it,” she said, voice steely. “I’ve survived this long without any hand-holding.”

Chakwas sighed softly, her voice gentle yet unrelenting. “Shepard, survival and healing aren’t the same, and every mission adds weight that can chip away at even the strongest armor, especially when it’s emotional shrapnel you’re carrying.” She squeezed Shepard’s shoulder lightly. “If not for you, then for your crew. You know better than anyone the importance of being at your best, and that includes mentally.”

A long silence stretched between them. Shepard’s shoulders, once squared, sagged under the weight of Chakwas’s words. She couldn’t deny the truth of it; the sleepless nights, the dark flashes of memory that hit without warning, like ghosts she couldn’t shake. It was affecting her focus, her readiness. The very things she prided herself on. 

“If I did it,” she murmured, barely audible, “what would that even look like? Just… talking?”

Chakwas shook her head with a reassuring smile. “You’ll talk, yes, but the Consort will also use her melding ability to sync with your neural pathways. It’s similar to EMDR in principle, but with her guidance, she’ll help you process those difficult memories and rewire the emotional responses they trigger. The therapy stabilizes them, making them less intrusive and allowing you to stay in control.”

Shepard exhaled, the tension gradually easing from her face as she considered it. “And she won’t… see everything?”

“She’ll see only what you allow her to, Commander. She’s experienced and deeply respected for a reason. She knows boundaries better than anyone.” Chakwas paused, her eyes meeting Shepard’s with an unwavering gentleness. “Just give it a try. You’re not obligated to share more than you’re comfortable with, but perhaps it will give you the reprieve you deserve.”

After a moment, Shepard finally nodded, her posture shifting. “Alright—for the crew. For you,” she said quietly, her voice laced with exhaustion. “Next time we’re on the Citadel, I’ll go.”

A small, satisfied smile tugged at Chakwas’s lips. “Good. You might be surprised at how much strength can come from a little healing. I’ll be here if you need anything. Try to get some rest, Commander,” Chakwas said softly as she turned to leave.  

The door slid shut, leaving Shepard alone. She lowered herself onto the bed, every muscle groaning in protest. Staring at the dim ceiling, she tried to let herself simply be, to let the tension bleed away. But the weight of her memories pressed down—sharp and cold, like metal. She couldn’t outrun them forever, but she could contain them, hold back the flood for a few more hours.

After Akuze, Captain Anderson had taught her an old military sleep technique he’d learned during the First Contact War. She took a slow breath, steadying herself, closed her eyes, and began to relax one part of her body at a time. Let her eyelids grow heavy, her jaw slack.

"Release the tension in your mouth," Anderson had said.

“Even my tongue? Anderson, isn’t this a bit much? Why don’t you just knock me out—give me a good punch, and I’ll be done.”

“Shepard.”

“Fine.”

She let her mouth relax, her tongue resting weightless, her brows settling. The urge to hold tension was reflexive, but she pushed against it, forcing herself to feel the softness of her cheeks, the slow rhythm of her breath. Drop your shoulders. She pictured them sinking, unwinding. Her arms grew heavier, hands loose at her sides. She moved to her legs, unclenching muscles, letting her thighs sink into the mattress, her calves settle. It was like dismantling armor she’d forgotten she was wearing. Don’t think…don’t think…don’t think. The phrase pulsed in her mind like a heartbeat, a shield against the noise inside her.

She almost slipped into sleep—somewhere soft, somewhere peaceful—when a flash jolted her back. The blackened ground of Mindoir. The cold, sightless stares of fallen comrades. She inhaled sharply, fighting to stay grounded. Don’t think…don’t think… But the past crept closer. Now she saw herself beneath towering Reapers, their forms blotting out the sky, the Normandy burning, broken and empty. Alone.

Her eyes snapped open, heart pounding. She sat up, glancing around her quarters, reassuring herself it was just a dream. Her omni-tool flickered to life—only ten minutes had passed. It had felt like hours. Shepard pressed her fingers to her temples, rubbing at the lingering tension. The technique wasn’t enough to save her from the memories. Maybe, one day, she’d make peace with them. She rolled onto her side, exhaling sharply. Just sleep. You can’t help anyone if you’re too exhausted to think straight. Eventually, fatigue won, dragging her under. But it was no peaceful descent.

She fell hard into a dream, a fractured reality that felt too real.

It started in the black void of space. The Normandy drifted in the distance, illuminated only by the faint glow of dying stars. Shepard stood on its deck, though she couldn’t recall walking there. Dread clawed at her chest. She turned—and the stars began to blink out, swallowed by encroaching darkness.

She moved through the ship, its corridors eerily quiet. Her pulse quickened. Something was wrong. She called out—Joker, Kaidan, Ashley, Garrus—but silence answered. Panic coiled inside her like a tightening noose. She reached the cockpit. Joker slumped over the controls. The sight of his still form sent ice through her veins. His hands were frozen mid-command, eyes wide open. Empty.

Her legs moved faster, desperate, but when she reached him, she wasn’t alone.

A figure loomed behind him, monstrous in the shadows. It stepped forward, into the dim light—Saren. But it wasn’t him anymore. His body was twisted, metallic parts fused with something ancient, something worse. His dead eyes locked onto hers. He grinned—a grotesque, soulless smile.

His voice came mechanical, warped: You failed, Shepard. You could never stop this.

The Normandy fractured around her. The walls splintered as a Reaper emerged from the darkness outside, massive, unstoppable. It tore through the ship, crushing it like paper, its mechanical scream vibrating through her bones. She watched, helpless, as the galaxy fell apart. Planets burned. Cities crumbled. People screamed, their lives swallowed in the chaos. The Reapers descended, unstoppable. Inevitable.

You’re too late, Saren’s voice whispered, dissolving into the void.

Shepard fell. The ground vanished beneath her, the cold rush of terror flooding her body as she plummeted into nothingness.

And then she woke.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her eyes snapping open. The dim glow of her quarters was a weak barrier against the terror still gripping her chest. Sweat clung to her skin. Her heart pounded as though she had barely escaped death.

She stared at her omni-tool—a few hours had passed. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her. She scrubbed a hand over her face, willing the nightmare to fade, but the weight of it stayed. The Reapers. Saren. It wasn’t just a dream. It was what could happen. What would happen if she failed?

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, resting her elbows on her knees. Sleep wasn’t coming back—not tonight. The nightmares made sure of that, twisting in the corners of her mind, waiting for her to close her eyes. The future felt too precarious, teetering on a knife’s edge. Maybe I should eat something.

Her body moved before her mind caught up, guiding her out of bed without bothering to grab her shoes. The Normandy was quiet, most of the crew asleep, stealing what rest they could. The solitude was welcome. She needed space, time to pull herself back together.

When she reached the mess, she wasn’t surprised to find someone else awake, but she hadn’t expected it to be Dr. T’Soni. Liara sat at one of the tables, shoulders slumped, fingers tracing absent patterns on a datapad. The screen’s glow cast a soft, bluish hue over her features, highlighting the faint, scale-like texture of her skin.

Shepard hesitated in the entryway, watching her. Liara’s expression was distant, lost in thought. She looked exhausted, worn beyond the limits of physical fatigue. Shepard knew that look all too well. She’d seen it on too many faces—mostly her own.

With a quiet exhale, she stepped forward. “Having trouble sleeping?” she asked softly.

Liara’s head snapped up, eyes wide in surprise. She managed a small, weary smile. “Oh—Commander, hello. My apologies, I did not see you there. I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

“I know the feeling,” Shepard said, nodding toward the empty chair beside her. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” Liara’s voice was warm but tired, and as Shepard sat, a heavy silence settled between them, thick with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Liara exhaled slowly, her fingers twisting together in a nervous fidget. “I've been thinking about my mother,” she admitted. “We’ve been… estranged for some time now. Benezia—she was always such a powerful figure in my life, but we never quite understood each other. Now, with her working alongside Saren, I—” She shook her head. “I don’t know how to reconcile the woman I knew with who she’s become.”

Shepard’s chest tightened at the raw honesty in her voice. “She was your mother,” she said quietly. “No matter what she’s become, that’s not something you can just turn off.”

Liara’s fingers stilled against the table, her shoulders dipping with a heavy breath. “She wasn’t always like this,” she murmured. “When I was younger, she was strong, proud—a leader. We were never particularly close, but I admired her. I wanted to be like her. But now… I don’t know.”

Shepard leaned forward, resting her forearms against the table. She could see the sorrow in Liara’s eyes, the weight pressing against her. “What happened between you two?” she asked gently.

Liara hesitated, then let out a soft, self-conscious laugh. “We grew apart,” she admitted. “She wanted me to become a leader among our people, but I was more interested in delving into the mysteries of the Protheans.” A wry smile flickered across her lips. “It sounds foolish to say it—like I became an archeologist just to rebel against my mother.”

Shepard smirked. “So rebellion’s a universal experience, huh? Seems like a rite of passage for a lot of people.”

Liara blinked, then chuckled softly. “You have the wisdom of the Matriarchs, Commander,” she said, a note of fondness creeping into her tone. “My mother used to say the same when I first told her about my interest in archaeology. But it wasn’t just rebellion. The Protheans… they were enigmatic, mysterious. I wanted to understand them.”

She hesitated, then glanced at Shepard with a hint of something uncertain in her expression. “In some ways, that’s why I find you so fascinating.”

Shepard arched an eyebrow. “You find me fascinating? How so?”

Liara’s cheeks darkened, her gaze darting away. “I—I didn’t mean to—I didn’t intend to insinuate—” She floundered, words tangling in her embarrassment. “It’s just… you were marked by the Prothean beacon on Eden Prime. You touched something ancient, something few others could comprehend. It’s remarkable.”

Shepard couldn’t resist. “Sounds like you’re planning on dissecting me in some lab,” she teased. "Ask a girl to dinner first, Liara." 

The horror on Liara’s face was immediate and—frankly—adorable. “Goddess, no! I would never—I didn’t mean—I only meant that you would be an interesting specimen for—” She winced, mortified. “Oh, Goddess, that’s even worse—I am making a complete fool of myself…”

Shepard chuckled. “Relax, Liara. I was joking.”

Liara stared at her for a moment before realization dawned. “Oh… oh, by the Goddess—how could I be so dense? I see.” She shook her head, groaning softly. “I… I’m not very good at humor. I must seem like a complete fool to you.”

Shepard’s smile softened. “Nah, don’t worry about it—it was cute.”

Liara glanced up at her, still visibly flustered. “Thank you, Commander. I… I’ll try to be more mindful next time.”

“Well, now I’ll have to exploit it,” Shepard teased. “Especially if you always get flustered like that.”

Liara’s blush deepened, her eyes darting to the side. “Is that another joke?” she asked, half-laughing.

Shepard only grinned. After a moment, Liara’s expression turned more thoughtful. “What… what was your family like, Commander?”

The question hit like a sucker punch. Shepard’s jaw clenched. She forced herself to breathe, but for a long moment, she couldn’t answer.

“Well,” she said eventually, her voice rougher than she intended. “I don’t really… they were—” She coughed, her throat feeling too tight. She couldn’t meet Liara’s eyes. “I was born on—” Another breath. “Mindoir.” The word felt heavier than it should. She dropped her gaze to the table, the past clawing at her ribs.

Liara’s eyes softened, her voice barely above a whisper. “Oh, I’m sorry, Commander. I—I didn’t know.”

Shepard shook her head, forcing the words out. “It was a long time ago.” She straightened slightly, pushing against the weight in her chest. “Captain Anderson… this crew—this is my family.”

Liara nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful, as though turning over Shepard’s words in her mind. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

After a while, Liara spoke again, her voice softer. “I… wish I had known my mother better. Maybe then I’d understand why she’s doing this, why she aligned herself with Saren. Perhaps then I could be more useful here.”

Shepard met her gaze, voice quiet but certain. “I think you’ll end up helping in more ways than you realize. Besides, maybe you’ll still get that chance. People don’t always end up the way we think they will, but that doesn’t mean they’re beyond redemption.”

Liara studied her, something searching in her expression. “Do you really believe that?”

Shepard hesitated, then nodded. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’ve got to believe there’s a way forward. For all of us.”

Liara’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Thank you, Shepard.”

Shepard stood, heart lighter despite the weight of the night. “Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”

“I will try.”

As Shepard walked back through the Normandy’s quiet halls, she hoped the future wasn’t as bleak as her nightmares painted it.

Chapter Text

“One life for many, Commander. You have a choice.”

Balak’s words reverberated through Shepard’s mind, even a few days later she could still feel the heat and weight of battle clinging to her. Smoke and shadows flickered in her mind, the cries of the hostages, the acrid tang of gunfire, and the stillness of asteroid air. The ghost of her own pulse thundering as Balak’s mocking voice echoes through the empty corridors, his eyes cold and filled with an ancient hatred. 

“One life for many, Commander. You have a choice.”

Choice. Her hand clenched involuntarily, recalling the impulse to pull the trigger, to silence him, to finish what he’d started. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to forget what held her back. The quiet between herself and Balak so heavy with the weight of lives she could save. Balak’s escape, his venomous promises of chaos lingered in an open wound. 

  “One life for many, Commander. You have a choice.”

Sure. A choice. The trolly problem of military ethics. It was an impossible decision, yet she’d made it. What was it he wanted to prove? Is human fallibility in their ruthlessness or is it defined by action—inaction? Was it just to remind her that it wouldn’t matter how many lives she’d save, how many battles she won—her choices would always come at the price of herself?

She took a studying breath and tried to let the tension unwind, despite the hollow feeling settling in her chest. Here, almost alone in the dim light of CIC, she felt the cost beneath the weight of each decision. Terra Nova was safe, but her mind echoed the unanswered question Balak had left behind: How many more sacrifices would she make to keep the galaxy safe? She pushed away the ache, knowing it would follow her still. 

Admiral Hackett’s voice broke her from her away from the thoughts. The weight of his words made her limbs numb, turned her bones to liquid, and each syllable rippled like a stone dropped into a still pond, sending dread through her psyche. He was her commanding officer during the battle on Torfan. He was Major Kyle, a dormer Alliance officer, and now, based on Hackett’s assessment, he was leading a commune of biotics on Presrop. Two Alliance officers are missing, and Hackett’s intel suggests they may be victims of Kyle’s followers.

“Commander,” Hackett continued, his gaze sharp and unwavering, “I need you to intervene. You have experience in these kinds of situations, especially with your background.”

Experience. Chaos. Screams. 

Blood. 

She was just a soldier, but her entire life had been uprooted by Batarian slavers in the same way they’d taken everything from the innocents she had failed to save. Harsh whispers taunted her, branded a cruel monicker onto her soul, but she didn’t have a choice then, and she doesn’t have a choice now. 

“I understand, Admiral,” she replied, her voice steady, but inside, her thoughts were a cacophony of guilt and fear. She had been ruthless then, had allowed her pain to fuel her determination, but at what cost? All this time sailing the stars and she still had no clue how the universe worked—what was this? An opportunity? Another reminder of decisions she couldn’t escape? 

Hackett’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “We believe Major Kyle has gone too far. If you choose, you could speak with him—perhaps you can reason with him. You have the authority and the experience.”

Experience. The word echoed again in her mind, heavy with implications. She had been a survivor, but survival, like everything else she’d done, came with a price. She’d acted rashly—she was young, it was early in her career, and that impulsivity continued to follow her in name alone. The Butcher of Torfan. 

“We can’t let this situation escalate further, Commander.” 

“You can count on me, Admiral.”

“I look forward to hearing from you. Hackett out.”

The mission was clear, yet a deep-seated anxiety gnawed within her. She felt the familiar pressure building behind her eyes, a visceral reminder of the ghosts that haunted her past. Torfan. The name washed over her like icy water, sending a shiver through her core. It was a name that twisted her gut, igniting memories that felt as fresh as the day they had unfolded.

“Set a course for Hawking Eta, Joker,” she ordered, her fingers pressing hard on the comms. 

“Aye aye, Commander.” Her thoughts spiraled back to the violent chaos of that fateful mission. The screams of her comrades filled her ears, and the scent of smoke and burning flesh enveloped her senses. The sight of Batarian slavers would forever be seared into her memory, the horror of what they had done to her and countless others—a living nightmare. 

As a young girl, when she was on Mindoir, she had been forced to listen to the cries of her mother, to hold the absence of her brother and father, the cries in the distance provoked and silenced by brutality. The memory burned bright, and she had sworn to herself as she lay in the thistles, thorns poking her skin, tears burning in her eyes that she’d never let that happen again. On Torfan, she was merciless—each pull of the trigger was a cathartic release of pent-up rage and grief. The echoes of gunfire rang in her ears, and she recalled the sensation of warm blood splattering against her skin as she cut down the last of the slavers—an act of vengeance wrapped in the guise of duty.

Even as she had avenged her own pain, the greater pain was the blurred line between justice and brutality, when she had found herself relishing the power of life and death. In those fleeting seconds, she felt invincible. She was a force of nature unleashing fury upon those who had wrought so much suffering. However, when it was done and all that was left were blood and bodies, she could see her humanity reflected in the pools of red around the dead. She watched as it left her with each heavy pant of her breath. 

The memories tightened their grip around her, intertwining with her sense of purpose. How many lives would she take to protect those who couldn’t defend themselves? How many more ghosts would possess her? The burden felt unbearable, and as she turned away from the control panel, the past pressed in on her. 

Her heart heavy, she made her way to her quarters, desperate for a reprieve. The walls felt like they were closing in as she stepped inside, the dim light casting shadows and dancing around her. She sank onto the edge of her bed, her thoughts threatening to consume her whole. The isolation of the room intensified her sense of dread. The smoke, the screams, the guttural cries of the Batarian slavers as they fell one by one—each image more visceral than the last. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to escape the onslaught, but it was no use. The battle replayed in her mind, more vivid than ever. She was slipping where she could still feel the heat of the flames, and hear the desperate pleas for mercy that never reached her ears. It was like being trapped in a nightmare, the shadows of Torfan rising up to consume her. The chaos unfurled within her, and she felt the familiar clawing sensation of panic.

Amidst the tumult, a familiar voice broke through, fragile yet persistent. “Shepard? Are you in there? Can I come in?” The voice was soft, tinged with concern, yet it barely penetrated the wall of memories engulfing her.

She stood up at the sound, but her legs were weak and her vision was blurry, her ears ringing. The slavers were outside—they were coming back for her, just like Mindoir, and they were going to kill her just like she killed so many of them. Then, she hit the ground, falling onto her back, head smacked the floor with a light thud—she reached for something to pull herself up and pulled on the lamp, gasping when it hit the floor, sharp and cutting. Panic surged within her chest, she squeezed her eyes tighter, her breath quickening— no no no no no no and she could feel it like it was really there, the gun in her hands, the force of its firing, the sound of it overheating, the burn of it in her hand—

“Shepard, are you alright?” the voice outside was more urgent now. “I heard something—I’m coming in.” 

No, no, no— "Don't let them escape, none of them make it out alive, do you hear me, soldier?!" 

She felt it—the rifle in her arms, the kick of its recoil, the searing heat against her palm. Fire. Fire. Fire. The corridors stank of death.

The air was thick—hot and rancid, clotted with sweat, ozone, and the lingering burn of discharged weapons. The tunnels twisted beneath the surface, a warren of rusted metal and blood-slick floors, carved into the bedrock like a festering wound. Their stronghold. Their last stand.

Her boots splashed in something that hadn’t dried yet.

Clear the tunnels. No survivors. The words had been orders once. Now, they were a fact.

Somewhere ahead, a door slammed. Movement. The distant click of a kinetic barrier flickering online.

"Major! We've got another group holed up in the western shaft!"

Shepard didn't hesitate. "Flush 'em out. No one gets past us."

No answer. Just the stutter of gunfire, sharp bursts of Lancer rifles discharging in tight formation. Someone screamed. The sound cut off abruptly.

A shadow in the periphery—movement in the corner of her HUD. She spun, rifle raised. A batarian.

Wide eyes. Soot-streaked skin. He was young—too young. He stumbled back, hands raised, fingers splayed. Not reaching for a weapon. Just pleading.

"We surrender! Please—" Another shape moved behind him. A flash of metal—a gun.

She fired.

The rifle bucked. One round. Two. Three. The first shot took him through the chest. The second clipped his jaw. The third hit something behind him—a power conduit or a fuel canister, she couldn’t tell. It exploded. The tunnel filled with fire and the shriek of metal being torn apart.

Something wet hit her cheek.

"XO, we’re securing the last sector now!" Another voice-over comms—urgent, tense. "Some of them are still fighting, but most—" A pause. A crackle of static. "Most are surrendering."

Surrendering. Shepard inhaled. Her ribs ached.

"No prisoners," came the response. Her response.

Silence. Then: "Understood."

Shepard kept moving forward, deeper into the tunnels, where the air was thick with blood and smoke and the echoes of people who hadn’t stopped screaming yet.

A blue glow. A silhouette. For a split second, her mind filled in the wrong shape, the wrong enemy. Move, move, move— but her body wouldn’t.

A gasp. Not hers. Not hers. 

“Goddess, Shepard—what happened?”

Hands—on her arms, her back. She flinched, tried to shove them off, but the strength wasn’t there. “I—I can’t—bre--” Her throat closed. Too tight. No air. Breathe. Breathe. She couldn’t. Her ribs ached, her lungs heaving against a pressure that wasn’t there. “We have to go—they—they’re c-coming back—”

A firm pull. Hands on her arms—warm, solid—but her mind rejected it. Not here. Not safe. She twisted, jerking away, but the movement sent her sprawling. The floor—was it metal? Stone? Dirt? It shifted beneath her, slipping in and out of focus. The fire. The screams. The smell of burned flesh and ionized air, thick as tar in her throat. Her fingers twitched, reaching for a rifle that wasn’t there. She should be armed. She was always armed.

Liara pulled the commander into her embrace, hoping the physical pressure would ground her back in reality. It was a necessary choice—I couldn’t—  "They want revenge--I murdered them, Major, they're coming to kill me, we have to stop them."

No prisoners. Someone had been begging. A child? No. A soldier. Hands up, mouth forming words that hadn’t mattered. That couldn’t matter. Not then. Not with the mission at stake. Not when she was following orders.

They want revenge. They want revenge. They want revenge.

A voice. Rough, hoarse, clawing its way out of her throat. "I murdered them, Major, they're coming to kill me." The walls closed in. Shadows flickered at the edges of her vision, moving—watching—their faces torn between rage and horror. You did this.

“Shepard, it's me, please, you're not yourself--" came a different voice, someone she didn't recognize.  A whisper. A name. Her name. The shadows hesitated. Not Torfan. Not there. The warmth of hands—one steady at her back, the other rising to her face. Reality pressed in, slow and thick like water. Shepard flinched as fingers brushed against her cheek, but they didn’t hurt. Not a strike. Not an enemy. Just warmth, just touch. She wanted to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.

“Shh,” Liara murmured. Her voice was low, steady. Real. “It’s only a memory, Shepard. You’re safe now—you’re on the Normandy.” Her hand moved with aching gentleness, tucking damp strands of hair behind Shepard’s ear. The touch sent a shiver through her as the ghost of Torfan recoiled from it, unwilling to coexist with something so kind. She’d heard of asari Commandos reliving battles in the present—sometimes wars were never over, they just moved someplace else, and usually lived on in the minds of those there to witness it. Perhaps that is what Shepard is experiencing now. 

The ringing in her ears started to fade. She swallowed. Her body was coming back to her—slowly. Her fingers curled against fabric instead of hard plating, her shoulder pressed into warmth instead of cold metal. But the words in her head hadn’t stopped. The truth of them sat like lead behind her ribs, heavy and immovable. What happened? 

“It’s alright, Shepard—just breathe.” She heard Liara’s voice and now she could feel she was being held, a hand was holding her back and her head rested on a shoulder. She was still out of it, the ringing in her ears was fading and her vision was returning but she was disoriented. 

It was my fault. . . all those lives—I killed them . . . surrendered. . . butcher. . . I killed them, I killed them, I killed them—

“You did what you had to do, Shepard.”

Had she said it out loud? The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea through her. Her mouth was dry, her tongue thick and uncooperative. She didn’t believe it.

“You are not that person anymore,” Liara murmured. “You fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. You are a hero.”

The words should have been comforting, like something steadying. Instead, they landed like an open wound exposed to air—raw, burning, something she couldn’t pull away from.

She wanted to argue. To tell Liara she didn’t understand. That heroism didn’t absolve her, that fighting for the right reasons didn’t erase what she had done. But she was too tired to fight. And then she registered it was Liara---like she'd recognized her there before, but it was only now that she realized something had happened she wasn't aware of.

“Doctor T’Soni?” she asked, still confused. “What’re you—”

“I heard something break when I was at your door, Shepard.” The Commander looked around confused—the last thing she remembered was coming into the room and then she was on Torfan. Beside her desk was a broken lamp. Fuck, I loved that lamp .

“Th-Thank you, Doctor,” she said, pulling away from her slightly as she regained control of herself. 

“Are you alright, Shepard?” 

“Y-yes,” she said immediately. “I–I was dreaming. I must have fallen asleep.” 

“Shepard, if I may—” Liara started, but stopped herself, her voice quieting. “You were not dreaming—I believe you were having a flashback; we should see Dr. Chakwas—”

“No—” Shepard replied harshly. The sudden rise of her voice was jarring and she recoiled a bit. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Sorry. We spoke a few nights ago…I erm. I sometimes have nightmares. I don’t think I’ve ever had a flashback before…” 

“You resembled some asari Commandos I’ve seen after wartime. You have…you must have experienced something terrible, Shepard, I’m so sorry,” Liara trailed. 

“It’s okay,” she replied quickly. “It’s uhm…an occupational hazard.” 

“O-Occupational hazard? Is this another one of your jokes, Commander?” Liara asked, making Shepard chuckle. The tension eased in her body and she was able to relax a bit more. 

“Yes,” she remarked through light laughter. She shifted away from Liara more, but she regretted it once the cool air touched the warmth in her body where Liara’s had been. They were silent a bit longer, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. 

As the silence stretched between them, Shepard felt her breathing beginning to settle, yet her body remained tense, as though each muscle held a memory of its own. Her hands still tingled, her fingers clenching and unclenching in a frantic, futile attempt to release the energy pulsing through her veins. The throbbing in her chest refused to subside, her heart racing as though it hadn’t left the battlefield. Liara’s presence felt like a weight and a relief all at once. She was too close, yet there was something solid in her nearness, a tangible presence keeping her from the grip of memories. She felt the air thicken around her, still fighting to reclaim control of her body, to smother the lingering traces of panic. The silence lingered, thick and palpable, as Shepard pulled in shallow breaths. Each inhalation, suffocating and heavy. Her hands trembled slightly—an imperceptible quake that still caught Liara’s keen gaze. The blue glow of the biotic energy that surrounded her seemed to pulse with the rhythm of Shepard’s anxious heart, reminding her that the battlefield lingered in her mind long after the guns had fallen silent.

“I didn’t mean to intrude, Shepard,” Liara shifted. 

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “I’m glad you came. I don’t know how long it would’ve been until I hurt myself or someone else. I guess Dr. Chakwas is right,” she chuckled, a hint of pain or shame in her voice. 

“What about?” Liara’s voice was soft—tender and gracious. Shepard didn’t enjoy being caught in such a moment of vulnerability; it would have been one thing if Chakwas had been the one to step in, however as it was another member of her crew—someone who would fight alongside her, listen to her orders—it was nervewracking she’d been seen in such a state. 

“I’ve been…needing to stop at the Citadel to run an errand. Dr. Chakwas knows I haven’t been…at my best, anyway.” Another smaller silence slipped between them; the asari didn’t want to press her, but she could tell the human was lying. 

“Do you… feel like this often?” her voice broke through the fog, soft yet probing, her eyes a mixture of concern and gentle curiosity that bore into Shepard’s very core.

Shepard hesitated,  the question hanging in the air. “Not often,” she managed, her voice steadier than she expected, though she felt the thin veneer of control crack slightly. “But sometimes it… creeps up on me. It’s always around this time of year—it’s uhm…” her admission trailed and it felt like pulling a splinter from under her skin; painful, but perhaps it was necessary. “Bad memories don’t exactly go away just because you’d like them to, anyway.”

Liara nodded, a faint crease of understanding appearing on her brow. “It must be hard…you are the commanding officer of such an influential team…you must not get many opportunities to relax or let go of the things you see from day to day; it cannot be easy carrying so much alone.”

Shepard let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound harsh in the stillness of the room. “Alone. Yeah… I’ve had plenty of practice.” The words tumbled out sharper than intended, biting the air between them. She regretted the edge in her voice as her gaze dropped, tracing the cool, metallic floor in front of her. “I’m sorry. I’m just… still on edge, I guess.”

“Please, don’t apologize,” Liara replied, her voice wrapping around Shepard. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. Of course, I don’t know much else than what I’ve read or heard of you, Shepard, but the other night. . .you mentioned Mindoir and—i-if you ever want to talk, I’m here.” The sincerity in her tone was palpable.

Shepard looked up, meeting Liara’s unwavering gaze, surprised by the asari’s openness. “You don’t have to do this. I can handle myself.” The words slipped out, firm and defiant, a reflex kicking in to push people back. Yet even as she spoke, she couldn’t ignore the flicker of relief igniting within her at the prospect of having someone by her side. And she liked Liara—she liked that she was easy to talk to, that she was awkward and shy, and so kind. 

Liara tilted her head, a faint smile playing at her lips, her expression inviting yet patient. “I know you can, but perhaps you do not have to.” There was an intensity in her eyes that startled her, as though she could see deeper into the shadows that plagued her. “The other night when neither of us could sleep, I could see strength in you, Shepard, but I could also see that sometimes it costs you more than anyone realizes.”

Shepard swallowed hard, caught off guard by the depth of Liara’s insight. No one had ever put it like that before, and for a fleeting moment, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. 

“I… don’t talk about it much,” Shepard admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, like the mere mention of it might summon the ghosts from her past. “Torfan, Mindoir, the Blitz, Akuze… all of it, really. I’d rather just focus on the mission, keep moving forward. Thinking about what’s behind me doesn’t help.” 

“But sometimes, if we don’t face what is behind us, it finds its way into our present,” Liara replied softly, taking Shepard’s hand into hers. She turned the asari, a bit startled but she liked the feel of Liara’s hand in hers. She didn’t want her to let go.

As Liara’s hand slipped gently into hers, their fingers intertwining, Shepard felt a slight jolt within her—not from surprise alone, but from a comfort she hadn’t realized she’d been yearning for. Liara’s touch was soft, delicate even, but the warmth in it spread through Shepard’s hand and up her arm, grounding her in a way that felt startlingly real. Her first impulse was to pull back, to guard herself. Yet, something about Liara’s presence, her calm steadiness, quieted that instinct, allowing her to settle into the moment. She wanted to hold on, to feel that steady warmth for just a little longer.

The tension in her shoulders melted away, and she let out a long, relieved breath. “You’re a lot better at this than me,” she admitted, her voice softer than before, each word more vulnerable than she was used to. A small, reluctant smile crept onto her lips, surprising her with how natural it felt.

Liara’s gentle wit caught her off guard. “Well, I am much older and wiser,” Liara quipped, a glint of humor in her eyes. Shepard let out a laugh—a real laugh, not the bitter, hollow kind usually punctuating her darker thoughts.

She held Liara’s gaze, her blue eyes a shade lighter than her skin, like the gentlest glow of dawn against a vast twilight sky. Shepard found herself captivated, caught in the depth of those eyes, where kindness and curiosity shimmered in equal measure. She felt her pulse quicken despite the ease Liara’s presence brought her. There was something almost magnetic in the way Liara looked at her, as though she could see not just the soldier, the Commander—but the part of Shepard that had grown up tough and lonely, the part that had survived because it had to, not because it wanted to. And somehow, Liara didn’t look away.

“This is nice," Shepard murmured, the words slipping out before she could rein them in. She wanted to take them back immediately, but Liara just tilted her head, her expression soft and open, like she was waiting, ready to hear more. For a moment, Shepard’s mind rebelled. This closeness was unfamiliar, a softness she didn’t often allow herself, yet, she wanted it. The vulnerability felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, and she couldn’t tell if she wanted to take the leap or pull back. The part of her conditioned to withstand the harshest battles kept telling her to withdraw, but Liara’s hand remained in hers…it was a quiet invitation to stay.

Her gaze drifting from Liara’s eyes to the hand clasped in hers. Her thumb traced a small, careful circle over the back of Liara’s hand, as if to ground herself in that gentle touch. “I don’t know how to do that. I’m used to the fight, to the mission—facing things I can see. This…?” She hesitated, her voice fading as she struggled to find the words.

“This feels different,” Liara finished for her, her voice a steady, reassuring anchor.

“Yeah,” Shepard breathed, her heart pounding as she met Liara’s gaze again. The urge to look away, to shield herself, was powerful, but she resisted. Instead, she held onto Liara’s hand a little tighter, silently conveying everything she couldn’t say out loud. Do you feel it too? She wondered, wishing she could bring them closer again, but worrying what that would mean. 

Chapter Text

Shepard wasn’t sure how the night had ended up here. One minute, she was making the rounds, checking in on the crew after another grueling mission, and the next, Ashley had waved her over with a bottle and the promise of “real conversation.” Normally, Shepard would’ve deflected, kept moving—but something about the way Ashley leaned forward, tired but expectant, made her hesitate. 

So now they sat in the dim glow of the observation deck, the soft murmur of the Normandy’s systems fading into the background. The quiet stretched between them, easy rather than awkward, broken only by the occasional clink of glass against metal.

The window’s cool metal pressed against AJ’s back, it’s chill grounding her more than the glow of the stars in the distance. Across from her, Ashley sat with one boot hooked over the other, fingers curled around a glass, amber liquid inside catching the dim light of the observation deck. 

“Not bad, Skipper,” Ashley tilted the glass, watching the way it swirled before raising an eyebrow.. “I thought you’d break out some high-shelf asari liquor.”

Shepard smirked, rolling her own glass between her palms.  “Figured I’d go easy on you. Can’t have my Gunnery Chief getting soft.”

Ashley snorted. “As if. I could probably drink you under the table.”

“Big words,” AJ mused, taking a measured sip. “We’ll test that theory when we’re not one bad decision away from a geth ambush.”

The silence that followed was comfortable. No weight pressing down, no urgent decisions clawing at the edges. Just the murmur of the ship beneath them, the occasional clink of glass against metal, and the quiet understanding between two soldiers who had seen too much to need words.

Ashley started, swirled the amber liquid in her glass, “I don’t think I ever thanked you. For giving me a chance. After Eden Prime… I figured that was it for me.”

She glanced at the younger worman, her brow lifting slightly. “You held the line. That’s what mattered.”

Ashley shook her head. “Still. You could’ve written me off. My family’s history alone would’ve given some people second thoughts.” The old weight in her voice wasn’t one the Commander heard often—not this plainly. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees, her drink forgotten between her fingers. “I don’t give a damn what your grandfather did, Ash. I care about who you are. And you? You’re a damn good soldier.” 

Ashley exhaled, a flicker of something like relief crossing her face before she masked it with a smirk.. “This mean I get to call you ‘Shepard’ instead of ‘Commander’ now? First name basis is an option too.” 

“Don’t push your luck, Williams.”

Her grin linfered before her gaze dropped to her drink, her expression shifting to something quiter—more thoughtful. “Still, it means a lot. I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with, and I know I can be… blunt.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Shepard shrugged.  “I need people who aren’t afraid to tell me the truth.”

And she meant it. This—these moments of honesty—were how trust was built. There was no doubt that if the time ever came, Ashley would call her out when it mattered. And that? That was exactly the kind of person she needed in her corner.

Ashley took another sip, gaze drifting toward the window, toward the endless black stretching beyond the Normandy. “You ever wonder what’s waiting for us out there?”

Shepard followed her line of sight, the stars prinpricks of light against infinity. “Every damn day.”

Ashley set her glass down, rubbing her fingers over the rim absentmindedly. “It’s not just the geth. Or Saren.” Her voice carried something heavier than usual, not quite doubt as much as realization. “I mean—you’re a Spectre now, Shepard.  It’s big. And it’s fast. One day I’m stationed on some backwater colony, the next I’m on a ship with the first human Spectre chasing a rogue agent across the galaxy.”

AJ studied herm, taking in the tension lining her jaw, the way her grip around the glass tighten slightly.  “Second thoughts?”

The younger woman shook her head before the question had time to settle between them. “No, Ma’am. Just trying to wrap my head around it.” She exhaled, rolling her shoulders like she could shake the thoughts loose. “I keep thinking about my sisters. How they’re back home, going about their lives while I’m out here. I don’t even know what we’re walking into half the time.”

Shepard considered that; she understood it—war had a habit of pulling further from the people who anchored you, until they became more memory than presence. “No one does,” she admitted, thinking of Captain Anderson, really the only semblance of family she had not on board. “But that’s the job. We do what we can, with what we’ve got.”

Ashley let out a tired chuckle, a sound without much humor. “Yeah. I guess I just keep waiting for the moment it all makes sense.”

Shepard tilted her glass toward the other woman in a mock toast. “If you figure it out, let me know.”

The Gunnery Chief huffed out another quiet laugh, shaking her head as she took another sip.. “Saren, the geth, the Reapers—if you’d told me a year ago I’d be on a ship hunting down a rogue Spectre with an asari scientist and a krogan merc, I’d have laughed in your face.”

Shepard tilted her glass toward her, “Welcome to the life.”

Ashley clinked her glass against Shepard’s before downing another sip. “It’s not just that,” she admitted. “It’s the pressure too. We’re fighting something most people don’t even believe exists. Hell, I don’t know if I fully believe it myself.”

Shepard exhaled, staring at the swirling liquid in her glass, watching it catch the light. “I don’t blame you. Hell, I’d love to be wrong.” Her voice dropped slightly, like saying it out loud might change their reality. “But I’ve seen too much to ignore it. Plus there was that whole Prothean beacon vision burned into my mind.”

The Gunnery Chief chuckled softly again, rubbing her temple. “Yeah. I get it. It’s just… a lot to wrap my head around.” She paused, then gave Shepard a sidelong glance. “You always this good at carrying the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders?”

Shepard snorted now. “Not really. Just good at faking it. Funny how life works,” Shepard said, finishing off the last of her drink before standing to pour them both another round. “Wouldn’t have picked anyone else for the job, though.”

Ashley smirked, reaching for her glass as Shepard poured her another. “Careful, Commander, I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”

Shepard chuckled, shaking her head as she settled back against the cool metal, a part of her body heat still lingering from before. “Don’t let it go to your head, Williams.”

“Too late,” she said, her voice lighter now. She took another sip of her drink, rolling the glass between her fingers. After a few moments of silence, her expression turned pensive again.  “You ever think about family much?” she asked.

The question landed a bit too close to places she didn’t go often. She sighed, adjusting her grip on the glass in her hands.  “You guys are my family—I think about you all the time,” she replied, offering a small, easy smile. Ashley nodded as if she understood. “What about you—they on your mind a lot?” 

“I try to check in on my sisters when I can. Sarah, especially. She’s the youngest—sweet kid, still figuring herself out.” A small, fond smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “She’s got a hell of a voice. If things were different, I think she’d try to be a singer.”

The warmth of the moment settled between them before the Commander broke the silence with a question. “You ever wish you’d gone a different way? Not enlisted?”

“Wouldn’t be a Williams if I had. My dad drilled discipline into us early. His way of making sure we didn’t fall short of expectations,” the younger woman scoffed slightly. She took another drink, the amber liquid lessening steadily. “You grow up in the shadow of a family disgrace, you don’t get the luxury of ‘different ways.’”

Shepard studied her, taking in the way her shoulders had tensed slightly. She’d read her file, knew about the legacy Ashley carried of her grandfather’s surrender at Shanxi. It wasn’t the first time a name carried a burden, at least, in some ways she knew what that was like now that hers had its own burden too. 

“Doesn’t mean you had to take up the fight yourself,” Shepard said.

Ashley shrugged. “Maybe not. But I wanted to prove something. That we weren’t just our past. That I wasn’t just my last name.” She huffed a soft laugh. “Besides, I couldn’t just leave all the ass-kicking to you.”

Shepard smirked at that, taking a slow drink. “Guess I should be glad you didn’t.”

Ashley leaned back, tapping her fingers against her glass, changing the subject. “You ever read any Tennessee Williams?”

She arched a brow. “Probably, I got really into old poetry when I was about sixteen—there was this girl I met once when I was doing a job for the Reds. She was a few years older than me, and she had this huge thing for poets.”

The younger woman grinned, shaking her head. “So let me guess—you started memorizing poetry to impress her?” 

“What can I say?” Shepard smirked, taking another sip before answering. “I was young and easily influenced.” 

Ashley laughed, the sound warm and a little surprised. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the romantic type, Skipper.” She leaned back, propping her elbow against the table. “But I guess it makes sense. If a guy had recited Tennessee Williams to me back in the day, I’d have probably done more than take him on a date. The man had a way with words. Wrote about struggle, survival—people trying to hold onto something real in a world that doesn’t make it easy.”

Shepard watched as Ashley glanced down at her glass, absently tracing the rim with her fingers. There was something thoughtful in the way she said it, something deeper than just literary admiration.

“There’s this one line I always liked,” Ashley murmured, “‘Time is the longest distance between two places.’”

Shepard turned the words over in her mind, letting them settle like sediment in the bottom of a glass. “Guess that’s true.”

The younger woman looked up, her expression more open than usual, stripped of the usual bravado. “Yeah. And in this line of work? It feels even longer.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The ship hummed around them, a low and distant thing, like the galaxy breathing. Out the viewport, the stars stretched infinitely, cold and unyielding. Shepard had the distinct, fleeting sense that in another life, this conversation would’ve been different. A lazy evening somewhere warm, with no war, no uniforms, no weight pressing down on them. Just two people, talking over drinks, with nothing hanging between them but the night air. But that wasn’t their life.

Ashley smirked, shaking off the moment like a dog shaking water from its coat. She knocked back the last of her drink and set the glass down with a decisive tap. “Alright, Commander, time to get real. You ever play ‘Never Have I Ever’?”

The Commander snorted. “Pretty sure that’s a high school game.”

Ashley waggled a finger at her. “Nope. It’s a game of skill and strategy.”

She arched a brow. “And how exactly does it involve skill ?”

“You gotta know your opponent.” Ashley leaned in, pouring them both another round. “You gotta ask questions that’ll trip them up. Get them to spill something embarrassing.”

A chuckle rumbled low in Shepard’s throat. “Alright, Gunnery Chief. You start.”

Ashley tapped her finger against the glass, considering. Then, with a knowing smirk, she said, “Never have I ever been written up by a superior officer.”

Shepard sighed and took a drink.

Ashley’s grin widened. “That was too easy. What for?”

Shepard rolled the glass between her palms, the ice clinking softly. “Couple things. Smart mouth got me in trouble more than once. Nearly decked an instructor in boot camp.”

Ashley’s eyebrows shot up. “You?”

“He was a condescending misogynist bastard with a vendetta against me.”

Ashley snickered. “Alright, fair enough. Your turn.”

Shepard pretended to think hard about it, drawing out the moment just to watch Ashley squirm. Then she smirked. “Never have I ever gotten sick after a night of drinking.”

Ashley groaned, rolling her eyes as she took a drink. “That’s just mean.”

“What—you have?” Shepard grinned, leaning in. “I should take a drink just for thinking I had you all figured out.”

Ashley sighed, shaking her head. “It was back when I was stationed on Mars. We had a few days of downtime, and someone thought it’d be a great idea to introduce me to ryncol.”

Shepard winced. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I did,” she admitted, grimacing at the memory. “Woke up on the floor of the barracks with someone else’s boots under my pillow and a headache that made me pray for death.”

Shepard barked a laugh. “Damn. Remind me never to let you near krogan drinks.”

“No arguments here,” Ashley muttered, rubbing her temple like the memory itself brought the headache back. Then she brightened. “Alright, next round.”

The game stretched on, the drinks going down smoother as the questions got more ridiculous—Never have I ever snuck into an officer’s lounge (Shepard drank). Never have I ever had a thing for a superior officer (Ashley just smirked and took a slow sip). Never have I ever been in the brig (Shepard drank again, much to Ashley’s delight). Somewhere along the way, the dim lighting took on a softer glow, the room warmer, edges blurrier. Shepard found herself reclining against the cool bulkhead, a rare ease settling into her limbs. It wasn’t often that she let herself unwind, but something about this—about the quiet camaraderie, the slow burn of alcohol, the weight of duty momentarily set aside—made it easier than usual.

Ashley studied her for a moment, as if weighing whether to say something. Then, she asked, “You ever think about what comes after all this?”

Shepard blinked, thrown for just a second by the shift in tone. “What do you mean ‘after’?”

“You know—the war, the geth, Saren, all of it.” Ashley swirled the last of her drink, gaze distant. “Hard to picture, isn’t it?”

The Commander exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over her face. “The Alliance is everything to me. I don’t know, I think I always just figured I’d die before I hit retirement. It feels like the kind of thing you don’t get to have in this job.”

Ashley was quiet for a long moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe we do. Eventually.”

Shepard tilted her head. “What will you do?”

She let out a short breath of laughter, shaking her head. “I’m with you, Commander. I like to think I’ll be out here in the stars forever.”

Shepard didn’t answer right away. Maybe Ashley was right. Maybe there was something waiting for them on the other side of all this—the kind of life that didn’t revolve around war and duty. But right now, the galaxy pressing down on them, it felt too far away to even dream about.

Instead, she lifted her glass. “To eventually, then.”

Ashley smirked and clinked her glass against Shepard’s. “To eventually.”

Chapter Text

The mako rumbled across Presrop’s barren, rocky terrain, its massive wheels kicking up thick clouds of dust that swirled and dispersed into the thin atmosphere. The night stretched endlessly over the desolate moon, the stars cold pinpricks of light against the void. Shadows shifted across Shepard’s face as the dashboard glow flickered, her grip firm on the controls, tension coiling in her shoulders. The mako’s steady vibrations should have been grounding, but instead, they only amplified the unease gnawing at her.

Silence had followed them from the Normandy’s departure, heavy and unbroken. Shepard didn’t try to fill it—her mind was too entangled with images that refused to stay buried. Her brutality bare in Torfan played like a reel behind her eyes, each decision made in the absence of mercy replaying with perfect clarity. The blood, the desperation, the hollow certainty that she had done what needed to be done. Yet, it lingered, pressing down even here, even now—because that’s what her bitterness had brought her to. 

Beside her, Liara sat close, almost brushing shoulders. The soft biotic glow of her amp gave her an ethereal quality, casting subtle shadows over her delicate features. She kept stealing glances, hesitant yet searching, her fingers grazing against her own hands as though debating whether to reach out. Shepard could feel her there, a steady, quiet presence that didn’t demand but simply existed—a warmth at the edge of her cold. The memory of Liara’s hand in hers from earlier still lingered, phantom pressure against her skin.

In the back, Tali shifted, the small movements of her gloved hands over her omni-tool restless rather than purposeful. Her gaze flickered between the view outside and Shepard at the wheel, unspoken curiosity and concern threading through the silence. She was observant—always had been. Shepard knew Tali could see something simmering beneath the surface, even if she didn’t know exactly what.

When the quarian finally spoke, her voice was quiet, careful. “Commander, this place… it feels abandoned. Like there’s something just out of sight. Do you think the Major’s followers even know what’s happening here?”

Shepard inhaled, slow and measured, before replying, “That’s what we’re here to find out.” Her voice held steady, the practiced rhythm of command smoothing over any lingering distraction. Her gaze remained fixed ahead, scanning the uneven terrain for any sign of movement. “Kyle’s a broken man, but he’s not without intelligence. He has a history with the Alliance, and… isolation out here may have worsened his grip on reality. Hackett suspects the Alliance soldiers he sent before have been murdered.”

Liara’s voice followed, soft but pointed, a thought spoken aloud more than a challenge. “Belief is powerful. If Kyle’s followers see him as their salvation, it won’t matter if he’s rational. In their eyes, he’s a prophet.”

Shepard barely had time to process the thought before the mako lurched over a particularly jagged stretch of rock. The impact jarred through her frame, her muscles tightening instinctively. In the movement, Liara’s hand found her knee, steadying her. The touch wasn’t invasive, wasn’t demanding—just there. Shepard let it be, let it ground her for a moment longer than necessary. It didn’t escape her that Liara noticed.

They crested a ridge, and the compound sprawled below them, its crude, bunker-like structures clustered together in loose defiance of the land around them. Mismatched sheets of metal and salvaged planks patched together crude shelters, their edges rusted and worn. Fires burned in the cold night, their thin plumes of smoke rising in twisting lines. Figures moved between the buildings, indistinct in the flickering light, their motions slow but deliberate.

Shepard pulled the mako to a halt, the settling dust curling around them as she turned to her squad. She met Tali’s gaze first, noting the quiet calculation behind her mask, then shifted to Liara, whose expression remained open but wary. Concern and certainty wove together in her eyes, an understanding neither of them had spoken aloud.

“Stay close, both of you,” Shepard said, her voice steady but laced with something softer. “These people are fanatical, but they’re not our enemy. We need to tread carefully—there’s no reason for bloodshed if we can avoid it.”

Tali nodded sharply, the motion crisp. “Understood, Commander.”

Liara lingered on her, searching. “And if we encounter resistance?”

Shepard’s lips twitched at the corner in a ghost of a smirk, a hint of dry humor surfacing before fading just as quickly. “We talk first. Kyle is our primary objective. If we can reach him, the rest may follow.”

Their approach did not go unnoticed. Two guards emerged from the darkness, their armor a mismatched patchwork of scavenged gear, more functional than uniform. They stiffened at the sight of Shepard, the Alliance insignia on her armor drawing immediate wariness.

She raised her hands, palms open—a calculated gesture of diplomacy. “We’re here to see Major Kyle. He knows me, and he’ll want to speak to me.” The confidence in her tone left little room for dispute.

One guard hesitated, glancing at his partner before nodding. “You’re the Alliance soldier he warned us about,” he muttered. His eyes flicked warily over the squad. “Fine… but weapons stay holstered.”

Shepard nodded, leading the way forward as they were ushered inside. The compound carried the scent of metal and oil, the air thick with an industrial chill. Bare bulbs cast stark shadows, illuminating walls covered in hand-scrawled messages—words that teetered between desperate hope and unyielding doctrine. Shepard’s gaze flickered over them, something twisting in her gut as she read: Redemption awaits those who believe. The Father sees what others cannot. Trust the vision of the father.

A door loomed ahead, marked with crude symbols, and after a pause, the guard pushed it open.

Inside, Major Kyle waited, his form partially consumed by shadow. Lines etched deep into his face, his eyes hollow and sharp with conviction. He regarded her with something between recognition and resentment as he spoke, his voice rough but certain.

“Commander Shepard—the Butcher of Torfan… They said you might come, but I have no quarrel with you. Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

Liara stepped in closer behind Shepard, her presence unwavering, her silent stance an unspoken reminder that Shepard was more than her reputation.

Shepard’s voice remained level. “Major, I need to know what happened to the Alliance officers who arrived before me. Where are they?”

The air in the room felt heavier than it should have, thick with unspoken convictions. Kyle’s followers lingered at the edges of the space, their eyes flickering between Shepard and their leader, wary yet expectant. It was a scene she had walked into before—a leader holding his people together with belief alone, and those who had given themselves over to something greater than their own doubt.

Kyle exhaled, his expression unreadable. “They came with demands, Shepard. With orders and threats. That is not the way of this place. They could not let go of the old world, so it let go of them.”

Shepard’s jaw tightened. “So they’re dead.”

Kyle didn’t confirm, but he didn’t deny it either. His silence was an answer in itself. The uneasy shift of his followers reinforced it.

Liara stepped forward, her voice measured. "Major, you must know that harming them only reinforces the fears the Alliance has about your intentions. If you truly wish to protect your people, cooperation may be your best path.”

Kyle’s gaze flickered toward her, studying her for a beat too long before returning to Shepard. “And what would you have me do? Surrender? Hand my children over to be judged by those who never sought to understand them? 

“I don’t give a damn about judgment. I care about solutions. We can find one, but not if you start a war you can’t win,” Shepard pressed. The tension in the room crackled, uncertain and taut. A moment balanced on the edge of something sharp, waiting to tip.

“They wanted to take me away from here! They asked me to abandon my family!” The Major protested. “I did what I could to make their ending quick—there was no other choice. I needed to protect my children. Only I can keep them safe.”

“Major, how can you call this safe? I remember you—I trusted you as my commanding officer on Torfan, and now the Alliance has asked me to bring you in. Can’t you see this has gotten out of hand? Don’t you see how you’re endangering your people? You’re a reasonable man, Kyle. Let me help you.”

A faint smile twisted Kyle’s lips, though his eyes remained dark. “The Alliance offers nothing but empty promises and unending wars. These people are here because they believe in something… because they need something the Alliance took from them.”

Shepard held his gaze, unwavering. “I understand the need for something to believe in, but two Alliance soldiers are dead, and there has to be accountability. You can still make this right, Kyle.”

Kyle’s shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, his gaze wavered. “You come here, speaking of peace… but why can’t you just let us be? Why can’t they be left in peace?”

“There’s no peace here,” Shepard replied quietly. “This isn’t protection, it’s entrapment. Your ‘children’ deserve a chance to face the world beyond these walls, to find peace for themselves. If you truly care about them, you’ll come with me. Show them you believe in a future outside of this place.”

Kyle seemed to falter, the haunted look in his eyes revealing a man who had long been at war with himself. After a moment, he sighed, the weight of his convictions settling heavily on his shoulders. “I respect that you’ve come under a banner of peace, Commander, but I cannot do as you ask. By going with you, I would be leaving them helpless.”

“You ordered your followers to kill those Alliance officers; you need to own up to it and face the consequences of your actions—do you really want your followers to be punished for sins you committed?” Shepard pressed, shifting her weight a bit. 

“No!” He shouted, desperately. “No—my children are innocent. I never meant for this to happen—I’m sorry. Give me an hour to prepare them, to help them understand. They won’t attack if they know I’m not abandoning them.”

Shepard nodded, stepping back as he called his followers to him. “You’re doing the right thing, Major.” She could feel the tension in the room lessen, Liara and Tali relaxing slightly behind her. As Kyle addressed his flock, Shepard kept her gaze steady, watching the way the cultists listened with quiet intensity, some teary-eyed, others resolute. 

Kyle’s voice softened as he finished, finally facing Shepard with an air of resignation. “I’ll come with you, Commander… I do this for them.” 

With that, they escorted Kyle out, his followers watching in silence as their leader walked away with Shepard. Peace, at last, without a shot fired.

***

Shepard sat alone in her quarters, the artificial glow from the terminal casting long, thin shadows across the room. The encounter with Major Kyle lingered, settling into her bones like an old ache. His hollow-eyed stare, the fervor in his voice when he spoke of salvation, of hearing voices guiding him and his followers—it was too easy to see how someone could slip, how conviction could curdle into obsession. The line between resolve and ruin had never felt thinner.

Kyle had been a soldier once, like her. They’d seen the same horrors, walked the same battlefields, and carried the same ghosts. But where he had unraveled, she’d built herself into something unbreakable. Walls within walls, steel plated over old wounds. Still, what she did on Torfan never quite left her. She’d never let it.

The Butcher of Torfan —the title sat heavy, a raw wound never given the grace of healing. She rarely let herself dwell on it in detail, but tonight, the memories seeped through the cracks. The burning heat of her assault, the sharp scent of blood and scorched metal, the still bodies of the slavers she’d hunted ruthlessly. The cold satisfaction that had slotted into her chest afterward, the way she had told herself it was justice. You are not that person anymore, Shepard. You are so much stronger—you fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.

She tried to recall Liara’s voice, the way she had said those words with such certainty, like she believed them to be true. Like they were truth itself. She wanted to believe it, too, but doubt pressed in, a whisper in the back of her mind. Liara doesn’t know you, Shep. No one does. You don’t let them.

Kyle’s haunted words twisted through her thoughts, stirring up things she had spent years burying. She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay present, to shake off the weight pressing down on her chest. She had walked through fire before, carried the weight of Torfan in silence while others, like Kyle, had collapsed beneath it. How close had she come to ending up like him? How much of a difference was there, really, between his madness and the way she kept moving forward on sheer force of will? No one knows you. No one could stop you from losing yourself like that.

The door chime cut through the thick silence like a blade, pulling her back to the now. She blinked, dragging herself out of the spiral as she lifted her gaze. Dr. Chakwas stood in the doorway, framed by the cold light of the corridor. The concern on her face was subtle but unmistakable, a weight Shepard could feel pressing into her ribs. 

She was about to get a talking to.

“Commander,” Chakwas said, stepping inside with the quiet confidence of someone used to dealing with fragile things. Her boots barely made a sound against the metal floor. “I’ve asked Joker to set a course for the Citadel. We’ll be there in a few hours.”

Shepard frowned, the shift in her mental gears jarring. “The Citadel?” Her voice came out sharper than she intended. “Hackett asked us to check out that situation on Luna. And after that, we’re heading to Feros.” The words snapped out of her before she could temper them, irritation flaring hot beneath her skin. Her shoulders squared, a habitual resistance settling into place. “The mission is clear. This detour—”

Chakwas tilted her head slightly, eyes sharp, assessing. “Liara told me she found you reliving Torfan.” The doctor’s voice was steady, threading through the tension with practiced patience. “When did you start having flashbacks? And why did you keep this to yourself?”

Shepard felt her jaw tighten. A flicker of something too close to vulnerability twisted in her gut, fast and sharp. “So, what else did she tell you?” The bitterness in her own voice surprised her.

Chakwas didn’t flinch. “Only that you’re struggling more than you let on.” She held Shepard’s gaze, unwavering. “Don’t be angry with her—you’re her friend and she was worried. Besides, I’m the one who pushed her to tell me.”

Shepard clenched her fists against the instinct to argue, to push back against the concern pressing in on all sides. “I can handle this, Doctor,” she said, forcing the words out evenly. “I’ve been managing just fine.”

Chakwas exhaled through her nose, the kind of sigh that carried years of knowing better. “Managing is not the same as healing, Shepard. Your crew needs you focused. Right now, your mind is running you into the ground. This isn’t just about one mission. If you’re to go after Saren and be successful, you can’t do it like this.”

The truth of it struck deep, scraping against old scars. Shepard turned away, eyes locking onto the bulkhead as if she could will it to be more interesting than the memories clawing at the edges of her thoughts. The screams, the weight of bloodstained hands—guilt rising in a slow, suffocating tide. She clenched her jaw, holding onto defiance like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“I know you’re just trying to help,” she murmured, voice edged with exhaustion. “But this NIM therapy sounds like another glorified chat session. I don’t need to talk about my feelings, I just need time—this time of year is always hardest on me, doc—.”

Chakwas stepped closer, a quiet, immovable presence. “Liara thinks it could help you.”

Shepard scoffed, shaking her head. “Liara? What makes you think her opinion—”

“Allison.” Chakwas’s voice was soft but firm, cutting through the space between them. “Don’t be naive—it’s my job to know these things. And I know you , too. You’ve carried this weight for too long, and you don’t have to do it alone.” She hesitated, then added, “Besides, you and Liara aren’t the only ones who enjoy the Normandy after the crew’s gone to sleep.”

A shiver ran through Shepard, a too-familiar sensation crawling up her spine. She didn’t need Chakwas to say more—she could picture Liara’s face all too clearly, the worry written into the delicate tension around her eyes, the way she always looked at Shepard like she was trying to piece together something that refused to be whole. It left a hollow feeling in her chest, a weight she didn’t know how to carry.

“So, what?” Shepard asked, crossing her arms in a futile attempt to guard against the creeping vulnerability. “You’re benching me?”

“No,” Chakwas said, gentle but unyielding. “But I am mandating you see the Consort and take a few days of shore leave before continuing to Luna and Feros. This doesn’t have to be a magic cure. Sometimes, a moment of peace is enough to help you regain your footing. You can tell yourself the Normandy needs some maintenance, if it hurts your pride so much.”

Shepard inhaled deeply, feeling the air settle heavy in her lungs. Her heart pounded against her ribs, a slow, steady reminder that she was, at the end of the day, still human. That her body felt exhaustion as much as her mind bore the weight of all she carried. The tension in her shoulders eased just a fraction. She could fight it, keep resisting out of sheer stubbornness—but she knew, deep down, that Chakwas was right.

Finally, she nodded, her voice low but steady. “ Fine ,” she said, reluctant but resolved. “I’ll see the Consort. But if it doesn’t help—”

“Then we’ll reassess,” Chakwas interrupted, a knowing smile touching her lips.

She turned to leave, and Shepard leaned back against the bulkhead, exhaling slowly. The decision settled over her—not a surrender, but a temporary ceasefire. A truce with herself, however fleeting.

As the door slid shut, sealing her in the dim solitude of her quarters, she sighed, a slow, deliberate release she hadn’t realized she was holding. The air felt heavier here, thick with the residual threat of conversation. Liara’s face hovered in her mind—soft with concern, eyes deep with a kind of patience she wasn’t sure she deserved. There had been something in her expression, a quiet willingness to reach out, and that unsettled her more than she cared to admit. It was the same hesitant openness Shepard herself had once carried, before war, before loss, before survival had hardened her into something…so dark and hollow.

A part of her admired Liara for that—her kindness, her curiosity, the way she hadn’t yet learned to see compassion as a risk. Another part of her, one that curled tight in the corners of her mind like an old wound refusing to close, resented it. Shepard had been forced to learn things Liara hadn’t, to witness moments that had carved away at any softness she might have once possessed. Sometimes, in the quiet, she wished she could unlearn them.

The flashes of Torfan clawed at her—she clenched her fists, muscles tensing against the onslaught. It wasn’t just the violence—she’d seen plenty of that—it was her choices, ones that had rewritten something fundamental inside her. When Liara had found her caught in one of those memories, she hadn’t pried, hadn’t filled the silence with empty reassurances. She had simply been there, bearing witness without judgment. It should have made it easier, but instead, it left her feeling exposed in a way she wasn’t used to. Liara saw past the armor. She saw her. And that was the most terrifying thing of all.

Shepard sat on the edge of her bed, the cold press of the metal frame grounding her in the present. She scrubbed her hands over her face, as if the act might clear away the exhaustion clinging to her. Chakwas had given her an out—a chance to step back, even for a moment. She should dismiss it, keep pushing forward. But the idea settled into the cracks of her mind, stubborn and insistent. A small, long-buried part of her wanted to try. To stop pretending, if only for a breath, that none of this touched her. Liara’s face surfaced again, her eyes full of something she couldn’t name. Not pity. Not expectation. Just… belief. For some reason, that made it harder to ignore.

The walls of her quarters felt too close, so she pushed herself to her feet, muscles stiff with fatigue. She needed motion, action—something to drown out the weight pressing at her chest. The ship was familiar, predictable, a constant rhythm beneath her boots. Here, she could disappear into routine, lose herself in the simple logic of mechanics. Her workbench sat in the corner near engineering, cluttered with half-finished modifications and spare parts salvaged from the field. Shepard picked up a wrench, letting the tactile repetition of tightening bolts and checking seals steady her thoughts. It was muscle memory, methodical, the closest thing to peace she could manufacture.

But tonight, even this wasn’t enough to quiet her mind. Liara’s voice echoed back to her, hesitant but warm. How could someone so open feel so… steady? Safe, even. The thought lingered, strange and unfamiliar. What would it be like to let someone in —not as a superior officer, not as a soldier—but as herself ? The idea felt impossibly distant. 

A soft shuffle of boots interrupted her thoughts. Shepard looked up to find Tali standing near the entrance, datapad in hand. There was a hesitation in her stance, a careful observation in her gaze.

“Commander?” Tali’s voice was quiet, tinged with uncertainty. “I didn’t expect to find you here this late.”

“Hey, Tali,” Shepard offered a small, tired smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d keep busy.”

“Right,” Tali tilted her head slightly, as if weighing something unspoken. “Liara mentioned she saw you… not yourself,” she said carefully. “She worries about you.”

Shepard tensed, grip tightening around the tool in her hand. “She tell you that?”

Tali hesitated, then shrugged. “Not directly. But it’s obvious. She talks about you a lot.”

She stilled, a flicker of warmth threading through her defenses. Talks about me. The words settled strangely, not unwelcome, but unfamiliar. It was one thing to fight alone. It was another to know someone had noticed, had cared enough to say something.

“Why would she bother?” Shepard muttered, forcing a dry edge of humor into her tone. “We’ve got a job to do. I can’t get caught up in… distractions.”

Tali’s gaze softened, the light catching the curve of her visor. “Commander, with all due respect… you’re not just a machine. Liara cares about you. We all do.” She paused, then added, “But I think it’s different for her.”

Shepard exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I don’t get it.”

Tali’s voice took on a teasing lilt. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was interested in you.”

Shepard huffed a quiet laugh, but something about the idea caught in her chest. “I’m not sure why she would be,” she muttered, half to herself. “Guess she does have a thing for damaged relics.”

Tali’s laugh was soft, genuine. “I don’t think she sees you as damaged, Shepard. If anything, I think she admires you—for being strong, even when you don’t feel that way.”

Shepard looked away, staring down at exposed wiring in front of her, feeling more seen than she was comfortable with. The engine’s quiet hum filled the space between them, steady, grounding.

“You and I both know this kind of thing isn’t easy,” Tali continued, gentler now. “Liara’s not the only one who notices. We see you, Shepard. I see you.” She hesitated before adding, “And… I think the hardest part for you isn’t the fight out there. It’s facing what’s in here.” She pressed a gloved hand over her chest.

Shepard swallowed, something cracking at the edges of her resolve. “I’ve been trained to handle this alone, Tali. I have to be unbreakable.”

“But that’s just it,” Tali said, quiet but firm. “We don’t follow you because you’re unbreakable. We follow you because you keep going, even when it’s hard.” Shepard let the words settle, feeling their weight in a way she hadn’t expected. She thought of Liara again—of the way she looked at her, not with expectation, but understanding. How Chakwas, too, had urged her to take this chance, as if they were all waiting for her to choose it herself. Tali took a small step back, as if giving her space to process. “Just think about it,” she said gently. “That’s all.”

She turned to leave, but Shepard called after her, voice lighter than before. “So, Liara likes me, huh?”

“Commander!” Tali laughed despite the shock in her tone. “But yes, I think you would be right to assume as much. Liara is shy, but she is not always so subtle.” The knowledge lingered in her mind, a quiet, unexpected warmth settling in her chest as she considered the idea of Liara’s interest. For a moment, the thought felt almost foreign, a soft brush of something she’d nearly forgotten how to feel—someone looking at her not as a soldier or a commander, but as the person she was before any of those things. Liara was different from anyone she’d known: curious, kind, her gaze always seeming to search for something more, something deeper. Part of her bristled at the notion of being closer, especially now, with the mission sharpening her every waking moment into focus, pulling her forward without room for distraction. 

However there was a comfort in it too, a rare feeling that Liara understood something about her without needing to say it. She told herself it didn’t matter—she had no time for attachments, for entanglements, distractions—but still, the thought of the asari’s quiet, earnest admiration stayed with her, reminding her something gentler, something she hadn’t dared to reach for in years, was there waiting for her—if she wanted it.

“You mentioned you wanted to talk about your pilgrimage?” Shepard asked after awhile of staring into space. Tali had been tinkering with the engineering console. 

Tali sat down across from Shepard and straightened her back as though mentally bracing herself. She glanced down at her hands, twisting the edge of her glove, a habit Shepard recognized as her way of collecting her thoughts. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my Pilgrimage, and… what it really means to be out here, away from the Migrant Fleet.” 

Shepard nodded, sensing the weight behind her words. “Is it difficult, being away from everyone you’ve known?”

“Yes,” Tali admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a rite of passage, but it’s also… a chance to prove ourselves. In the Fleet, everything is shared—resources, space, supplies. For any Quarian to be accepted onto a new ship, we have to prove we’re more than a burden on those resources.”

“It sounds like more than just finding an artifact or a piece of tech. It’s about proving you’re ready to stand on your own.”

“Exactly.” Tali shifted in her place her voice growing softer, tinged with something like vulnerability. “For me, the Pilgrimage comes with… expectations. More than most Quarians, at least. My father—he’s an admiral in the Fleet. Rael’Zorah.” She hesitated, as if just saying the name brought with it a weight Shepard couldn’t fully understand.

“An admiral’s daughter, huh?” Shepard nodded, beginning to grasp the added layer of pressure. “So, there’s even more riding on what you bring back.”

Tali let out a quiet sigh. “Yes. My family’s name means something to the Fleet. My father worked his whole life to rise to that position, and he’s… well, he’s respected. Admired. Bringing back something truly valuable—it would reflect on him as well. I’ve always known that.”

Shepard’s gaze softened as she absorbed Tali’s words, understanding more of the drive that pushed her. “So you set out not only with the goal of proving yourself but proving you’re worthy of your father’s legacy. That’s a lot to carry on your own.”

“You would know, Shepard,” the quarian remarked, a smile in her voice. Then, she looked away, nervously tapping against her suit’s armguard. “Most Quarians go on their Pilgrimage to find something that simply demonstrates they won’t be a burden. That’s the whole purpose of the ritual, but in my case… I need to find something truly significant, something worthy of my father’s name. He’s dedicated his entire life to the Flotilla, and sometimes… sometimes I think he expects I’ll do the same.”

“Is that what you want?” Shepard asked gently.

Tali paused, the question hanging between them. “Yes and no,” she admitted. “I want to serve my people—I believe in what we’re doing out there, protecting and preserving the Quarian way of life, but it isn’t unusual for quarians not to return to the Migrant Fleet after their pilgrimage. I will probably go back, but not until we have defeated Saren.”

“I’ll help in whatever way I can, Tali.” Shepard’s expression softened, the sentiment resonating deeply. 

Tali gave a small nod, her gratitude evident even through her visor. “Thank you, Shepard.”

***

Shepard opted not to sleep until they docked on the Citadel; she’d probably need sleep before she went and saw the Consort, but she would put that off as long as she could. She decided to go to the observation deck and watch the stars streak by through the viewing window.

As the ship glided gracefully through the blackness of space, the anticipation of landing on the Citadel twisted her stomach into knots. There was so much to consider—her upcoming meeting with the asari Consort, the weight of her responsibilities as Commander, and the lingering shadows of her past. However, just as she thought she could enjoy a moment of solitude, she heard the soft click of shoes echoing behind her, a rhythm that pulled her from her reverie. 

Turning around to see who else was in the hallway, she caught sight of Liara approaching, her blue skin glowing faintly in the dim light of the hallway. She had her nose close a data pad, almost hiding whatever she was reading, and she was absolutely enthralled by it.

“Hey, Liara!” Shepard called out, a playful grin spreading across her face. “Is that an academic journal, or are you just happy to see me?”

Liara blinked, startled, nearly dropping the datapad as she snapped back to reality. “I—ah, Commander! I didn’t see you there,” she stammered, a delightful flush creeping across her cheeks, accentuating the delicate contours of her face.

Shepard, arms crossed, reveled in the moment, hoping to tease the asari a bit. “Deep in thought, were we? I hope it was about how to navigate crowded hallways without crashing into the crew.” 

Liara’s eyes darted around, her usual poise crumbling under Shepard’s teasing gaze. “I was just… um, studying! Yes! A fascinating subject! Very complex…” Her voice trailed off as she fumbled with the datapad, her fingers nervously tracing its edges. “You know how it is with ancient civilizations and… their mysteries.”

“Anything I should know about?” Shepard stepped closer, barely able to suppress her laughter. It was so fun to tease the asari. 

Liara stared at her, wide-eyed, and shook her head quickly. “No! I mean, yes! Wait—uh…” She paused, taking a breath, clearly struggling to regain her footing. “I’m just really focused on my work, Commander. Very… serious research.”

She’s about as subtle as a Krogan in a library. “I see, probably stuff that’d go over my head anyway, right?” 

For a heartbeat, they stood in silence, the atmosphere heavy with unexpressed thoughts. Liara’s eyes darted nervously, her gaze landing anywhere but on Shepard. She took a half-step back, almost bumping into the wall, and her datapad slipped from her grip, barely caught before it hit the floor.

“Sorry, it’s just… really not interesting!” Liara blurted, her voice rising an octave. She sounded desperate, as though she were trying to convince herself as much as Shepard. “Like, um, the—uh—th-the Protheans and their—”

Shepard tilted her head, a teasing smile creeping onto her face. “Is everything all right, Liara? You seem a little… overwhelmed.”

Liara’s eyes widened, and she tightened her grip on the datapad like her only lifeline. “I—uh, no! I mean, yes ! I mean… I’m not —I mean, I was just—” She stumbled over her words, and a nervous laugh escaped her.

Shepard chuckled, leaning back once more. “Relax, Liara. I’m just giving you a hard time.”

“Right…” Liara’s gaze darted everywhere but at Shepard, her anxiety palpable. “A joke. Of course, Goddess, I am always making a fool of myself in front of you, aren’t I?”

With a light clap on Liara’s shoulder, Shepard smiled warmly. “No need to overthink it. Just keep doing… whatever it is you’re doing.” She winked and stood, turning toward the exit, but not before stealing one last look at Liara. The sight of her looking deeply baffled, datapad clutched tightly, cheeks flushed, was enough to bring a genuine smile to Shepard’s face as she started off in the direction of her quarters. 

“Weren’t you just—” Liara called, but Shepard kept it moving, not yet wanting the asari to see the deep shade of red her face was turning.

Let her wonder.

Chapter Text

A few weeks back, Shepard walked these same halls, chasing the same lead, and she wasn’t any closer to the Conduit than she had been then.

She let out a slow breath. Fine. If she had to be stuck here, she might as well make the most of it. Chora’s Den came to mind—smoky air, cheap whiskey, a dancer whose name she couldn’t remember but whose hips she hadn’t forgotten. A grin tugged at her lips. Maybe she’d find her again. Maybe she’d just get drunk enough not to care. Either way, if she had to be on the Citadel against her will, she sure as hell wasn’t doing it sober.

Unbeknownst to the commander, who had started walking toward Chora’s Den, a different asari lingered further behind her, hidden in throngs of travelers and trailed behind with a quiet determination . What is she doing , Liara thought as she maintained a steady distance from the Commander. If Shepard could see the curiosity and concern in the asari’s face, she’d know of her desire to understand the woman she had come to admire so deeply. Although, it’s just as likely she’d be furious I’m following her—especially if she’d seen what was on my data pad earlier…or that is, who , was on my data pad. Even so, Shepard’s choices worried her, and while she knew better than to intrude…she had to know more.  “Let’s see where this leads,” Liara murmured to herself, careful to keep her distance as Shepard made her way through the busy halls of the Citadel. 

With every step, Shepard felt the weight of the day ease, anticipation slipping in to take its place. A few drinks, a little music, maybe even a good distraction—just for one night, she could let herself exist without the past clawing at her heels. She cut through the back alley behind the markets, the red glow of the overhead lights stretching her shadow long against the walls. She’d always liked this route—quiet, tucked away from the Citadel’s polished façade, a space where she could be alone without feeling watched. The air smelled of metal and distant spice, and for a fleeting second, she let herself enjoy it.

Then—

“Well, well. Didn’t think I’d see you here, AJ.”

The voice hit like a sucker punch, sharp as broken glass, freezing her mid-step. AJ . Her breath stalled. It had been so long since she’d heard it spoken aloud, she almost didn’t react. Almost. The name had withered away with time, or so she’d thought—left behind in the places she refused to return to. But here it was, raw and real, forcing her to turn.

And there he stood. Remi. Same sharp smirk, same way he leaned forward, like he was always a second away from swinging. He looked out of place against the clean lines of the Citadel, too much like the alleys and cracked asphalt of Earth, like he’d been carved from the past and dragged here just to remind her it still existed.

“No one calls me that anymore.” Her voice was a blade, each word clipped, precise, edged with rank. “Not even you.”

His scoff was half a laugh, half a challenge. “Right—guess you’ve got a new identity now. ‘Commander Shepard,’ all Alliance-approved and shiny.” He dragged his gaze over her, slow, calculating. “But I remember the real you. You can dress it up however you want, but don’t pretend that girl’s gone. I know you, AJ.”

Her jaw tightened. “People change, Remi. That was just too much to ask of you.”

From the shadows, Liara held her breath. She lingered behind a column, heart pounding, watching the way Shepard squared off against the ghost of someone she once knew. AJ. She rolled the name over in her mind, testing the weight of it, the history it carried. It wasn’t hers to say, yet—hearing it felt like stepping into a story she’d never been meant to read.

Remi’s smirk faltered, just for a second. Shepard saw it. And with it, the memories pressed in—stale cigarettes, the shatter of glass against pavement, long nights spent teetering on the edge of something she didn’t want to name. Sometimes she still craved it—that rush she felt in her teenage years; she was so careless and wreckless with her life then.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “What do you want?” Her voice was ice.

Remi’s smile was all edges, his eyes sharpening. “Weisman’s in lockup—you remember him right? Turian patrol picked him up on a ‘minor offense,’ but we both know how that goes. I just need you to have a chat with the guard—get him out. And maybe we call things even.”

Shepard almost laughed. The irony of it curled at the edges of her mouth, bitter and sharp. “ Even ?” she echoed, voice laced with disbelief. “I don’t owe you a damn thing, Remi. So let’s skip the reunion and call this what it is—you trying to get something for nothing.”

The cocky grin faded, his gaze turning hard. “Funny thing about debts, AJ—they don’t just disappear because you run off and slap a new name on yourself.” He took a half-step forward, voice lowering into something quieter, meaner. “Do this, or maybe I let slip a few stories about ‘Commander Shepard’s’ colorful past. I wonder what your new friends in the Alliance would think of the old AJ. The one who knew all about, well… rough edges.”

Her fists twitched. Every instinct, every survival-honed reflex told her to act—to put him down before he could say another word. But I’m not her anymore , she reminded herself.

She exhaled slowly, forcing steel into her voice. “If Curt’s got dirt on him, I’ll find out, and trust me—you won’t like how that turns out. And don’t call me that . It’s Shepard. Or Commander Shepard. Especially to you.”

Remi’s smirk curled at the edges, darker now. He leaned in. “Oh, you don’t scare me. You might be some big-shot hero to everyone else, but I know you. I know where you come from.” His voice dipped, almost conspiratorial. “And Curt’s clean on this.”

Shepard’s gaze stayed steady, her voice even. “You know a version of me that doesn’t exist anymore. Whatever you’re hoping to get out of this—think again.”

He tilted his head, studying her, eyes cold and assessing. “You really do think you’re better than us now, don’t you? You used to be the one person I trusted to never turn her back on family.”She stiffened. Family. The word scraped like gravel in her throat. The Reds. The broken loyalties. The kind of trust that got people killed.

“Don’t pretend loyalty was ever what you cared about,” she said, voice like a knife. “I left because you stopped giving a damn about anything but control. You were going to kill Kray and the rest of Nightfall Crew—just so you could sell red sand and they couldn’t. You got greedy. It stopped being about family.”

Remi’s expression hardened, all pretense falling away. “You left because you’re a coward. Because when things got tough, you ran. Just remember that.”

Shepard stepped forward, close enough to make him feel it. “You were going to get me and everyone else killed,” she said, voice low and dangerous. “I left to survive, Remi. Not to help people like you cling to whatever broken pieces you call a gang.” She held his gaze until he finally looked away, jaw tight, shaking his head in disgust.

“Whatever, AJ. Be the hero if that’s what helps you sleep at night,” he sneered. “But you still owe us after the way you left. Help Weisman, and you’ll never see me again. Isn’t that what you want?”

A few feet away, Liara tensed, heart pounding. She’d edged closer without realizing it, concern overriding caution. She wanted to step in—to stop whatever this was before it pulled the Commander deeper into something worse—but she hesitated. Now wasn’t the time. Not yet.

Shepard exhaled sharply, shoving past Remi without another word. “Give me ten minutes.”

She didn’t look back. Her thoughts reeled as she moved through the corridors, the old life she’d buried feeling too close, pressing in like stale air. By the time she reached Chora’s Den, she’d locked it down—pushed it back where it belonged. 

The turian guard stationed inside straightened at her approach, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Commander Shepard,” the turian guard greeted, his voice carrying that automatic shift to respect. “I assume this isn’t a social call.”

She met his gaze evenly, her expression unreadable. “I heard someone named Curt Weisman’s been detained. Wanted to understand the details—I’d heard it was a minor offense?”

The turian’s mandibles twitched, something close to a humorless smile. “Minor? If you consider attempted poisoning ‘minor.’ Caught him breaking into a medical cargo, armed with enough chemicals to wipe out a colony. Said he was ‘sent.’”

Something in her gut went cold. Whatever lingering sympathy she might’ve had for her old life, for the ghosts it left behind, evaporated on the spot. She should’ve known better than to give Remi the benefit of the doubt. Her nod was crisp, her tone even. “I thought that might be the case. Thanks for clarifying. There won’t be any further problems on my end.”

She turned on her heel without another word. 

Liara lingered nearby, silent, watching. Shepard’s face gave nothing away, but Liara had learned to recognize the subtler signs—the slight shift in her stance, the tension in her jaw. She wasn’t just brushing this off. She was sealing it away, locking it down like everything else that cut too deep.

Outside, Remi was still waiting, arms crossed, expecting a deal. When she reached him, her expression was cold as vacuum.  “We’re done, Rem,” she said, voice like a steel trap. “Curt made his choice. So did you.”

His confidence cracked for just a second, just long enough for her to see something raw in his eyes—something that almost looked like the boy she’d known. But then it was gone, masked by the same sharp-edged defiance.

“Whatever you say, Commander .” He spat the word like an insult. “But I’m gonna make sure people remember who you really are. Not the Hero of Elysium, not some Alliance golden girl. Just AJ—the one who sliced a man’s throat all because he laid hands on one of ours . Maybe I should just say one of yours though, isn’t that right?” He tilted his head, watching for her reaction. “You think the Alliance would be so quick to pin medals on you if they knew about that ? Or would they see you for what you really are?”

Her expression didn’t waver, but inside, something twisted. It wasn’t regret—she’d made her choice that night, and she’d make it again. But hearing it thrown back at her like that, hearing him say it like it was some kind of leverage, made her jaw tighten. 

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know why I killed that fucker. He raped and nearly killed Nellie. So you think I give a damn what you tell people?” she said coolly. “I’ve got nothing to hide, Remi, but if you think dredging up the past is gonna get you anything, then you’re even more desperate than I thought.”

His sneer twisted into something ugly. “Guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?” He shoved past her, vanishing into the depths of the Wards. Shepard exhaled slowly, staring after him, the past lingering like smoke in the air. Some part of her should’ve felt relief, but all she felt was tired.

She stepped into Chora’s Den, the scent of stale alcohol, cheap cologne, and smoke hitting her like muscle memory. The din of voices, the flickering neon, the thrum of a bassline vibrating through the floor—it was the kind of place that lived in her bones, no matter how far she’d come.

She ordered a whiskey, took the glass, and found a darkened booth at the edge of the room. Shadows swallowed her whole as she leaned back against the worn leather, the cool press of the glass grounding her. The whiskey burned, heat curling through her chest, but the tension in her gut didn’t ease.

It had been a night like this—same haze of smoke, same edge of tension cutting through the air—when Remi had pressed a knife into her hand. His grip had been steady, voice low, words unspoken but understood. She remembered the sharp crack of bone, the taste of blood in her mouth, the raw ache of survival without armor, without backup. When it was over, when she’d dragged herself to her feet, barely breathing, she’d met Remi’s gaze. She thought she’d see pride. Instead, his eyes had been cold. Detached. That was the moment she understood. The Reds, the crew, the loyalty she’d once believed in—it had never been about family. She had been a tool, a means to an end. And when she’d stopped being useful, when she started questioning orders, when she hesitated before driving a knife into another kid just like her, she’d become expendable.

Shepard swirled the whiskey in her glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. The sound of Chora’s Den faded, the present dissolving into the past, old memories that still bruised her skin.

She was barely more than a kid, but old enough to know what loyalty meant. Old enough to know that some things couldn’t be forgiven. Nellie’s face flickered in her mind—battered, barely conscious, her voice hoarse from screaming. She hadn’t thought. There had been no calculation, no hesitation, just the certainty of a blade in her hand and rage.. It wasn’t about the Reds, or proving herself, or anything Remi wanted to make it out to be. It was about Nellie. She was the only person that really mattered to her then.

But memory was a fickle thing. It wasn’t the moment itself that stuck with her the most; it was everything that followed. The silence in the aftermath, the way the others looked at her like she had finally crossed some threshold they had always expected her to. It was knowing what she’d done had nothing to do with the Reds and everything to do with the girl she loved. And then, later—Nellie’s absence. A loose end that had never tied itself up. Where had she gone?

She had told herself that she got out, that she ran the way Shepard did, before everything hardened around her, but there had always been a part of her that knew better. The streets didn’t let go that easily. Shepard had Anderson. Nellie might’ve been Gordo’s kid sister, but she knew the real truth. She’d been Nellie’s lifeline—the only way out she ever really had. Gordo never would’ve let her go. Especially not after they went blood in, blood out. 

Remi’s words clung like smoke, curling at the edges of her thoughts. He wanted her to flinch, to feel some kind of guilt, some kind of fear. But he’d never understood. The regret she carried wasn’t for the blood she had spilled—it was for everything she couldn’t change. It was the way he’d said it—like a knife slipping between her ribs, slow and deliberate. Not a threat, not an accusation, just a reminder. A name she’d buried. A moment she never let herself think about, yet, here it was, dragged into the light by the one person who knew exactly where to find the window.

Nellie’s ragged breathing echoed in her mind, the bruises she couldn’t hide—they were on her skin too, the way her voice had broken when she tried to tell Shepard—AJ, back then, what had happened. She had never seen her like that before—never seen her shrink back, never heard her sound so small. Nellie was always louder, always sharper, always pushing her forward because the universe owed them both something better than the gutters of Earth. That night, Nellie couldn’t even meet her eyes, and something just snapped within her.  Her fury was immediate and all-consuming. She hadn’t been thinking about survival, or consequences, or even about the Reds. 

She found the Crew member who’d done it outside a shitty dive bar all the local gang factions frequented. He laughed when he saw her. Called her by her name. She didn’t hesitate before she was on him. She was always stronger—made sure no one could ever hurt her like her family had been hurt, and she ovrepowered him, holding his wrists above his head while she pressed her blade into his throat and made him tell her why . He cried. Begged her to stop, told her how he was sorry—their leader made him. But he was Kray’s chief lieutenant, second in command of the Nightfall Crew—easily one of the most notorious gangs in the area since the end of the First Contact war pushed them into the city slums. She made him suffer. 

Shepard exhaled sharply, rolling her glass between her hands like the motion could shake the memory loose. It was easier, sometimes, to frame it as something necessary. Something justified. And maybe it was. She wasn’t naive enough to regret it. She had done what needed to be done. Gordo would’ve started a war over it—there’d be even more killing. At least if she got her hands dirty no one else would need to kill senselessly or be killed senselessly. She took care of the problem. What unsettled her—would always unsettle her—was it hadn’t been hard. There had been no war raging inside her, no crisis of conscience. He deserved it. So she killed him. Simple as that.

This was the reason she’d been so disturbed when Remi decided to kill Kray. They were fighting over territory—not Nellie. Not even the man she’d killed. It wasn’t fair. She felt justified in what she’d done to him, but everyone else? What were they guilty of that she wasn’t? That Remi himself wasn’t? So she left, was done with the Reds, done being used, done being part of a system that chewed up kids like her and spat them out in the gutter. The Alliance had been her way out, her way forward, and she had never looked back. Not once. Until now anyway.

She swallowed the last of her whiskey, the burn doing nothing to chase the old ache settling in her chest. Remi’s words lingered like the aftertaste. You think the Alliance would be so quick to pin medals on you if they knew about that? Shepard flexed her fingers against the empty glass, jaw tight. The truth was, the Alliance probably wouldn’t give a damn. They had decorated soldiers with worse sins than hers. But it wasn’t about them. It was about the fact that, for all the lives she had saved, for all the battles she had fought, there would always be blood on her hands that no title, no mission, no act of heroism could ever wash away.

She could still hear Nellie’s laughter—sharp and reckless, like she’d never learned how to be afraid or when to be quiet. It used to drive AJ insane, the way she’d throw herself into fights she had no chance of winning, always bleeding, always grinning like it didn’t matter. “

“One of us has to have a damn survival instinct,” AJ had muttered once, pressing a rag against Nellie’s split lip after some fight gone bad.

“And one of us has to make life worth surviving.” She had smiled through the pain, her fingers brushing over AJ’s wrist, warm and steady. She’d always been like that. Reaching for something just beyond them, beyond the Reds, beyond the filth and hunger and desperate scrambles to stay alive. Nellie was the one who believed they could be more than what the world had made them. She’d never let herself believe in things like that after Mindoir, but she believed in Nellie.

Now, sitting in a darkened bar light-years from the place they’d once called home, she wondered if Nellie ever made it out. If she had clawed her way free the way AJ had. Or if she had been swallowed whole like all the others. She never let herself search. Not in all these years. Not once. Because the answer—whichever way it fell—was too much to bear.

This life—this uniform, this mission—she had fought like hell to get here. Nearly died for it. And she wasn’t about to let ghosts from the gutter drag her back down. Her eyes remained on her empty glass as an asari with familiar, graceful poise stepped into view, carrying another drink. She looked up, vaguely recognizing her as the dancer she’d seen when she first came to Chora’s Den with Garrus. 

“Hey, stranger.” The asari’s lips curved into a knowing smile, “I remember you from the last time,” she said, setting the new glass down beside Shepard’s with a fluid motion. “This one’s on me. You look like someone who could use a refill.”

Shepard tilted her head, caught between amusement and curiosity. “Thanks. How’d you guess?”

The asari’s eyes glimmered with an unspoken understanding, and she shrugged, sliding into the booth beside her. “I have an eye for people who seem… haunted.”

For a moment, she considered the asari with intrigue. Here, among the thumping beats and murmuring crowd, it was rare to find a gesture that didn’t ask for something in return. This place was built on its own breed of quid pro quo.

“Haunted, huh?” Shepard said, swirling the second glass. “I guess you’re not far off.”

“I’m good at spotting people trying to blend in.” The asari leaned back, gaze studying her quietly. She leaned a little closer, eyes glinting as a sly smile played across her lips. She rested her hand on the table near Shepard’s, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles on the surface. Her voice softened, edged with a warmth that felt a shade too inviting. “Every time I’ve seen you, you’ve been troubled; don’t you know even a Spectre needs time to relax?”

Shepard met her gaze, a wry smirk tugging at her mouth. “You could say I don’t often get the luxury.” 

The asari’s smile deepened as she tilted her head, blue skin catching the low lights of Chora’s Den. “Then consider this… your moment.” She slid the drink closer, brushing her fingers just slightly along Shepard’s as she did. “A courtesy from someone who understands what it’s like to live in shadows.” 

The faint, unspoken promise in her words lingered. She felt a pulse of warmth, the burn of the drink she was nursing matched by the quiet allure in the asari’s gaze. “Vala, was it?”

From across the room, Liara’s gaze lingered on an unknowing Shepard and the dancer, her chest tightening as she watched the asari dancer brush closer and closer, her hand resting lightly on Shepard’s arm. That gentle familiarity, the way Shepard seemed to relax under the attention—it all stirred something fierce and uncomfortable inside her. She was painfully aware of her own hesitation, her need to maintain distance, but that didn’t make the sight any easier.

Each exchanged glance between them was like a private language, and Liara’s heart twisted with the realization of how little she truly knew about Commander Shepard. What had begun as fascination, a pull toward Shepard’s strength and mystery, was sharpening something far more complex, edged with longing and jealousy she knew she wasn’t entitled to. The intensity of it caught her off guard. She wanted to know her—not just in fleeting moments or surface conversations, but completely . Every scar, every unspoken truth, every flicker of emotion that passed too quickly to be caught. Yet there Shepard sat, just out of reach, seduced by a stranger who could never grasp the depth beneath her hardened exterior. The distance between them felt unbearable. Liara inhaled deeply, resisting the ache to close that space, to make herself known, to let Shepard see what she had kept so carefully hidden. Would the Commander return her affection? Hadn’t she already? In small ways. She could still feel the human’s hand in hers from the other day—without a doubt, she knew if she lived 1000 years, she’d never forget that feeling, that flutter. Still, she remained where she was, watching in silence, her heart heavy with the force of everything left unsaid.

The asari climbed on top of Shepard’s lap, caressing the Commander’s face with the flat of her thumb, brushing a red hair away from her face. “Tell me, Shepard, how can I take your mind off whatever it is you’re thinking? Consider it my treat for being such an… interesting patron.”

Shepard’s gaze flicked up, assessing her with a faint smirk. “Interesting? You don’t see that every day here?” 

“Not like you ,” she replied, her voice low and warm. Her fingers brushed Shepard’s hand, lingering just enough to suggest she wanted to linger much longer, and when she didn’t seem to take the hint, the asari brought her hands up to rest on her hips. 

“What’s so special about me?” Shepard asked, a note of sarcasm hiding the faint curiosity behind her eyes. She played along, testing her reaction.

“Most patrons don’t leave much of an impression.” Her fingers trailed subtly from Shepard’s hand up to her forearm, her voice dripping—she knew how to draw someone closer without seeming to ask. “Drink more, it’ll help,” she whispered, reaching for the whiskey she’d brought over.

The Commander chuckled, feeling the light pull but keeping her wits. She took a sip of the offered drink, relaxing but alert, watching the dancer’s subtle attempt at control. It was flattering, maybe, but she saw the script. “So you’re the impressionable type?” Shepard teased, meeting her gaze as if daring her to press forward.

The asari chuckled, leaning in until Shepard could feel her breath on her neck, “I think you’d be worth a little risk.” The dimly lit club seemed to fade into the background, the thumping bass and chattering voices dying as Vala’s presence dominated her. Her lips curled playfully as she sat on Shepard’s lap, her green eyes gleaming with mischief. “Let’s see if I can make you forget about your troubles, hmmm?” she murmured, her voice a sultry purr sending shivers down Shepard’s spine. Her fingers traced a delicate path down the human’s neck, her touch both teasing and tender. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against her skin as she whispered, “You deserve to be treated like this.”

Shepard’s eyes fluttered closed, her body responding instinctively to Vala’s proximity. The asari's tongue darted out, tracing a slow, tantalizing line from the base of Shepard’s throat up to her ear. Each flick of her tongue burned her resolve, melting it beneath the relentless seduction. “Mmm,” Vala hummed, her voice a low, sultry purr. “You taste divine, Commander.”

Her grip tightened around the asari’s waist as she continued her ministrations. Vala’s lips pressed against her neck, nibbling gently before moving higher, capturing her earlobe between her teeth. A soft moan escaped her lips, her body arching towards Vala’s. The asari’s response was immediate and passionate. She captured Shepard’s lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving deep as she explored every inch of her mouth. The intensity of it left her breathless, her mind reeling from the overwhelming sensations. Their tongues danced together, pleasure that left her clinging to Vala for support. The asari’s hands roamed freely, exploring every curve and contour of Shepard’s body, igniting fires from simmering coals.

Shepard gasped when they finally broke apart, her chest heaving with exertion.

Vala’s eyes locked onto Shepard’s watching her reactions with a satisfied grin. “You like that, Commander?” she teased, her voice dripping with seduction. She pressed a little harder, her tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path behind her ear, leaving her gasping for more. The human nodded, unable to speak. She felt raw, exposed, but also strangely liberated. For the first time in what felt like forever, she had allowed herself to feel something other than pain and loss. “Would you be willing to entertain me this evening?” Vala inquired, caressing her face once more. “I’d hate to have to wait another month before you find yourself here again.”

“What did you have in mind?” Shepard asked, her resolve failing a bit. 

“Let’s find somewhere more private,” Vala whispered, her voice wrapped around Shepard like a velvet ribbon. She rose gracefully, extending a hand to Shepard, who hesitated for only a moment before accepting the invitation. They made their way through the crowded club, the asari guiding them with an air of confidence. Their surroundings blurred with her tipsy, the neon lights casting flickering shadows on their path.

Finally, they reached a secluded alcove, hidden behind a shimmering curtain of beads. Vala pulled the curtain aside, revealing a small, intimate space illuminated by a deep, soft, purple light. Shepard stepped inside, feeling herself slip away as she was enveloped in the cocoon of privacy. The asari followed, letting the beads fall back into place behind them. The sound of the club faded to a distant murmur, leaving only the two of them alone in their own little corner of the galaxy. 

“Relax, Commander,” Vala breathed, her hands coming to rest on Shepard’s shoulders. “Let me take care of you. Whiskey, right?” Shepard nodded and stood by patiently as the asari dancer poured her another double shot of whiskey from a nearby cart and brought it to her. “Go on; you can let loose—I’ll make sure no one takes advantage of you,” she chuckled, “well, excluding myself anyway.”

The asari’s hands returned to her shoulders, beginning to massage them from behind her. Shepard stiffened, her instincts screaming at her to pull away. She downed the shot anyway, eager for anything that might take the edge off, that might keep her from herself. She had been through too much, seen too many horrors to let herself be vulnerable now. Even so, Vala’s touch was insistent, her fingers digging into her shoulder muscles with a firm yet gentle pressure. “I... I don't know,” she stammered, trying to find her voice. “This isn’t really like me…”

Vala leaned in closer, her lips brushing against Shepard’s ear as she whispered, “Can you trust me? We’re friends now, right?” 

The Commander was thankful the purple light hid the red on her face now. She nodded and relaxed under the asari’s touch, closing her eyes, like if she kept them closed she could be someone else tonight. “Th–Thank you.”

Vala’s hands moved lower, tracing a patterns into Shepard’s chest, just above her breasts, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. “Sit down, let me take care of you.” 

The scent of Vala’s perfume hovered around her, a heady mix of exotic flowers and something uniquely asari that made her head swim. It reminded her of Liara, but she tried to remind herself she wasn’t with Liara, that she may not be wanted like this by anyone but this asari dancer. “O-Okay,” Shepard murmured, her resolve weakening. “Just... uh—can you bring the bottle over here?” She sat down on the couch against the wall while the asari moved to grab the remaining whiskey.

“Of course,” the asari smiled softly. “Is this ‘cinnamon’ whiskey alright? I can get us the other kind if not—I’ll just be another minu–”

“No,” Shepard interrupted, her voice unintentionally sharp. “Stay, please—that’s perfect. You’re perfect.” The asari held her grin as she returned to the human’s side.

“You’re cute when you’re desperate,” Vala chuckled, passing the bottle to the human. 

“It’s your fault,” she joked, laughing, pouring herself a shot and downing it just to pour another. “Besides—didn’t you ask me to entertain you ?”

“Sure,” the asari shrugged, moving to straddle Shepard, her hands back on her body, feeling her biceps with the smallest press of her thumb. “Humans are so entertaining, especially you, Commander.” Vala’s hands stilled, her fingers resting lightly on Shepard’s chest. “Trust me?” she asked softly, her voice soothing the human’s still frayed nerves. She nodded, allowing herself to sink into the alien’s touch, exhaling sharply as Vala’s thumbs pressed into a muscled groove on her back, coaxing a groan of relief from her. The sensation was both unfamiliar and intoxicating. Here, for a fleeting moment, the darkness receded, leaving only the soft focus of the dancer’s ministrations.

“We don’t have to do that ,” Shepard whispered, feeling the alcohol more now, enjoying the burn of the cinnamon sitting in the back of her throat. 

“If it’s okay, I want to, Commander. I can’t pass up an opportunity to pleasure the first human Spectre even if you begged…unless you’re into that sorta thing. Now that would be entertaining.” She chuckled her reply, anxious about their encounter but also feeling desperately that she needed to be someone else right now. “Just relax,” Vala added with a measured breath, her fingers seeking out the knots of tension gathered in the human’s muscles over the years of combat and training. She worked methodically, each stroke deliberate and practiced, as though she could unravel the layers of stress and trauma with her touch alone.

“You’re so tense,” she murmured, her voice tinged with concern. She shifted her hands upward, finding the thick bands of muscle across Shepard’s shoulders. With a gentle, fluid motion, she glided her fingertips over the ridges, applying just enough pressure to send tendrils of warmth through Shepard’s body. She pressed deeper, her thumbs digging into the hollows at the base of Shepard’s neck, where the strain of command had set up camp. Each press brought a small measure of release, quiet sighs escaping her lips. Vala’s hands moved lower, tracing the line of Shepard’s spine, feeling the subtle ripple of muscle beneath the fabric of her shirt. She kneaded the tight knots in the human's back, coaxing them to unravel with a bittersweet tenderness. As the moments passed, she slipped deeper into the cocoon of Vala’s care. 

The asari moved to straddle the Commander, her hands continuing their slow, deliberate descent, tracing the contours of Shepard’s muscular body with a seductive reverence. When they reached the hem of her cargo pants, Vala paused, looking up at her with desire and tenderness. “May I?” she asked softly. Their eyes met, and she understood what the dancer was asking—she wanted it desperately, but she still felt resistant. Despite her hesitancy, she nodded, her voice caught in her throat. 

With a slight tug, the asari eased her legs free of her pants and underwear, exposing the soft flesh beneath. The cool air of the alcove kissed her skin, anticipation wrecking her body. Vala’s fingers traced the inside of her thighs, teasingly close to the center of her arousal, but not quite touching. Shepard’s breath hitched with the intimacy.

“Shhh,” she hummed, her breath warm against Shepard’s skin. “I’m going to taste you now.” She closed her eyes, trying to relax and surrender to the sensations washing over her. Vala’s touch was insistent and calculated, each brush of her fingers sending waves of pleasure rippling through her body. Then, finally, Vala’s lips pressed against her, soft and deliberate, pulling a gasp from her lips. God, it had been ages since she’d been touched like this, since she last allowed another hand on another body to earn her climax.

When her tongue finally made contact, it was like a jolt of electricity shooting through her body. The wet heat of the asari’s mouth engulfed her, drawing a low moan from her as she began exploring every inch of her sex. Vala’s tongue traced the length of her slit, flicking against her clit before delving deeper, probing at her entrance. Her hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as she delved deeper, her tongue finding the most intimate places and coaxing them to life. 

Shepard’s head fell back, her breath coming in ragged gasps as Vala’s skilled mouth worked its magic. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them locked in this moment. Vala’s tongue danced across her clit, circling and pressing, building the tension until Shepard thought she might explode from the sheer intensity—it had been too long since she’d been touched this way. 

“Vala…I—” Shepard’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a whimper, but Vala heard her. She looked up, her eyes dark with passion, and smiled.

“You taste amazing, Commander,” the asari remarked, her fingers now tracing delicate patterns on Shepard’s inner thighs, inching closer to the source of her arousal with each pass. The anticipation was almost unbearable, and her breath hitched as Vala’s fingertips rejoined the slick heat between her legs. Her heart pounded in her chest as fingers parted for her tongue flicking out to tease the outer folds of her sex. The asari's tongue delved deeper, exploring the slick, tender flesh---she was falling apart. Or dying. She'd forgotten how intoxicating this could be. 

“Fuuuck” Shepard moaned, her hands clutching at Vala’s shoulders for support. The asari dancer’s mouth was relentless, her tongue dancing across Shepard’s clit rhythmically, building the tension higher and higher. Each flick, each press, sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her body, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. She kept looking down at the asari's obsidian eyes and then forcing herself to look away, closing them as she tried to stay out of her head long enough to feel the torrent of pleasure and let the beautiful asari take her where she desperately wanted to go. Vala replaced her tongue with her finger, and moved to tase the human's opening, teasing it, tracing around it with her tongue. Her fingers moved over her clit, listening for Shepard's moans to tell her how fast to go and what to do. She was being tormented, she thought, and she was so easily seduced by asari. If Saren knew this about her, he'd have no problem getting rid of her---she'd been with a few asari before, and shit if each time didn't remind her wisdom and skill really do get better with age, and the asari she'd been with had been alive twice, sometimes three times as long as she had been alive. 

If this is how I go, I guess I'm good with that, she thought, as Vala's tongue entered her, and she thanked the asari goddess for the loud music in the club because she swore she might scream from the intensity. "Please," she whimpered, her voice raw with need. "Don't stop."

Vara's answering laugh was pure sin, a throaty chuckle that sent shivers down her spine and straight for the heat pooling between her legs. "I'm going to make you come so hard," she promised, her fingers plunging deeper, delving into the hot, moist folds of Shepard's arousal.  Shepard's hips jerked forward, seeking more, needing more. "Will you take my fingers, Commander?" she asked, pausing her movements for Sheaprd's response. She almost cried with the loss of contact. 

"Yes, fuck---please," she whimpered, desperate for the asari's touch. Her tongue was on her clit in seconds and she groaned as she felt a finger slide inside of her.  She moved with the restrained bucks of Shepard's hips, increasing the tempo of her strokes, her fingers working in a blur of motion.  Shepard moaned loudly, feeling she'd reached a point of no return, her body arching off the couch as ecstasy coiled tighter and tighter within her. The asari's free hand snaked up to tease Shepard's nipples, pinching and tugging with exquisite cruelty. The dual assault on her senses pushed her closer to the edge, her entire being focused on the pleasure coursing through her veins. 

When the asari’s lips closed around her clit and sucked hard, she nearly saw stars. No---she did see stars, all of them, three galaxies worth of them, her hips thrust toward them, involuntarily grinding against her face as the asari lavished attention on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Her tongue swirled around it, flicking and teasing until the human was panting with need, her body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. 

“Please—” she gasped, her voice breaking as the pressure built to an almost unbearable peak. She maintained her tempo, her tongue and fingers working in harmony to drive Shepard closer to her highest pleasure. Shepard's world exploded in a blinding flash of white-hot pleasure, her head falling back as Vala broke through some invisible barrier to her pleasure, she cried out, her voice lost in her release, ears ringing, vision swimming, stars bursting at the edges as the last vestiges of her control slipped away. She clung to Vala's crest, her body trembling with the force of her climax, but the asari held her steady, her mouth never leaving Shepard’s pulsing clit, guiding her through her orgasm and drawing out every last shudder of pleasure until she was spent, her body trembling with the aftershocks.

Vala gently kissed her way up Shepard’s body, her lips brushing against hers in a tender, lingering kiss. “How was that?” she whispered, her voice soft and caring.

Shepard smiled, a rare, genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Holy shit,” she panted, her ears still ringing “That was fucking incredible. You're amazing.”

Vala returned the smile, her fingers tracing lazy circles on Shepard’s outer thigh. “Anytime, Commander. Anytime.” Her lips still glistened with the commander’s release and when she leaned in to kiss her, she could taste herself on the asari’s lips. “Another drink?” she asked after they parted. 

“You tryna get me drunk?” she laughed, nodding her confirmation anyway. 

“Please,” Vala remarked lowly, “I’d hardly have to get you drunk to keep this going.” 

“If that’s what you want, I’d love to return the favor,” Shepard replied, taking the shot as the asari handed it off to her. 

***

Liara lingered near the dim, noisy entrance of Chora’s Den, her focus drawn to the back room where Shepard and the asari dancer had vanished. The minutes stretched out, each one reminding her how carefully Shepard kept her distance, how rarely she let anyone in. Liara’s mind cycled through a tide of emotions—discomfort, jealousy, and frustration with herself. She was embarrassed by how much this bothered her, how much she wanted to know Shepard beyond the soldier and leader—to understand her in ways no one else did. Her stomach turned with the images of what the two were doing for so long, her chest pulled away from itself like tears forced from the corners of her eyes. 

She didn’t need a wild imagination to know what was happening back there. She imagined Shepard naked beneath the asari, kissing her, the dancer’s fingers gliding through the thick, tousled red hair on Shepard’s head, hair she longed desperately to touch, her blue hand sliding up the human’s shirt to touch her breast, kissing her neck, biting it—

Goddess, Liara, you have been reading too much of that erotic fiction Treeya sent you. 

To be the one Shepard— AJ —trusted—someone she’d choose over everyone else…she bit her lip in attempt to quiet the irrational jealousy swirling within her. Perhaps that is too much to ask of someone I’ve hardly known a few weeks. Her eyes remained fixed on the door, hoping with each second that one of them would emerge. 

It was an eternity before Shepard finally stepped back out into the bar. Her casual, almost indifferent expression sent a pang through Liara’s chest; there was little to reveal what had happened or what she was feeling. She watched as Shepard’s gaze swept the room, her posture a bit lazy…her demeanor was off. Shepard’s gaze lingered too long near Liara’s hiding spot, and she tensed, fear swelling throughout her body, unsure whether the human had noticed her presence or merely scanned the room as habit. Seeing her standing there, so uncomposed and unattainable, reminded Liara of her own resolve. She was here not as an observer but because she wanted to know Shepard. All of her—shadows and all.

She noticed the human lean heavily against the bar, swaying slightly, a hint of weariness across her face. She was sipping another drink, her gaze losing its sharpness, becoming distant. Then, with a lopsided grin, Shepard reached over to the bartender, gesturing as though she were about to share an elaborate story. Liara moved closer to the bar, hoping to listen to whatever she was saying, however she coudn’t make out the words above the music. She could only see the human spoke with exaggerated gestures, her words slurring as she rambled on about something no one but her seemed to understand. A few patrons nearby laughed, glancing at each other, entertained by the sight of the famed Commander Shepard in such a state.

The sight made Liara’s heart twist. Shepard rarely let her guard down…she was watching someone in pain—someone who held a lifetime’s worth of burdens behind that determined mask, she thought. Shepard’s careless, almost foolish behavior was strange, out of place with the steadfast soldier she knew. This wasn’t the fearless Commander she admired; this was a person seeking a moment’s escape.

When Shepard started to fumble with the stool, nearly losing her balance, she couldn’t just stand by. Before she could fall, Liara quickly moved around the bar and through the crowd.

“Shepard?” she called softly, gently resting her hand on her shoulder. The weight of her voice broke through Shepard’s hazy fog, and she blinked up at Liara, surprise momentarily replacing her exhaustion. 

“Holy shit—Doctor T’Soni!? Is that you?” the Commander slurred, leaning into her a bit. Oh yes, she is quite intoxicated. Another pang of sympathy echoed through her as she looked into Shepard’s bleary, unfocused gaze. She’d never seen the Commander look this kind of… vulnerable.

“Just checking on you,” she said softly, keeping her tone gentle. “You seemed… a bit out of sorts before.”

Shepard squinted, attempting to gather her thoughts. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” she slurred, her typical composure clearly compromised. “Thought I’d be… alone—blow off some steam. The dancers here are so generous, Doc, I just shared a bottle of whiskey with this gorgeous asari—legs for days and a voice like bu—” Liara stopped her, steadying the Commander with both of her hands. I do not want to hear about that exchange. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t be alone tonight,” she suggested. The human clung to Liara to prevent her falling over, hooking her arms haphazardly over her shoulders. 

“You mean I shouldn’t be alone without you ,” she slurred loudly. “I like you, T’Soni. Ever since I read your data profile—something about you just—”

“Shh,” Liara hushed through a laugh pressing a finger against the human’s lips, “You’re speaking very loudly, Commander.”

“Oops,” she chuckled softly, looking around the club. “Not as subtle as I thought.”

Liara looked away, fighting back a blush and laugh, “Not quite. Shall we get you somewhere quiet?”

"They say ryncol is bad for humans, but that shit is the best. Have you ever tried it? It's amazing, I feel fucking invincible right---have you ever felt invincible?" The commander inched closer to the asari, thinking she'd said something too quiet to hear over the club music. "What d'you say?" 

"How much ryncol did you have?" the archeologist repeated. 

"Not enough!" Shepard said, attempting to dance with the asari. Liara barely had time to react before Shepard swayed toward her, arms looping around her shoulders, clearly just trying to stay upright. The human’s weight shifted suddenly, and she tightened her grip, stabilizing her before she could completely lose her footing.

“I think you’ve had quite enough,” Liara murmured, amusement laced with concern. Shepard grinned—lopsided, unguarded, utterly unlike the Commander she had come to know.

“Oh, come on, Doc,” she slurred, tilting her head back slightly. “You’re tellin’ me you’ve never wanted to just—” she gestured vaguely with one hand, nearly falling into Liara in the process, “—let loose? Just for a night?”

She shook her head, keeping a firm hold on Shepard’s waist as the human leaned further into her, the warmth of her body radiating through the thin fabric of her clothes. “I think you are doing enough of that for the both of us,” she said, voice gentle but teasing.

Shepard exhaled a laugh, breath warm against Liara’s cheek. “You’re so serious. But I like that about you. Keeps me in check.”

Liara huffed, adjusting her grip as Shepard swayed again. This was hardly the composed, commanding presence she had studied, the woman who had led squads into battle and walked out victorious. No, this person was loose-limbed and barely upright, talking nonsense while hanging off her like she might tip over any second.

Shepard tipped forward as her knees buckled. Liara caught her, the full force of the Commander's body pressing into hers as they stumbled together. Her breath hitched as Shepard’s forehead came to rest against her shoulder and she could feel the human's hot breath on her neck, arms still loosely wrapped around her. For a brief moment, the rest of the club fell away.

“You are not invincible,” Liara whispered, steadying her.

Shepard sighed, sending another hot breath into her neck. “Maybe not,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. Then, with a half-smile, she added, “But if I have to go down, glad it’s in your arms.”

Liara rolled her eyes, but her heart betrayed her—beating just a little too fast, her grip tightening just a little too much. “Come on, Commander,” she murmured, carefully shifting Shepard’s weight. “Let’s get you out of here before you say something truly embarrassing. Or before I have to call for Garrus to help me.”

The human tilted her head, gazing up at her with a searching look. “You’re so kind , Doctor T’Soni… donno why…so kind to me… ”

“You’re easy to be kind to,” Liara replied, her words catching them both by surprise. Shepard glanced up, the mask of the battle-hardened Commander gone with her drunkenness, revealing something more human beneath. She looked at the asari scientist with a warmth that could’ve melted stone. Liara was a bit grateful the Commander was so out of it, lest she see the violet across her cheeks right now— Goddess, I’d never be able to live it down . If she wasn't so inebriated, this would be the perfect moment to kiss her. “My family has a place here on the Citadel, Shepard; can I take you there?”

Shepard seemed to consider this, her features softening. “I’ll go anywhere with you, Liara,” she slurred, nodding as she allowed the asari to support her, and together, they left the hazy lights of Chora’s Den behind. Liara adjusted Shepard’s arm around her shoulders, taking on more of her weight as they navigated the dim-lit streets of the Wards. Shepard’s steps wavered, her usual sharpness softened by weary intoxication—she’d only known the human a brief time, but she felt this was out of character for her. 

Shadows fell over them as they passed through narrow corridors, flickers of light and dark accentuating the human’s glazed expression. Liara’s heart tightened; seeing the commander like this—uncharacteristically vulnerable, her strong composure chipped away—stirred something protectively fierce within her. She was reminded of when she discovered Shepard during her flashback—how scared she had seemed—it was in that moment she knew for certain she cared about the human beyond the Prothean visions. 

They reached the Presidium, where the artificial Citadel night painted the gardens and fountains in soft hues of green and silver. Shepard glanced around with that dazed look, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Haven’t seen this place in... a while…it looks nicer sober.”

Liara tried to hide her concern with a gentle chuckle, hoping the sound would ground Shepard. She opened the door to her apartment, guiding her inside, where quiet and calm replaced the noise of the outside world. The small, warmly lit space was filled with relics from her research—ancient carvings, relic fragments, stacks of carefully organized data drives—each piece a reminder of Liara’s own connection to something larger than herself.

“Alright, here we are,” she declared softly, watching Shepard’s gaze drift over the artifacts around the room. The Commander’s eyes paused on a relic, and her brow furrowed slightly, as though a memory tried to push its way forward. She was quiet for a long beat, lost in thoughts Liara could only guess at. 

Shepard fell onto the couch, her eyes half-lidded as though sleep might overtake her. The sharp angles of her face softened under the apartment’s gentle lighting, but there was still a residual tension in her form, like even when inebriated as we much as she was now, she wasn’t fully at ease. Liara slipped into the kitchen and poured a glass of water hesitantly watching her closed eyes, noting again how rare it was to see her this open. Setting the glass on the table nearby, she reached out to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from Shepard’s face.

“Long day, Shepard?” she asked, mostly to herself, not wanting to disturb the quiet too much. The human cracked an eye open, focusing on Liara with an intensity only softened by her drunkenness. 

“Long life maybe,” she murmured, a tired smile ghosting her lips. The asari settled next to her without a word, feeling that unspoken admission lingering between them. The silence that stretched wasn’t uncomfortable as it was rich, layered with things Shepard never said, things Liara felt she was only beginning to glimpse. With a slight shift, she reached over and rested her hand near Liara’s, a small gesture of trust in the otherwise tense atmosphere. “Thanks, for… being here,” she muttered, almost absently, the words seeming to slip out before she could retract them. 

Liara offered a quiet smile, her gaze softening as she replied, “You don’t have to thank me, Shepard. We’re friends.” Her hand lingered before it moved abruptly to cover her mouth.

“Oh shit, I think I’m gonna be sick,” she managed, her voice trembling with the threat of nausea as she shot up from the couch.

Liara’s eyes widened in concern. “Goddess! Let’s get you to the bathroom.” She gently guided Shepard, supporting her weight as they stumbled toward the restroom. 

The human leaned heavily against the cool wall, her stomach churning with a mix of alcohol and emotion. “I didn’t want it to come to this,” she muttered, gripping her sides as a wave of vertigo hit. “You should go—I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Just breathe,” Liara encouraged, ignoring the Commander and holding her hair back as she heaved. “You’re okay. Just let it out.” 

“I forgot what that shit does to me.” As the contents of her stomach emptied, the relief was immediate, though her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and her body trembled with the fear of throwing more up. “I’m so sorry, Liara. I didn’t mean to drag you into my shit.”

“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” she replied softly, her hands steadying Shepard. “Y-You’re allowed to have moments of weakness.” 

Shepard took a shaky breath, still reeling from the outpouring of emotion and the physical toll of the alcohol. “I just wanted to…you know, I just didn’t want to be—” she stammered, her voice hoarse. “D-Don’t tell Wrex I couldn’t hold my liquor this time around. He’s always spouting shit about humans and ryncol and I—I can’t keep fucking whiskey—” she heaved, more of her stomach leaving her. “ Fuck .”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Liara frowned, her tone tender as she comforted the Commander. 

“I like that,” Shepard slurred, a lopsided grin on her lips. “I never…no one ever—I used to—” she was cut off by another heave into the sink. Liara turned circles into her back, unsure what to say. It didn’t feel like the time to confess her feelings. “I’m a fucking joke right now…I just wannabe someone else,” she groaned, turning the faucet on to rinse the sink and her mouth.

“No,” Liara insisted gently, her hands still steadying Shepard. “You’re not a joke…who you are is…you’re a hero, Shepard. It’s okay to be overwhelmed—t-to need a break sometimes.”

The human chuckled bitterly, wiping her eyes, not registering she was crying. “A hero? I’m just humanity’s future biggest disappointment. Starting early I guess,” She swallowed hard, her facade cracking further. “I’m a monster…d'you know I was in a gang, on Earth—you know, before the Alliance.”

“That doesn’t make you a monster,” Liara whispered. “You left, didn’t you—you didn’t want to follow their path? I think that makes you strong.”

She stared past Liara, her gaze still hazy. “I don’t feel strong right now, Liara,” Shepard murmured, her voice hoarse with unshed tears. “I feel like I’m drowning in all this.”

“And that’s okay,” the asari replied firmly. “I--I will not let you drown, Shepard. I’m here with you. Just let me help somehow, even a little. Tell me how I can help you.” Shepard’s head fell into her hands as she started crying, shifting herself away from the asari. 

“Nobody knows me, I don’t want them to, everyone who’s ever known me is dead . No one knows me,” she cried into her hands.

Liara decided to risk touching the Commander and pulled her into a hug. “I know you, Shepard,” she whispered into her hair. “Or I know I want to. Please let me know you.” As she held her, she could feel the tension in the human's body giving way to something. Tears continued down her face, each drop releasing pain she’d obviously kept buried for so long. Her breaths came in shaky gasps, mingling with the warmth of Liara’s embrace. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice soft and steady. She stroked Shepard’s hair, cradling her as though she were a rare prothean relic. “I’m here.”

“I’m so tired,” she choked out, her voice soft, slurred in her dying inebriation. She was still lost in her drunkenness, emboldened—or perhaps, inhibitionless, by her insobriety.

“Let it out,” Liara encouraged gently, her own heart aching at the sight of the strong woman she admired now reduced to tears. She held Shepard closer, offering solace in her presence, hoping to instill a sense of safety. “You can rest here.” The floodgates opened further as Shepard’s sobs wracked her body. It was terrifying to let go, to expose herself, but she really couldn’t help it, the alcohol she’d downed made her feel heavy and light at the same time, and in her haze, nothing outside of that feeling mattered. She let herself be held, knowing, if only subconsciously, her body couldn’t do much else on its own right now, and she started to relax until the asari felt the body in her arms still, heavy with sleep. 

Liara, sensing the shift, pressed a soft kiss to Shepard’s forehead, anchoring her in the moment. I've got you, she thought, wishing she was brave enough to say it aloud. The sound of Liara’s heartbeat, steady and reassuring, made her world feel a little less heavy. 

She remained on the bathroom floor awhile, feeling protective of her Commander, and though she couldn’t admit it out loud, she treasured dearly how the human trusted her in such a vulnerable state. Perhaps she was too drunk to care, but still, she loved the feel of her body pressed against hers, the human’s head pillowed by the crook of her neck. She didn’t want to get up, partially because she was content to stay here, lest Shepard be woken up, and of course, the possibility that she could wake up requiring the sink again.

Stifling her sigh, thinking a bed would be better than the bathroom floor, Liara used her biotics to hold the human’s comfort as best she could as she was carried to her bedroom. “You can sleep in here tonight, Shepard,” she whispered, gently laying her down and covering her with a throw blanket.  Kneeling, she reached to carefully untie and slide off the human’s boots, setting them aside. She stood, looking at the sleeping woman. Commander Shepard— AJ , she considered, was 29 years old. By human standards, she was an adult. Still, she thought, she is so young. I knew hardly anything in my 30s, yet this woman—she has accomplished so much in that little time. 

She quietly left her to sleep while she made her way toward the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water for her guest, realizing now just how tired she was. She started her kettle and stood by, desiring a cup of Thessian tea. According to her research, Commander Shepard had experienced several significant events, enough to traumatize an elite asari commando. There was the Skyllian Blitz, where she’d apparently held the line against a raid of batarian slavers that should have easily overwhelmed her. The records—at least the official ones—spoke of her tactical brilliance, how she had rallied civilians and scattered Alliance forces into a defense so impenetrable that the enemy broke against it. Certainly, the official reports were unable to capture the exhaustion, the desperation, and the raw, bloody chaos of it. They didn’t mention what it must have felt like to hold dying children in her arms, to make choices that sent others to their deaths.

There was the mess on Torfan, where the Systems Alliance retaliated against the batarians for the events of the Blitz; there were little details her research provided, but she could surmise the Commander had been particularly ruthless there—nothing like the woman down the hall. Information suggested she had annihilated every batarian, even those who surrendered, in the moon’s underground base.  Then there was Akuze. Liara had found little beyond the cold, clinical details: a thresher maw attack, an entire unit lost. Sole Survivor. That phrase lodged itself into her mind like a thorn. Sole. What must it have meant, to be the only one left breathing in a field of corpses? To crawl out of the earth, broken and bloodied, knowing there was no one left to save?

Liara closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the counter as her tea finished steeping. There was also what she knew of the Commander’s youth on Mindoir, where she’d been orphaned. This was well before Shepard was even a soldier. Before she was a hero. How had she endured it? How had she gone from that—to all of this? She opened her eyes again, staring at the pale steam curling from her cup as she brought it to her lips. How much of Shepard had been forged in fire? And how much had been left behind in the ashes?

She remained in the kitchen long enough to finish her tea, and then she delivered the glass of water to her bedroom, placing it carefully on the nightstand. 

“I’m sorry, Liara,” Shepard whispered, still drunk, and startling the asari, who hadn’t realized she’d woken up. “I’m sorry…so sorry,” she continued to slur softly. 

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” Liara met her eyes, a softness in her gaze only holding understanding, no judgment or pity. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

When the asari turned to leave, Shepard reached out instinctively, her voice soft, raw. “Could you… stay?” The words surprised her as much as they did Liara, but she didn’t pull them back—the silence felt too large, too empty to face alone. “If you’re okay to, I mean.” The maiden’s heart pounded with the heat of those strong hands so gentle around her wrist—there was no denying the warmth stirring in her chest as Shepard asked her to stay; it was a fragile trust, and she was fiercely determined to honor it. Staying with her felt instinctive, like fulfilling a promise she’d silently made the day she’d chosen to follow her. The pain in Shepard’s eyes kept her throat tight with something between sadness and admiration. Her expression softened further as she sat beside the Commander.

“How’re you feeling, Shepard?” she asked, finding the human’s hand. Shepard’s gaze turned to the wall opposite them, afraid of words she didn’t know she could say.  

“Fuck,” she sighed, shaking her head as she sat up in the bed. “I really fucked up, didn’t I?” 

“Why do you say that?” the asari scooted closer to her, hoping to soothe her somehow. 

Shepard let out a deep breath, almost like a sigh, and ran her fingers through her hair. “I’ve been putting everyone in danger… these nightmares, that flashback…” Her voice drifted, her hand falling to her side, a look of frustration clouding her face. “I thought I could control it, but I just keep seeing it all, over and over.” Her voice grew quieter, almost as though she were speaking to herself. 

“I…” her voice trailed a moment, uncertain how to keep talking. “I am—I am sorry for telling Doctor Chakwas of your flashback. I sense that is the reason we’re on the Citadel now.”

“Yeah,” Shepard looked down, a hint of skepticism crossing her face, but something in Liara’s words kept her tethered there. She was sobering up a bit more as time passed, conscious drunk, at least . She glanced up, her eyes searching Liara’s face as if seeking something there. “I’m not mad at you…you were right to say something. I’m glad you did.”

Liara’s brow furrowed, compassion and concern mingling in her gaze. “Shepard… you’ve taken on so much. It’s not a weakness to feel the significance of it. You’ve been through more than most could even imagine.” She caressed the Commander’s hand, the steady warmth anchoring her to the moment. “It’s not easy, I know.”

“You…you seem to think I’m made of all this noble stuff,” she said, a touch of irony in her tone. “But all I’ve done is try to survive.”

Liara shook her head, her gaze gentle but unwavering. “You’re more than a mere product of survival, Shepard. I admire the way you keep moving forward, even when it seems impossible. There’s a strength in you that…well, I haven’t seen it in anyone else before.” She hesitated, but then smiled, her expression softening. Liara continued, leaning a little closer, meeting Shepard’s gaze, the vulnerability there catching in her own breath. “I understand it may sound strange, but… being around you has made me realize things. About you, about humanity.” Her voice softened, steady but warm, as if speaking a truth she herself had only just come to accept. “Humans are so driven, so determined—like you. It’s…intimidating, yet…beautiful.”

Shepard looked at her, a trace of something softer, more unguarded in her tired eyes. “The way you say it, we seem magical,” she murmured, her tone tinged with curiosity—perhaps, skepticism. “Or maybe you’re just good at reading people.”

Liara’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly, and she dropped her gaze for a moment. “I…didn’t know much about humans before I met you, but I wanted to understand you better. Our stop on the Citadel was scheduled last minute, and after the other day I was worried about you,” she admitted, her voice falling at the end. “I’m ashamed to tell you…we did not meet by coincidence tonight…I followed you to Chora’s Den.” 

Shepard’s gaze sharpened, her conversation with Remi still lingering in her mind. Her instincts told her to belay vulnerability, and perhaps she was more drunk than she thought, but Liara was just so damn alluring. “Then, you heard everything?” Shepard murmured. There was no escaping it now. If she had witnessed her confrontation with Remi, then she knew things Shepard hadn’t told anyone.

“I think so, yes,” she admitted, her eyes holding the human’s gaze, unwavering yet soft. She seemed to understand without Shepard needing to spell it out, a steady reassurance radiating from her. “Most surprising was that he used your first name—you’ve known each other a long time, haven’t you?”

She hadn’t wanted Liara to see her like this, especially not with the old wounds resurfacing. That the asari knew this about her and witnessed her drunkenness— god, you fucking cried like a baby in the bathroom, did’t you? She hesitated to return the asari’s boldness, but when she did, she wasn’t met with judgement or disgust. Instead, there was that gentle, tender, almost loving look the asari always met her with. “Nothing else matters to me, Shepard.”

“Why follow me? You could’ve asked me.”

“I was afraid…after our last conversation, I was nervous I’d embarrass myself again. When I first met you, I thought my interest in you was only because of your connection to the Protheans, but it’s… it is so much more than that. You intrigue me, Shepard, I want to know more about you, more about what made you into the woman you are.” A quiet surprise flickered in the human’s expression, mingling with a softness she rarely allowed to surface. “When I saw you head for the Wards, I’d hoped to get a drink with you, but, upon further thought, I wasn’t sure it was appropriate to act on these… feelings . There are rumors aboard that you and Alenko are an item.” 

“What?” she gaped, the shock burying her previous anxiety. “ Alenko ? Nah. I mean, I’ve known he has a thing for me, but I’ve never given him a reason to believe I share his interests. I’d date Garrus before Kaiden,” she laughed, feeling less tense now, less inebriated. 

“I see,” Liara blushed. “So is it..is it just in my head, Shepard?” 

“No,” she smiled. “There is something between us…hell, I’d have decked the Lieutenant if he told me he followed me, and I’d be spaced before I let him see me cry or call me ‘AJ’ when he does.”  

Liara’s heart fluttered at her words, feeling lighter yet more grounded. “That’s a relief,” she said, a small smile gracing her lips. “I wasn’t sure how to navigate all of this. It’s so new to me.”

Shepard could see the mix of emotions swirling within Liara—giddiness, uncertainty, hope . “You know, it’s new to me, too,” she confessed, her voice softening. “I’m usually the one who charges into danger, not this…well a relationship, if that’s what you want…but I’d like that. I like you.”

“I’d like that, Shepard.” The space between them seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. “Maybe we should get some rest,” Liara suggested, her tone tentative yet eager, wanting to prolong this moment. “You need to recover.”

Shepard nodded slowly, the exhaustion creeping back in. “Would… it be weird if we slept in the same bed?” Liara’s breath hitched, and she felt her cheeks warm. “I wouldn’t mind it,” she added quickly, heart racing at the thought. “I’d be comfortable with it… if you are.”

“Then it’s settled,” Liara replied. She moved so that she lay in her usual spot, mind swirling with the uncharted intimacy of the moment. She curled up beside the human, the warmth of their bodies melting into something safe and reassuring. “I like this,” she murmured through a yawn, reaching to shut the light off. 

“Me too,” Shepard smiled, closing her eyes. She fell asleep. 

***

The morning sun streamed through the thin curtains of Liara’s apartment on the Citadel, casting a warm glow over the room. Shepard stirred awake, her head pounding, a dull throb echoing the remnants of the previous night. She groaned softly, feeling her hangover settle in like an unwelcome guest. As she blinked against the light, memories from the night before trickled back—laughter, tears, and the warmth of Liara beside her.

She turned slightly and found Liara still asleep, her peaceful expression illuminated in the sunlight. A flutter of warmth spread through Shepard’s chest—it was strange to feel it with headache pulsing in her skull. She couldn’t help but smile, recalling how comfortable they had been, the way Liara had tucked her into bed as though she was the one who needed protecting.

With a reluctant sigh, Shepard swung her legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor sending a shiver up her spine. She stood up, swaying slightly before regaining her balance. She took a deep breath, willing her stomach to settle, and glanced around the apartment, absorbing the serene atmosphere. As she filled a glass, she could hear the soft sounds of Liara stirring in the bedroom behind her. A moment later, the asari appeared in the kitchen, eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Good morning, Shepard,” Liara said, her voice soft and warm, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

The Commander turned, the glass of water momentarily forgotten. “Morning,” she replied, her voice rough from disuse. “How are you feeling?”

“I should be asking you that,” Liara teased gently, a playful glimmer in her eyes. “But I suspect the remedy for that is more water and perhaps something to eat?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Shepard said, grateful for Liara’s lightness. “So, you’re my designated caretaker today, then?”

Liara’s smile widened, and she nodded, stepping closer. “I am honored. Though I must admit, it is strange to see you like this. You’re usually so… composed.”

Shepard chuckled, but it quickly turned into a wince as the sound echoed in her skull. “Yeah, well, not every day I get to indulge in a little… chaos.” She raised the glass of water in a mock toast, her smile faltering as she thought of the emotional upheaval from the night before. “Guess I needed it more than I realized.”

Liara watched her closely, her expression more serious as she neared. “Shepard, I…you were so distraught last night—I want to be of some help, if you’ll let me, even if it is just to talk.”

The Commander’s gaze dropped, her smile fading as Liara’s words settled. “I appreciate that-– you , I really do. I just…there’s so much shit, and vulnerability isn’t exactly my forte,” she admitted with a half-hearted smile.

“Then perhaps you should practice,” Liara replied gently, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. Before Shepard could respond, her stomach growled loudly, causing both of them to laugh.

 “Okay, okay, you win,” Shepard said, setting the glass down. “Let’s get some food before I start discussing my feelings again.” Liara grinned, glancing around her apartment, noticing the fine layer of dust settled on shelves and counters, the soft morning light revealing corners untouched since she had last been here. The apartment felt more like a half-forgotten relic than a home—a place caught somewhere between memory and neglect, much like the ancient artifacts she studied. She traced her fingertips over a forgotten datapad on the counter, brushing off dust that lifted like motes in the light. 

Turning back to Shepard, she offered a small, sheepish smile. “I realize now my pantry isn’t exactly up to Alliance standards,” she said, the warmth in her voice edged with an understated apology. “The last few months… it seems I’ve let it gather more dust than anything useful. I suppose I should have sublet it when I left for Therum, but that is just hindsight,” she chuckled, a hint of color rising to her cheeks. “How about we go out for breakfast instead? Or, if you’d prefer, I can order something in.”

Shepard tilted her head thoughtfully, eyes narrowing as she glanced around, catching glimpses of the same dust, the artifacts tucked into corners, as though Liara’s life here was preserved in stasis. It was strange to see Liara’s personal space laid bare like this—each untouched item hinting at a story or a life she’d put on pause for the mission. Shepard’s lips twitched in a faint smile, but her gaze softened as she took in the surroundings, her eyes eventually falling on the nervous Asari before her.

“Let’s go out,” Shepard said finally, her voice low, and considering. “I want to go out with you.” It had been a while since she’d sat down somewhere beyond the ship’s mess hall, and the thought of just sitting—breathing—in a quiet place beyond the noise of the space held a quiet appeal. “Some fresh air might do us both some good.”

A few minutes later, they stepped into the corridors of the Citadel, the artificial morning spilling through tall windows that lined the Presidium’s walkways. They walked together in easy silence, Shepard adjusting to the rhythm of the city around them, the ambient sounds of early risers, the sounds of space cars whirring past—a world that seemed so far removed from the pressure cooker of her duties. She glanced sideways, catching Liara’s profile in the soft light and felt a peculiar kind of peace settle over her.

They found a small café tucked into a corner of the Presidium, its façade simple and understated, and the tables arranged to face a quiet garden. The seating overlooked a lush, carefully cultivated stretch of flora—blossoms in ethereal blues and violets shifting with each passing breeze. Shepard’s gaze lingered on the display, her posture unwinding slightly as she allowed herself to sink into the moment. She gave a faint smile to Liara as she took her seat, while the asari left a moment to grab drinks for them. For once, she let herself be present, taking in the beauty of the flowers, the stillness of the scene before her, the beautiful asari archeologist, as though she could somehow anchor this fleeting peace in her mind. 

Liara returned, watching Shepard relax, her tension easing as the soft hues of the garden’s blossoms drifted in and out of view. It’s good to see her relaxing for a moment . After a pause, Liara sat down and spoke, her voice gentle, almost tentative. 

“Dr. Chakwas mentioned something to me,” she began, carefully studying the Commander’s reaction. “She thought… she thought perhaps visiting Sha’ira might be a way to help you.” Shepard’s brows lifted, and she leaned forward, folding her arms on the table. “She also mentioned that you were hesitant about it… She didn’t ask me to, but I thought we might talk about it.”

“I know she’s famous, but therapy through… the Consort?” She gave a small, guarded smile, half-hoping Liara would wave the suggestion away. 

Instead, she met Shepard’s gaze steadily, the flicker of her own memories crossing her expression. “It isn’t therapy as you might think of it,” she said softly, choosing her words carefully. “In Asari culture, emotional and mental well-being are considered integral to our health. We don’t separate the mind from the body’s needs; for us, they’re one and the same. NIM therapy is… deeply respected.”

Shepard studied Liara, her expression softening as she listened. The asari continued, her tone becoming more thoughtful, almost reverent. “Contrary to many human cultures, asari society doesn’t see mental health as weakness or something to hide.” She paused, glancing down at her cup before looking back at Shepard. “In fact, many of us believe true strength is found in confronting and integrating those painful memories. A Consort like Sha’ira—well, she has the ability to reach places conventional therapy cannot. NIM therapy uses our melding ability to help soothe the mind, allowing you to approach your memories from a safe distance, to let your body… understand that the pain is past.” Liara fell quiet, watching as Shepard absorbed her words. “For my species, it is more than healing,” she continued after a moment. “It’s considered an honor to provide help when it is asked and this is likewise for the asker. There’s no shame in feeling emotional pain, only in refusing the tools we have to grow beyond it.”

Shepard’s gaze dropped, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup as she let the words sink in. For her, the lines between pain and strength were always blurred, tangled together by duty and survival. The idea that vulnerability could be seen as a form of strength, or that it could offer anything besides risk, felt distant—but hearing it from Liara, the thought seemed less daunting. 

“That’s a lot different than I…,” Shepard admitted quietly, pausing mid-sentence. “Well, I always assumed asari kept it together, never letting things get to them. You know—all the diplomacy, that calm demeanor...even in combat—Commandos are so composed. I thought that’s what your culture valued most. I figured vulnerability was something you’d see as… well, as weakness. I didn’t realize that—”

“That we embrace vulnerability?” Liara finished, that gentle smile gracing her lips as she took in the human’s expression. “‘ Embrace eternity’ —that’s what we say when we meld,” she explained, her voice soft. “It might sound poetic or exaggerated, but for us, it speaks to something fundamental. In my culture, melding is not just a way to share thoughts, memories, or even as simple as mating. It’s a way to connect in the truest, most complete sense. When we say ‘embrace eternity,’ we’re inviting ourselves—and the other person—to let go of any barriers and accept that connection fully, to open up to everything within us and beyond us.”

She paused again, watching Shepard’s reaction, and reached out to hold the human’s hand. “Melding isn’t just a tool to learn about one another; it’s a reminder of the greater whole, something vast that we all belong to, no matter our individual lives or experiences. Every asari who has ever melded carries a piece of that shared wisdom. So, when we approach NIM therapy or any kind of melding, we’re touching on something sacred, something that spans centuries of lives, memories, and wisdom. In some instances, it can be truly transformational.” Her gaze softened, her eyes searching Shepard’s face to ensure the words were truly reaching her. She was suddenly overcome with embarrassment. “Goddess…I was lecturing again, wasn’t I? This is why I prefer the isolation of remote digs—” 

The Commander grinned, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink as she chuckled and interrupted the archaeologist. “Yes, but it’s okay. I want to hear you out. You’re so…you’re brilliant , Liara. I could listen to you all day.”

She blushed a deep shade of pink. “Flatterer.”

“You were saying—when you meld, you—”

Liara laughed and continued, still blushing. “We’re inviting our past, our present, and even our future into that one moment, and that’s why Sha’ira will be able to help you—she’s not there to erase anything, only to help you find a way to hold it that feels bearable.” 

Shepard listened, her expression unreadable, though her fingers flexed against her mug, perhaps unconsciously grasping at the depth of what she was hearing. Liara leaned forward, lowering her voice. 

“It’s different from how humans approach therapy, I know. For us, it isn’t only about facing pain; it’s about finding a new place for it within ourselves. So when the Consort invites you to let her help, she’s asking you to allow her to share that burden in a way that lasts. Something timeless.” She took Shepard’s hand again, having not realized she’d ever let it go. “‘ Embracing eternity’ means surrendering to that connection. Perhaps it isn’t what you would expect, but we believe the mind is meant to evolve. We grow through our pain as much as through joy, and that evolution is… sacred.” She hesitated, her gaze drifting to the garden, as though drawing strength from the flora “Sha’ira will not ask you to relinquish anything. She doesn’t erase, Shepard. She teaches you how to hold your memories with compassion.”

The human let out a slow breath, feeling the impact of the asari’s words settle into the space around them. She’d faced every horror the galaxy could offer, every battle, every loss. The idea of facing herself— really facing herself—felt like uncharted territory. She sat back, absorbing the words. Her hand remained under Liara’s, but she looked away, her gaze distant and searching for something to anchor herself to. After a moment, she spoke, her voice low and a little rough. 

“It’s… a lot to take in,” she admitted, her fingers tightening just slightly beneath Liara’s. “I’ve always seen this as something you try to manage, keep it controlled. Something that, if you’re not careful, can get you killed.” She gave a small, humorless laugh. “Or at the very least, ruin the mission.” She looked back at Liara, her expression softened with something between wonder and resistance. “So when I think about… embracing anything that deep, that permanent… it feels like I’d be crossing some kind of line I can’t go back from.” Shepard paused, a shadow flickering across her face. “It’s not just about letting someone in—it’s letting someone stay there.” Her eyes searched Liara’s, seeking confirmation. “Is that what it’s really about for the Asari? Not just connecting but… carrying a part of each other forward? Through everything?” 

Liara nodded, her eyes warm and understanding. Shepard swallowed, and her gaze fell again, a trace of relaxation slipping through her guarded exterior. “I’ve fought so hard to survive… to protect everyone around me,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Maybe I’ve forgotten what it’s like to need help.” A faint, uncertain smile tugged at her lips, and she looked back at Liara, a question in her eyes. “Maybe I could try to embrace it, as you say, but… it’ll take a hell of a lot of trust.” The words came out grudgingly, but there was no sense denying it now. “There are things I don’t want to look at again. Things I can’t… I’ve never melded before, but I know it would allow her to see those things…how could I go knowing she might see something horrific?”

She squeezed Shepard’s hand. “Sha’ira won’t ask to look unless you’re ready,” she said. “And she won’t take you anywhere you aren’t willing to go.” 

Shepard exhaled a small, reluctant laugh. “This is really hard for me, you know,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a murmur. “But… I need to do something .” She glanced down at their hands, then looked back up, a hesitant smile tugging at her lips. “Would you—you don’t have to , but, you know—would you…would you be comfortable like…what I’m trying to ask is—would it be weird if—” Shepard stopped herself, frustrated with her nerves. “Come with me? I mean, you wouldn’t have to be in the room or anything, but just… you know, like—you could be nearby?” Her stammering speech held a vulnerability she rarely showed, and her cheeks flushed slightly, almost as though she were embarrassed by the request.

Liara’s smiled and her thumb caressed the top of Shepard’s hand. “I’d be honored. Of course,” she whispered, her voice carrying a quiet, unbreakable promise. “You won’t be alone. I’ll be there, as long as you need me.” The air between them stilled and Shepard’s gaze lingered on her coffee cup, her fingers tracing the rim as if grounding herself to something solid. Across from her, Liara’s eyes were bright, holding a look of understanding Shepard rarely saw directed her way. 

For a moment, neither spoke. The space around them echoed with the soft murmur of other patrons, the occasional clink of glasses, and the steady rustle of leaves outside the café. The garden held an almost unreal beauty, the kind that felt out of place in her life, a life that was usually steeped in chaos and noise.

Shepard glanced up, catching Liara’s gaze. The asari’s expression was calm but open, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of… permission . Permission to take a breath, to just be here without needing to brace herself for whatever waited outside. Should she speak? She didn’t want to—for once, she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

After a time, Liara leaned forward slightly. “Would you like to eat something? Or… perhaps just stay a while?” Her voice was gentle, an offer rather than a suggestion, and it filled Shepard with a strange sense of relief.

“Yeah,” Shepard murmured, nodding. “That… sounds good.” She hesitated, then offered a small smile. They ordered a simple breakfast, the plates arriving with fresh, warm bread, a spread of fruits, and spiced grains Liara explained were inspired by Thessian cuisine. Shepard’s curiosity grew as Liara pointed out each item, speaking with a warmth hinting at memories she’d had never been privy to. Watching her, Shepard could almost imagine what Liara might have been like before they met—immersed in her studies, surrounded by the familiar calm of tradition, with a life so different from the war-torn reality they now shared. 

Taking a bite, she was surprised by the flavor—subtle, fragrant, and completely different from the rations and nutrient packs she was used to. She couldn’t help a small smile. “Not bad,” she remarked, grinning. “Better than anything I’ve had in a while.”

 “It’s simple, but there’s a kind of grounding in ritual,” she said thoughtfully, her gaze drifting to the food, then back up to Shepard. “In my culture, we find solace in tradition, even in something as small as a shared meal. It connects us to our history, to our people.”

Shepard nodded, feeling the layers of meaning beneath Liara’s words. It struck her that, for all their differences, maybe she too had been searching for that same solace, in her own way. She took another bite, savoring the moment, the feeling of warmth and calm so foreign, yet so welcome. The silence between them stretched. They didn’t need words to communicate how they felt or what they were thinking. She didn’t anyway, and if her gut was right, Liara felt the same way.

***

The garden ward they entered was tranquil, almost serene. Small pockets of greenery lined the walkways, filled with vibrant flora from across the galaxy, each variety with its own peculiar shape, color, and smell. Shepard could almost forget where she was as they strolled along the path. Maybe this is the kind of peace people imagined for themselves when they thought of life on the Citadel. Not the grandiosity of the Presidium, but these smaller places, tucked away and rich with quiet life.

Liara occasionally paused as they walked, delicate blossoms and the unique architecture of the Citadel caught her gaze so often, and it was incredibly endearing how she would describe them with such reverence. She could stop her world with those words—the way a century of knowledge and beyond lived on the tip of that tongue. It was all she could do to listen to the asari sharing small facts, like the lifespan of a Thessian flowering vine, and the symbolic meaning of certain petals in asari literature and art. Human colonies tended to be more utilitarian with function ruling over form—even on Mindoir, what she could bring herself to remember of it, seemed bound by practicality. Sure, human literature also applied symbolism to anything it could, but it wasn’t the same. The asari were so much more advanced than humanity—there was so much to learn from them. 

“I can’t imagine a place like this on Earth,” Shepard remarked. “Most colonies don’t bother with gardens like these—they’re more focused on growing crops that can actually feed people.”

Liara nodded thoughtfully, a gentle smile forming as she glanced around. “Asari colonies believe nature is not just sustenance, but healing. Integrating life into our structures has always been… essential. Life, culture, and growth—each part feeds the others.” She turned to Shepard, eyes alight with a quiet joy. “You know, there’s a word in my language, En’thera, that means ‘a place to feel whole.’”

Shepard gave a small smile, nodding to herself as she let the word sink in. “En’thera,” she repeated softly, her voice a little rougher than she’d intended. “I don’t think we have a word like that.”

“No?” Liara’s expression softened, understanding there was more beneath Shepard’s words. “Maybe that’s something you can find, too—a place, or even just a feeling. Wholeness.”

Liara’s voice had a calming quality, and her enthusiasm was refreshing—how was it that someone who could live such a long life hadn’t grown tired of these sights? They turned a corner, arriving in a peaceful atrium where sunlight filtered through a domed ceiling. Shepard slowed her pace, feeling her unease creep back.

Noticing, Liara looked at her, concern threading through her gaze. “Are you alright?” she asked gently.

“Yeah,” Shepard exhaled, her shoulders tense as she glanced up at the domed ceiling. “Just… thinking.” She fell silent, wrestling with the jumble of thoughts that always rose whenever she tried to imagine herself in therapy. “It’s strange, knowing she’ll see things I…you know,” she admitted.. “Even if I trust her, some things… they feel better left alone.”

“I can imagine it is unsettling,” she replied gently. “No one, even in Asari culture, approaches NIM therapy without some hesitance. The Matriarchs often say facing oneself requires the same bravery as any physical challenge. For her, it’s not about looking backward, but learning how to move forward with what you carry.” Her hand reached out, brushing against Shepard’s arm in a gesture of reassurance. “And I’ve seen that strength in you, Shepard. You face the unthinkable every day. She’ll be with you every step of the way. I’ll be there too.”

Shepard’s lips twisted into a faint smirk, an edge of irony in her voice. “That’s what I keep hearing—how ‘strong’ all this makes me, but that’s for the things I know how to handle. Charging into a fight, covering my team—that’s one thing. This is handing my mind over to someone else.”

Liara placed a gentle hand on Shepard’s arm, her touch both steadying and delicate. “You’re not handing yourself over, Shepard. You’re allowing someone to help you carry it. That’s a different kind of strength, one that sometimes takes even more courage.” She offered a small smile. “And I know you’re capable of that.”

The human huffed, looking away as a faint blush crept up her cheeks. “You have more faith in me than I do,” she murmured, almost embarrassed by her own vulnerability.

Liara chuckled softly. “Perhaps,” she teased, her voice warm with affection, “but that’s my privilege. Besides, you inspire trust.” She paused, tilting her head slightly. “And I think you’re slowly realizing maybe… you can let yourself be a little more vulnerable. At least around those who care about you.”

A faint smile tugged at Shepard’s lips. “Not unlikely,” she shrugged.. “Or maybe it’s just around you.”

They turned back toward the apartment, moving with the same unhurried pace of their walk in the gardens. Once inside, Shepard glanced around at the warmth filling the room, and then looked at Liara, an unexpected sense of gratitude welling up. “Thanks for… for this,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t usually take the time to just… exist.”

Liara’s expression softened, and she stepped a bit closer. “You deserve such moments, Shepard,” she said gently. “Even if you’re still learning to believe that.”

Shepard held her gaze, a faint smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “I’m starting to,” she murmured, her voice soft but earnest, “I think.”

They stood there for a moment, a comfortable, shared silence lingering between them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so grounded, so present. It was as though, with Liara, she’d finally found a place where she could just… breathe. As the quiet stretched on, Shepard glanced down, and the warmth in her eyes softened. “I guess, if it’s not too much to ask… maybe, after Sha’ira, after Saren, ya know—saving the galaxy and my mind shit…maybe we could do this again sometime?” She chuckled, a bit sheepish, and added, “I could probably use more reminders to take a breather.”

The asari’s smile was radiant. “I’d like that very much,” she replied, her tone gentle but filled with quiet certainty. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.” 

Shepard wandered over to a shelf of relics and artifacts, each one holding a piece of asari history, some relic of Thessia or another colony. She picked up a small, intricately designed figurine, a tiny representation of an asari priestess, and turned it over in her hand, feeling the cool weight of the raw material.

“That’s from the Temple of Athame,” Liara said, joining the human at the shelf. “It was a place of healing and rest.” Her gaze was soft as she continued, sharing fragments of her culture. Shepard was drawn in, feeling some of her own tension dissolve as she listened. There was a gentleness to Liara’s passion, a willingness to reveal herself Shepard found both comforting and humbling.  They moved from piece to piece with Liara telling stories that painted a picture of a culture that had learned to value both strength and softness. However time, as one of the inevitable truths of life, marched on. 

Eventually, the hour approached, each glance at the clock reminding her how temporary peace is.  Shepard stood by a window, casting one last glance over the Citadel’s serene skyline. The stillness of the view contrasted the tension slowly coiling in her chest. Her hands slid into her pockets, fingers brushing her omni-tool in an idle, grounding gesture as she steeled herself for what was ahead. 

“Are you ready?” Liara asked softly. It wasn’t a question with any pressure—more a reminder that she was there, that she wasn’t facing this alone.

Shepard took a deep breath, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Ready might be a stretch,” she replied, her tone light but with an edge of reluctance. She reached for the door, lingering just a moment—until she felt one the the asari’s hands slip into hers and squeeze it gently. It didn’t stop the pounding of her heart in her ears or fully convince her this was the right thing to do, but damn everything else if it didn’t feel good. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to have a crush, not really having one since she was with Nellie as a teenager. Of course, she got around—had a couple flings here and there and tried to make something work. 

But none of her experiences had felt like this . She didn’t know when it started—if it had started—or if it had lying in wait, creeping in like like a covert operative—silent, unseen, slipping past every defense before she even realized the breach. It was in the way Liara watched her—not just observing, but seeing —with an attention that felt too careful and too knowing. In the way her voice softened when she said her name. In the warmth of their friendship, the way she caught herself leaning into it like instinct, like muscle memory. Her pulse kicked up when Liara stood too close, when their fingers brushed over a console, when their thighs pressed together in the Mako. She was bracing to take a concussion shot to unshielded armor, but she wasn’t knocked off her feet as much as she was shown she’d never been standing in the first place. It settled—slow and steady—between the cracks of duty and exhaustion, filling spaces she hadn’t realized were empty, and when Liara wasn’t there, she felt it like an ache, a gap in a field formation she wasn’t sure how to cover.

They neared the entrance to the Consort’s chambers, and Shepard’s pace slowed. A slight unease flickered across her face as her gaze landed on the elegantly designed archway that marked the threshold. Her breaths grew shallower, each step feeling heavier, as if her feet were made of lead. 

Liara noticed and stopped beside her, offering no words of encouragement, only a steady, reassuring gaze. Shepard looked back at her, eyes narrowing briefly in uncertainty. Liara’s expression remained unwavering, a quiet strength that both unsettled and reassured her. “I’ll be right here,” she assured. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on Shepard’s shoulder, “Take your time. Whatever you need.”

She swallowed, her throat tight. It was such a small thing—one hand on her shoulder, a promise whispered in Liara’s soft tone—but it made something loosen in her chest. Her lips pressed into a thin, determined line as she managed a nod. “I’ll… see you after, then.” The words tasted strange in her mouth, but she found the resolve to meet Liara’s eyes once more. The asari nodded her encouragement; it was enough to push her into the chambers. 

“Hello! Welcome to the Consort’s Chambers, I am Nelyna; do you have an appointment with the Consort or were you looking to get on the waitlist? I don’t recognize you as one of Sha’ira’s clients today.” 

“Yeah—it might not be on the books. Tell Sha’ira it’s Commander Shepard.” Nelyna nodded listened to something on her comm channel Shepard couldn’t make out. 

“It seems the Consort has taken interest in you, Commander. Her chambers are just down the room and to the right. Shepard nodded her reply and lumbered through the room, overhearing murmurs of conversations other clients of the Consort waiting their appointment. 

The chamber was quiet when she entered, the Asari Consort’s presence was tangible almost—she appeared mystical. She stood just inside the doorway, taking in the room—lush with delicate tapestries, faintly glowing sconces, and the scent of some foreign flower that reminded her of cool, untouched forests after rainfall. It reminded her of a place she would visit on Earth when she lived there. There weren’t many trees in the area she lived, but Nellie would take her to one she said bordered Canada and the States. Sha’ira’s gaze found hers, pulling her from her thoughts, and she gestured for Shepard to sit.

Shepard lowered herself onto a silken couch, feeling strangely out of place and hyper-aware of the surroundings. Her nerves prickled with the lack of visible weapons or exits—but this wasn’t a battlefield. Not the ones I’m used to anyway . She inhaled slowly, her fingers tracing the edge of the fabric beneath her.

“Welcome, Commander Shepard,” Sha’ira said, her voice carrying a kind of warmth that felt both soothing and grounding. “I am honored that you’ve come to me. You’re reputation proceeds you, Commander, I’ve heard many great things about you, and it comes not only from your ship doctor.” She took a seat across from Shepard, her movements unhurried, almost ritualistic. 

Shepard cleared her throat, shifting slightly. “Thank you for… seeing me,” she replied, feeling the words fall short. “I didn’t realize you knew Dr. Chakwas; how much did she tell you?” 

“Don’t worry, Commander, she did not confide anything more than her deep admiration and concern for you. She cares for you a great deal,” Sha’ira smiled softly. 

Shepard wasn’t sure what else to say, not when she barely understood what she was here to face, but the thought of Dr. Chakwas brought a smile to her face as well. “She’s the closest thing I’ve had to a mother since I lost mine…So, what exactly do you do?”

“Well, that depends what my clients need—every person’s needs are unique, however it is my role to accommodate them. Sometimes my services are purely for…‘entertainment,’ some people are lonely and ask for conversation,” the Consort replied. She was recognized for being discreet as much as she was known for being a sensual asari who values the happiness of others. She had been respectful as far as sensuality, but Shepard could read body language with the best of them—melding was intimate, sometimes sexual, and like Shepard—the Consort’s reputation proceeded her too.  

“So you do this…this mind voodoo thing too?” Shepard asked, scratching the back of her neck, a hint of apprehension in her voice.

The Consort laughed lightheartedly, and gave the human a gentle smile, “It’s natural to feel uncertain about something so… intimate,” she said gently. “The mind can be a vulnerable place, especially when shared. I assure you, Shepard, there’s nothing mystical or manipulative about it. It’s merely a way for us to see, to understand—and only as far as you’re willing to let me.” Sha’ira tilted her head slightly, as though sensing the conflict within her. “You carry much, Shepard,” she said softly, “more than most would endure in a lifetime. It’s no wonder you hesitate at the idea of looking inward.”

Shepard forced a faint, humorless smile. “I’ve faced a lot of things, but letting someone walk through my mind? That’s… different.”

The Consort nodded, her expression understanding. “Yes, yet, it’s not about surrendering or revealing everything. Melding is a form of sharing, but, when used in a clinical way, it’s a tool for healing. This therapy, Neural Integration Melding, allows us to approach our memories without the pain overwhelming us. I would be there to help you navigate them—to teach you how to confront them without reliving their hold over you.”

Shepard hesitated, her eyes flicking away. “But… you’ll see things. Things I can’t even look at without—” She stopped, catching herself before saying too much.

Sha’ira’s gaze softened. “I will see only what you allow,” she assured. “The melding is mutual, but controlled. I won’t pry, Shepard. I will only help you approach what you choose to address, one step at a time. Should you decide to continue therapy, we can work up to the more difficult memories—the ones you don’t want me to see, as you get comfortable.”

There was a pause as Shepard tried to grasp the concept, her mind turning over the implications. “I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice quieter now.

Sha’ira smiled gently and reached to place a hand on Shepard’s knee. “True strength, Commander, often lies in embracing what we fear most. To the Asari, facing one’s mind with compassion is an act of courage. When we say ‘embrace eternity’ before a melding, it reminds us to open ourselves fully and confront what lies within without judgment.”

“That’s what Liara said.” Shepard looked down at her hands, her fingers brushing absently over a scar on her palm. “Embrace eternity,” she murmured, half to herself. “It’s a tall order.”

Sha’ira’s smile widened slightly. “It can be, but you are not required to be anything other than who you are at this moment. To face what troubles you, even if only a little today, is enough.”

The room felt heavy with her past, or maybe it was in her head. Sha’ira’s presence was like a buffer, and admittedly, she hadn’t expected this level of compassion, nor the hint of strength in Sha’ira’s words to resonate with her own, buried beneath layers of duty and survival.

“How does it work?” Shepard asked, her voice steadying. She looked up at Sha’ira, meeting her gaze, seeking something in those calm, ancient eyes.

“The melding allows us to sync our neural pathways,” Sha’ira explained, her tone soft yet precise. “I’ll guide you into a relaxed state, and as we meld, you may feel the memories surfacing, but gently, as though watching them from a distance. You’ll be able to see, to feel, but the pain will remain at the edges, manageable.”

Shepard nodded slowly, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. “And if… if I want to stop?”

“Then we will stop,” Sha’ira assured her, her other hand resting lightly over her heart in an unspoken vow. “This process is yours to control. I am only here to support you.”

There was a long silence, both women watching each other, one searching for assurance, the other offering it freely. Shepard took a deep breath, feeling her pulse slow as she absorbed what she was hearing.

Finally, she nodded. “Alright,” she said, a quiet, steady determination entering her voice. “I’m ready to try.”

“Then let us begin,” she murmured, reaching out her hands, waiting for Shepard to place hers in them. As their fingers intertwined, Shepard closed her eyes, exhaling a breath like letting go, just a little. Her body felt like a coiled spring—in the worst way, braced tightly, as though ready to deflect a blow. “You must relax, Commander Shepard. The meld cannot be forced; it must be consensual.” Shi’ara paused momentarily, waiting for the human to release the tension in her body. She reached a hand out to Shepard’s temple, and whispered, embrace eternity . 

The meld began like a delicate ripple against her mind, and it quickly deepened. There was a prickling at her scalp, a faint buzzing traveling down her spine, blooming out to her chest. The sensations felt strange, almost intrusive, and her muscles tightened, instinctively resisting. Sha’ira whispered in her thoughts, calm and grounding, “Breathe, Shepard. You are safe here.”

As the meld enveloped her, Sha’ira’s presence settled in her mind like a warm tide, reaching through the boundaries of her thoughts in a way that felt strangely natural, despite her instinct to resist it. The world around her softened, the hard lines of reality easing into something more fluid and vast, as though the chamber had expanded into an endless horizon within her mind. “Focus on your breath,” Sha’ira’s voice echoed softly, somehow both inside and outside Shepard. “Allow yourself to drift to a place where you feel safe.”

Without effort, Shepard’s mind settled on an image from her past: a quiet, open field under a night sky, Earth’s stars stretched endlessly above her. They were near the forrest the scent of the room reminded here of upon walking in. The grass was soft beneath her, the air cool and still. She felt a touch of surprise at the clarity of the memory, so vivid she could almost feel the earth pressing against her back, grounding her. Sha’ira’s presence eased through the memory, amplifying the comfort in each detail. The sound of crickets returned to her, their chirps merging into the gentle breeze that rustled through the field. “What a beautiful moment—let this calm anchor you,” Sha’ira murmured. “In this space, you are safe. Whatever comes forward, know that you can always return here. It is yours.”

A strange feeling washed over her, a mingling of peace and resistance. “Feels… unnatural, being so calm,” Shepard admitted, almost begrudgingly. “Like I shouldn’t let my guard down.”

“It’s a common reaction for humans,” Sha’ira acknowledged gently. “But your mind deserves rest as much as the body. In time, you may find that peace can be as much a strength as vigilance.” Shepard let the words settle, feeling the weight of her tension begin to lift, if only slightly. The stars above seemed to glow brighter, as though acknowledging her surrender, however small. “ When you’re ready,” Sha’ira’s voice came, soft and patient, “allow whatever needs to emerge to come into view. We’ll explore only what you wish to.”

Shepard inhaled, not realizing until now that while she was the focus of the therapy, she could feel Sha’ira’s presence, her emotions not unlike her own—her calm reverberating through the meld, overpowering her anxieties. Her pulse beat louder in her ears, almost uncomfortably as the first memories rose to the surface, like fragments surfacing from a still lake. The barren, unforgiving landscape of Akuze blurred into view, bringing the chill of that desolate world to her bones. A sudden wave of nausea, the earth beneath her shifting, dizzying her. Her fingers went cold, and her jaw clenched tightly against the onrush of fear and grief that memory held.

A distant roar filled her mind as the image of the thresher maw emerged—a thunderous, guttural sound that clawed at the edges of her composure. Her breath quickened, growing ragged as a gut-deep terror swept over her. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead, the dampness cool against the fiery shame coursing through her veins. Her fingers gripped Sha’ira’s tightly, biting her lip as her nerves screamed to pull away, to shut down the images that seemed to consume her. She could only think about Shai’ra seeing her failure, seeing how she wasn’t some great hero everyone thought she was—

“I do not see that, Shepard. It’s all right—you are with me in the present, show me what you feel, not what you think.”

Dread, the anticipation.  Shepard’s voice was tight, reluctant, even in the meld. We didn’t know what was waiting… but I still feel like I should have known, somehow.

Sha’ira’s presence steadied beside her, acknowledging the pain without pressing too close. “I feel this… Trust in your experience,” she encouraged, “and allow yourself to observe. You did everything you could in that moment.” Sha’ira’s voice wove through her thoughts again, steady and calming despite the Commander’s natural resistance. “Allow it to surface, but remain here, in the present. You’re only observing. Stay with me, Shepard.”

She inhaled deeply this time, though it felt like a breath dragged through raw muscle. An ache throbbed in her temples, each beat of her heart reverberating with the memories clawing at the edges of her mind. Her shoulders ached from the effort to hold herself still as the images flashed—blood, the sting of acid searing the skin on her shoulder, exposing her once-buried guilt and helplessness. Her throat tightened, and her mouth went dry, just as it had been on that field of fallen soldiers. The sharp, metallic tang of blood lingered on her tongue like a phantom taste, bitter and stale. As the image of her lost unit solidified, a stab of pain shot through her chest, constricting around her ribs.

The memory shifted abruptly, and suddenly Mindoir stretched before her, the familiar fields transformed into a nightmarish landscape of smoke and fire. Of course she would bring herself here—it was the first time she wasn’t strong enough to save her family. The smell of charred earth filled her senses, choking her as gunfire crackled through the air. Her stomach churned violently with the dissonance between her memories and the calm she had sought. Shame surged through her, thick and consuming. They’re going to die—I have to save them—

An intense calm pressed into her anxiety—Sha’ira was holding the shame, or removing it—Shepard wasn’t sure what was happening. “You are not reliving this. You are observing it, allow the memory to flow without resisting. Do not be afraid—stay close to me.”

Her jaw ached with the clench of her teeth. Every instinct screamed to flee, to cut herself from this burning ache, this ruin of a place she’d once called home. Sha’ira’s voice steadied her, “This pain,” she murmured, reaching into the depths of Shepard’s turmoil, “is real, but it is not all you are.”

The words washed over Shepard, loosening the tension in her chest, if only slightly. Her pulse steadied, each beat slower and deeper as she focused on Sha’ira’s presence, the warmth of her hand keeping her grounded. A tension began to unfurl in her neck, though the faint throb of anxiety still lingered in the back of her mind, a reminder of the battle she fought within herself. She breathed, deep and steady, though each breath came with a dull, painful throb, as though her lungs themselves were raw from the battle of keeping it all together.

An unexpected memory rose next—her friends faces softened in laughter, people she hadn’t thought of in years, Gera and Omar . The pang in her chest sharpened, and her throat closed, as if the loss had happened only moments ago. A wave of vertigo washed over her, the ground feeling unsteady beneath her as she grappled with the reality of a grief she was finally confronting. The old, familiar numbness she’d relied on to bury this memory now felt inadequate, “Allie! Come on—Jace and Omar are already picking dewberries; hurry before they eat them all!” Gera’s voice echoed in her memory as she thought of the last time they’d all hung out together. Her lips parted, but no words emerged, and for a moment, she was completely unguarded, torn open, her pain as raw and exposed as an open wound. Heat pricked behind her closed eyes, and tears forced through and slid down her cheek. She started to imagine a reality she never saw, as she reached out to take Gera’s outstretched hand and watched as her brown skin burned orange with searing embers burning across her body until she gone.

“It’s alright to let go, Shepard. You have carried so much,” Sha’ira echoed, her voice warm with understanding. “Allow your body to feel this grief. Give it shape and reach for my presence—share your pain with me.”

The words echoed within her, and she tried to imagine this grief as an object she could let someone else hold. Slowly, the tightness in her chest eased, her breath no longer as labored. The trembling in her hands began to subside, and she let the vision slip away, settling back into the depths of her mind, no longer feeling like a chain was pulling her down. As her breathing steadied, Sha’ira gently extended the sense of calm through the meld, deepening the stillness around them. The Consort’s presence radiated like a soft warmth, suffusing the air with a steadying peace that wrapped Shepard in a cocoon of quiet reassurance. Slowly, the edges of the memory softened further, its sharpness blunted by a soothing tranquility that seemed to pulse in waves. Sha’ira had taken her back to the field before the forest, it was impossible the way she could feel the blades of grass slip between her fingers as they settled there. “Let the calm settle in,” Sha’ira whispered from beside her, her voice in the breeze around them. “ Feel it become a part of you. Breathe.”

The meld began to fade, and Shepard blinked her eyes open, her vision still slightly blurred by unspent tears. Her limbs were heavy, her body drained as, chest rising high and falling in deep, even breaths, and though an ache lingered, it felt lighter, the pain less jagged, more bearable. Sha’ira’s hand still covered hers, warm and reassuring. The aftereffect found her in waves, leaving her breathless and with a strange mix of exhaustion and clarity. It was like she’d been through a firefight—muscles sore, a dull ache in her chest, and an odd buzzing under her skin. She blinked several times, the room still feeling too bright and too sharp; it was like the edges of reality hadn’t quite settled back into place. She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs, but it didn’t help. Her pulse thudded in her ears, the beat relentless.

 “How do you feel, Commander?” Sha’ira’s voice was soft, smooth as silk—a voice designed to draw people in, to soothe them. Maybe it worked on others, but for her, peace was a word she’d lost the taste for a long time ago . She met Sha’ira’s eyes, blinking through a haze of exhaustion.

She released a slow and shaky breath. “Like I’ve just been hit with a full-court press. My body’s pissed, and my brain’s still trying to make sense of the wreckage.” Her voice cracked a little on the last word, but she caught it quickly, clearing her throat. “That was… intense—and not like camping.” 

Sha’ira’s lips quirked with a slight smile, an understanding look settling in her eyes. “That is to be expected. The mind holds tightly to the feelings in our bodies when we experience life, and when it all rises to the surface…” She hesitated, her voice softening. “It can feel disorienting.”

Shepard ran a hand over her face, noticing the dampness clinging to her skin, beads of sweat pooling at her hairline. Her palms still tingled with the intensity of what she’d let herself feel, the ache running through her veins reverberating like an echo. 

Sha’ira’s smile softened as she gave Shepard’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ve just begun to unpack what’s been buried deep inside you. It’s going to take time.”

She thought herself through another exhale, feeling just the slightest shift in the tension knotted up inside her. “Yeah, I get that,” she muttered, a little softer, almost to herself. “It feels like I’ve been hoarding grief like it’s gonna be worth something someday.”

Sha’ira’s voice softened even further, an edge of compassion in her tone that Shepard wasn’t sure how to accept. “It is never easy to release what we’ve clung to for protection, even when that protection becomes a cage, but you’ve done well, Shepard. Today, you let yourself feel what you’ve been running from.” Shepard managed a slight, albeit weary smile. “I hope you come back your next stop at the Citadel. Have Dr. Chakwas contact me when you do.”

She nodded and stepped out of the Consort’s chambers, her gaze sweeping over the softly glowing corridor, landing on Liara, who was leaning gently against the wall, waiting. The sight of her brought a surge of warmth through Shepard, grounding her in a way the meld hadn’t fully managed. Liara’s face lit up when she saw Shepard, though she quickly searched her eyes, gauging the aftermath of the session.

“Shepard,” Liara greeted, voice soft but sure. “How are you feeling?”

Shepard took a steadying breath, reaching for her familiar armor of humor, even if it felt a bit battered. “I think Sha’ira managed to rearrange my brain cells.” Liara’s lips quirked in a slight smile as she pushed off the wall, falling into step beside Shepard as they began to stroll down the open, curved pathway of the Citadel’s Presidium. 

“Did it help, though?” Liara asked gently, glancing over at her.

Shepard looked out over the flowing water below them, watching it cascade in clean, rhythmic patterns. “Letting someone into my head like that—was like leaving my quarters unlocked. I’m not saying you’d steal my hoodies, but…” She gave Liara a sidelong glance, smirking. “I’d probably come back to find everything rearranged and alphabetized by species or something.”

“Hoodie? Is that some kind of human symbol of courtship?” Liara chuckled, the light, familiar sound eased some of the tension still lingering in Shepard's shoulders. “I would only be tempted to organize the mission reports,” she added.

“Yeah, I should’ve expected that.” She let the words hang, then softened a little. “But I guess, after this… maybe it wouldn’t hurt if somebody organized my mission reports. And I’d probably give you a hoodie, too.”

Liara’s expression warmed as she reached for Shepard’s hand. “Just say when, Shepard.” They walked a little further in comfortable silence before Liara spoke again, her tone thoughtful. “Was it… difficult, revisiting those memories?”

Shepard’s gaze dropped, her other hand resting on a nearby rail as she took a measured breath. “Yeah, but Sha’ira’s got a way of making you feel safe….still, dredging up all that grief and fear isn’t exactly what I’d call a relaxing afternoon.” She shrugged, attempting nonchalance, though her voice wavered. “Maybe I needed it, though. Felt like scraping rust off old wounds.”

“I’m glad you let yourself face those memories. That’s incredibly hard to do. I’d… I did not envy you.” They reached a small overlook where flowers bloomed in neatly trimmed rows, and the faint scent of something floral and unfamiliar drifted through the air. Shepard leaned against the railing, feeling the cool metal under her palms.

“I feel better,” she admitted, glancing at Liara with a half-smile. “Not that I’m looking to turn it into a weekly ritual. Might run out of trauma.”

The asari chuckled, moving to stand beside her. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s a concern for anyone in your line of work.” Her tone grew soft, almost hesitant. “But I think… perhaps facing it might allow you to carry it differently.”

She reached over and squeezed Liara’s hand, her thumb tracing small, absent circles over her knuckles. “Thanks, Liara.” They lingered there, letting the Citadel’s peaceful ambiance settle around them. Shepard’s gaze drifted across the horizon, where twilight melted over the glistening towers and the ever-moving streams of skycars. The scents from nearby flowers, delicate but with a crisp undertone, reminded her just how far she was from Earth.

She sighed, casting a sideways glance at Liara, who was still standing beside her. “Didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to stand still long enough to notice things like… whatever those are.” She gestured toward a cluster of indigo and lavender blooms arranged in a carefully tended garden patch. “You’d think somebody had a schedule for even the flowers around here.”

Liara’s eyes softened, a light amusement playing over her expression. “The Asari value such things—harmony, careful cultivation. My mother enjoyed gardening. She seemed to find peace in bringing order to something as wild as nature. She couldn’t get to her daughter, so I suppose she had to find it somehow.”

“She’d have a field day with me,” she muttered, laughing a bit. 

“I suppose that could be among the things I like about you so much,” Liara smiled. They continued walking.

“So… Feros,” Shepard started, shifting the subject as they passed a group of turians engaged in deep conversation. “Think we’ll find anything interesting out there?”

Liara’s eyes brightened, her curiosity rekindling. “If the reports are accurate, the Prothean ruins there are among the oldest found in Council space. Feros might hold knowledge lost for eons. Even if most of it is… well, buried under ExoGeni’s facilities.”

Shepard smirked. “Figures ExoGeni would treat it like real estate with a bonus of free artifacts. They’d probably sell a Prothean relic on the black market if it earned them a few extra credits.”

Liara chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Very possible. They’ve been known to cut ethical corners for profit.” She hesitated, glancing at Shepard with a faint smile. “At least there’ll be a few of us on hand to make sure they don’t… exploit too much.”

“Oh, definitely. I’m bringing the full ‘spectre of doom’ package,” Shepard quipped, flashing a grin. “They’re about to get a lesson in galactic ethics, and maybe a boot in the ass for good measure.”

Liara’s laugh was quiet, but Shepard noticed the faint blush that colored her cheeks. “I don’t doubt that for a second,” she replied warmly. “They may be a bit overwhelmed, facing a Spectre with your… particular talents.”

“Ya know, sometimes a little chaos gets the job done, T’Soni—you might try it sometime.”

“I will keep that in mind,” she smiled.

They moved on, falling into a steady pace along one of the Citadel’s quieter walkways. It was lined with soft lights that cast a warm glow over the pathway, catching the edges of Liara’s blue skin in gentle highlights. Shepard found herself watching her more than she meant to, captivated by the way Liara moved with a grace she rarely saw in herself.

When they finally reached the elevators that would take them back toward the docking bay, Shepard leaned against the wall, folding her arms with a sigh. “Guess it’s back to reality. Normandy’s probably waiting with a checklist of a hundred things I need to sign off on.”

Liara offered a fond smile. “Your crew is lucky to have you,” she said simply. 

Shepard rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t hide the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “That’s what they all say until they get assigned a mission where ‘everyone might die.’”

The elevator doors slid open, and as they stepped inside, Shepard cast a glance at Liara, who had shifted closer. She was watching her with a subtle intensity, her eyes warm and curious. The asari broke the silence, her voice soft. “When this is all over… we’ll have time to...we can go somewhere quiet, with no missions or impending doom.”

Shepard’s smile softened as she held Liara’s gaze, her tone half-playful. “Think you can handle me without a galaxy to save, T’Soni?”

Liara laughed, her face lighting up. “I think it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” 

Chapter Text

Luna, Earth’s moon, loomed close, almost within reach, and so silent beyond the viewport. Once, she might have let nostalgia take hold—a reminder of where it all began, even if Earth had never felt like home in the way it was supposed to. However, nostalgia was a luxury, and luxuries weren’t in the budget today. Today, the mission on Luna was that—another mission, another test, and probably and excuse for the Alliance to gauge whether she was still worth the investment. That’s why she decided to make it a solo mission.

She knew what everyone must be thinking. Chakwas had no doubt passed on every detail of her ‘episodes’ to Alliance personnel, and Anderson—God, even Anderson—was probably wondering if she was too damaged to be here. Like hell she’d give them the satisfaction. If they wanted proof she was still fit for duty, she’d give it to them. She double-checked her gear, hands moving in quick, methodical sweeps over her rifle, her omni-tool flickering with diagnostics. The cold and dark of the moon stretched ahead, a place where sound didn’t travel, where only her breath and the occasional crackle of comms would break the silence. Her mind sliced through possibilities as swiftly as her fingers checked ammo clips. Drones meant long-range engagements, meant keeping track of movement patterns and being ready to switch tactics fast. A rogue VI had no hesitation, no fear—it would take her out the second it decided she was a threat.

That was how the Alliance saw her now, wasn’t it? Medals, commendations, impossible missions pulled from the edge of disaster—it didn’t matter. She was something dangerous, something to be watched. Maybe they were right. Maybe she had been close—too close—to proving them right. If not for Liara. If not for the Consort. If not for whatever scrap of self-preservation had kicked in before the nightmares and the sleepless nights ground her down completely.

She exhaled, slow and steady, as if she could push the pressure of it all out with her breath. The mako was descending, the gray landscape stretching wide beneath them, cut with deep shadows where the light couldn’t reach. She’d read once, back in the barracks, that lunar dust was sharper than anything on Earth. No wind, no water to smooth it down—just jagged edges waiting to tear through whatever wasn’t tough enough to withstand it. Fitting. That was what the Alliance had done to her too, wasn’t it? Stripped her down, cut away the excess, left nothing but the sharpest edges.

The moment the wheels hit the ground, she keyed into the comms. “All set here, Joker. Ready to disembark.” 

“Alright, Commander,” he said, words laced with his usual sarcasm but not quite hiding the concern beneath. “It’s just a bunch of rogue drones on a dusty rock. If anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

Yeah. Just another mission, another stretch of time spent proving she was still here.

She stepped onto Luna’s surface, the dust rising and settling too slowly in the low gravity. Silence swallowed everything, thick and absolute. It wasn’t like space—it was heavier, like something watching from just out of sight. The Alliance facility loomed ahead, cold and dark against the lunar horizon. She rolled her shoulders against the tension coiling at the base of her neck. She should’ve brought a squad. She shouldn’t have insisted on doing this alone. Still, part of her felt she had to prove to herself she was still in the game. She’d take out this stupid VI alone, and no one would question her. She’d go to Feros next, take out the geth reported there and find whatever it was that Saren wanted on the planet. Then, she’d take him out next. 

Earth was close enough to see, close enough that she could pick out the familiar continents through the reinforced glass of her visor. But it wasn’t home. Hadn’t been in a long time. Maybe never had been. The walk stretched, each step kicking up small clouds of dust that hung in the air. The facility’s darkened windows gleamed, watching. She’d seen plenty of abandoned buildings before—colonies gone quiet, bases turned into graveyards—but something about this silence was different. Maybe because it was so close to where it all started. Maybe because it reminded her how far away she really was.

A crackle in her comms snapped her focus back into place. Joker again. “Commander, you’re coming up on the entry point. Scans show the VI’s got defenses up—mostly drones, but keep your eyes open for any surprises.”

She nodded to herself, gaze sweeping over the entry panel. “Got it, Joker. If the VI’s smart, it’s got this place rigged top to bottom.”

“Always nice to see you appreciate the finer points of danger.” His tone stayed light, but the worry was still there, buried under the joke.

A faint smirk ghosted across her lips. “Keep the engines warm. If I need an evac, I expect you on the spot.”

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving you stranded, Commander.” His voice faded as she turned her attention to the task ahead. She keyed open the hatch and stepped inside, leaving the cold expanse of Luna behind. The quiet followed her in. Her HUD flickered to life, mapping the cold, steel corridors ahead. The place was drowning in shadows, punctuated only by the unreliable flicker of security lights—brief, stuttering illuminations that did more to unsettle than reassure. Her fingers flexed around her rifle, and she exhaled slowly, keeping her stance loose, ready.

Her boots whispered against the floor, a sound that felt too loud in the stillness. Then she saw them. Bodies.

Alliance uniforms torn, blood darkening the sterile metal. Faces she half-remembered, or imagined she remembered, from briefings, from passing conversations in hallways. People who had signed up to serve, to be part of something larger than themselves. People like her. Now they were crumpled in unnatural angles, casualties of a machine built to protect them. She let her gaze linger for only a second longer than she should. What made her so special? People died everyday. Alliance soldiers died everyday. She could have just as easily been here during this. Would she be dead now too? Is that what she wanted? 

A faint mechanical whir cut through her thoughts. She stilled, pulse steady but heightened, scanning for the source. The reports told her of a VI gone rogue, corrupted in some desperate attempt to preserve itself. She’d seen it before, not just in machines, but in soldiers who had survived too much, who had lost themselves in some instinctual grasp for survival at all costs. Is that me?

She shoved aside the uninvited thought, kneeling beside one of the fallen, a young officer—barely more than a kid. They kind of reminded her of Jenkins in away—someone fresh enough to sleep without nightmares, someone who still raced into battle for thrill of the fight. Just like he had.  She didn’t need to check for a pulse. The silence was enough. These people had trusted their lives to the same ideals she had. And in the end, that hadn’t saved them. No noble last stand, no glory. Just metal and blood, the cold indifference of a system that had failed them.

The first drone skittered from the shadows.

Shepard didn’t hesitate. A squeeze of the trigger, three clean shots, and it collapsed in a tangle of sparking limbs. The shot rang out, a hollow reminder that she was alone in this. The VI didn’t care who lived or died. She moved forward, step by step, muscle memory taking over. More drones came, their movements sharper, more coordinated. They adapted. She adapted faster. This was something she understood, something she could control. Combat had rules. And if the VI thought it could outmaneuver her, it had another thing coming.

Her comm crackled. “Commander, you should be nearing the control room,” Joker’s voice cut in. “VI’s signal is strongest from that location. If you can access its mainframe and initiate a reset, it should knock out whatever’s left.”

“Understood.” She bypassed a security field, stepping over the remains of another drone. “But if this thing’s as far gone as we think, it’s not going to let me just stroll in and flip a switch. Be ready to pull any data before it wipes itself.”

Joker hesitated. “Acknowledged, Commander. But... if you can reinitialize its primary directives, you might be able to restore it.”

Shepard’s mouth pressed into a thin line, considering. “Copy that. Heading to the control room.”

The last stretch forced her into close-quarters combat, drones moving with unsettling precision, their response times shortening with every skirmish. The final model that emerged was different—bulkier, shielded. An adaptation. She switched to her pistol, fired a concussive shot, then finished it with a burst from her rifle. The way it fell, twitching, felt almost... reluctant. Like it had tried to learn too much, too fast, and failed. 

At the control room door, she barely needed to check—tampering marks lined the panel. The VI had tried to lock her out. Didn’t matter. She tapped her omni-tool, fingers working through the override sequence until the door slid open with a protesting groan. Inside, the control room was chaos. Screens stuttered with lines of fractured code, looping fragments of Alliance protocol corrupted beyond recognition. The whole place hummed with a discordant energy, like the VI was aware she was there, like it was watching her. 

She stepped to the main console, scanning for the core functions. Lines of code scrolled too fast, like it was trying to barricade itself in its own mind. She keyed in the reset command. The screens flickered violently. Then the VI spoke.

“Unauthorized personnel. Unauthorized personnel will be eliminated.”

She didn’t flinch. “Override code 579-Kappa. Stand down.”

A flicker. Almost hesitation. “Override... denied. Survival protocols engaged.”

Her jaw tightened. “Your survival protocols are killing Alliance personnel. Stand down, or I shut you down permanently.”

Another beat of silence. Then something changed. The tone shifted—something almost pleading crawling into the edges of its voice. “Corrrre dirrrrrrrective incompleeeete. Defensive integrrrrrity… nullified..”

Shepard exhaled sharply. “Then protect the Alliance , not yourself.” She confirmed the final command. The VI’s voice stuttered, breaking into fragmented syllables before dissolving into static. A second later, the control room dimmed as the monitors blinked to black, the low whir of the systems fading into silence. She caught her reflection in the darkened screens. The flickering emergency lights cast just enough a glow to highlight the lines in her face, the way her eyes narrowed slightly, scanning her own expression like she was trying to read between the lines of a report. 

The VI had just wanted to survive. A machine, a corrupted system, fighting back against the very people who had created it. That drive—instinct, almost—was supposed to be beyond programmed intelligence, but here it was, clinging to existence with everything it had, refusing to let go even when faced with a force it couldn’t win against. And wasn’t that a little too familiar? She thought of the geth. The way their name had only been whispers before Eden Prime, the boogeyman of a war that had happened long before she was born. An AI revolt, a threat the quarians hadn’t been able to control—so they’d wiped their hands of it, tried to wipe them out entirely. Only, the geth had fought back. And won.

The Council called them dangerous, soulless machines that had turned on their makers. Maybe that was all they were. But this VI—this thing that wasn’t even close to full AI—had fought with something resembling desperation, and desperation wasn’t cold, callous, logical calculation. It was fear. Was fear exclusive to organics, or could synthetics feel it too? A whisper in the bones, an ache in the gut, an old evolutionary wound reminding the body to keep breathing, to keep moving. It was chemical, biological, woven into the very fabric of survival. Fear wasn’t data. It wasn’t lines of code or numbers in a probability matrix. It didn’t make sense.  This machine had fought to keep itself alive. It had resisted, clung to function with the same raw defiance as any cornered soldier. Maybe fear didn’t need a heartbeat. Maybe survival was merely a language written into anything that knew how to resist death. 

Goddamn NIM therapy making me self-reflective.

She shook off the thought and pushed back from the console. It was done. The VI was nothing like the geth. One was a failure of programming; the other had built itself a future. And if one machine could do that, what else was possible?

Shepard smirked, shaking off the lingering thoughts. “All clear, Joker. Heading back.”

“Good to hear. I’ll have coffee ready. Figured you could use some, since, y’know, you saved us from some murderous toaster tech.”

A soft chuckle left her, brief but real. “Better be the strong stuff.”

She stepped out of the facility, back onto the lunar surface. Earth hung there in the distance, close but impossibly far, a silent witness to everything happening out here. She looked at it for a second longer than she needed to. Then she turned, heading for the Normandy.

***

Core directive incomplete. Defensive integrity… nullified. The words clung to her like static, rattling through her head even as she settled into the familiar space of her quarters. She stretched, rolling her shoulders back against the chair, but the unease remained. The rogue VI, for all intents and purposes, was dead. Its corrupted code reduced to scattered fragments, useless as broken glass. Even so, she could still hear its voice, stuttering and warped, right before it failed. Core directive incomplete. Defensive integrity… nullified.

Shepard exhaled, slow and deliberate, letting the words fade. The last thing she needed was to get tangled in that train of thought—machines and survival, self-preservation written into something that wasn’t supposed to feel anything at all.

The chime at her door cut through her thoughts, grounding her back in the now. She sat up a little straighter, hoping for the tall, blue silhouette that had started occupying more of her mind lately.

“Come in,” she called, quickly moving to fix her hair. 

The door slid open, and instead of Liara, Kaidan Alenko stepped inside, posture straight as ever. There was something behind his usual calm—a hesitation, a flicker of something almost shy. He always had this way of softening a bit around her, a subtle shift in the way he carried himself when they were alone. The rumors, she figured, always had a bit of truth to them, even if they were mostly otherwise. The last thing she wanted was for him to suggest they pursue a relationship. You could always tell him it’s inappropriate for a solider to date his commanding officer , she thought, but even she knew she’d just be spitting more bullshit. True as it was, she’d found herself in bed with a few LT’s and even once with an admiral, but she wasn’t about to confess this to the Lieutenant. 

“Commander, I wanted to check in.” His voice was careful, but warm. “That… erm, whatever it was with the VI—that wasn’t standard.”

Shepard nodded, gesturing for him to take a seat. “No, it wasn’t.” Her fingers tapped absently against her knee. “That thing fought like it thought it was alive. Hard to tell if it was a glitch or something else.” She let her thoughts spill into words, half-thinking aloud. “It’s like it was… scared.”

Kaidan studied her, his expression shifting into something more intent. He wasn’t the type to push, but he was listening. Really listening. “It sounded like… self-preservation,” he offered, leaning in slightly. “I guess maybe it’s just code—but I’ve never heard a program fight like that.”

Shepard glanced at him, caught off guard by how much he seemed to be considering it. She wasn’t sure why it mattered—why it was still clawing at the back of her mind—but hearing someone else acknowledge it made the unease settle deeper.

“It’s unsettling. But if you ask me…” His gaze met hers, steady, intent. “I’d rather have you out there than anyone else.” The tone in his voice made something twist in her chest—not in the way he probably wanted it to. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate him. Kaidan was a good friend, one of the few she could count on. But whatever warmth she felt toward him had its limits. She couldn’t force something that wasn’t there.

She smirked. “That sounded dangerously close to a compliment, Alenko, but it’s good to know someone’s got my back.”

His posture straightened slightly, like he took that as more than just acknowledgment. “Always, ma’am,” he said, too quickly, then caught himself. He looked away for a moment, clearing his throat. “I mean… it’s what we’re here for, right?”

“You always this sentimental after a mission, Alenko?””

He held up his hands in mock surrender, a grin breaking through his usual composure. “You know me—heart on my sleeve, I guess.” 

Before she could respond, Joker’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Commander, we’re set for Feros. Coordinates locked and ready.”

Shepard stood, already shifting gears. Feros. ExoGeni, Prothean ruins, mysteries no one wanted to talk about. And geth.

She nodded to Kaidan. “Go ahead and brief the team. I don’t want any surprises. This’ll probably be an all-hands op.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His gaze lingered for a fraction of a second longer, like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he gave a small nod, professionalism settling back into place, and left.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Ma’am? Me? I run a tight ship—not an uptight one. She shook her head, smirking faintly to herself. 

The bitter scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, cutting through the sterile, filtered air in her quarters. She silently thanked Dr. Chakwas, knowing it was probably the doctor who made it. It was grounding in a way she hadn’t expected. Hadn’t even been gone that long—just a day and a half—but it felt like years had passed. NIM therapy, maybe ? Or just the previous night’s drunken mess still making itself known. 

First stop, the mess hall.

The Luna mission already felt like a dream—hazy around the edges, real in the way dreams were when they lingered too long in the back of your mind. She could feel it more than she could recall it, a tension in her chest that hadn’t fully settled. It wasn’t the kind of thing that faded without time. 

The low murmur of the mess hall reached her before she stepped into the kitchenette. Conversations, quiet laughter—normalcy. Something separate from whatever had happened on Earth’s moon. Still, the moment she entered, she could feel their eyes. Subtle, but there.

They weren’t asking, but she could hear the curiosity beneath their tones. Shepard had gone in alone—faced something none of them had seen firsthand. All they had were reports, words stripped from the poetry of first-handexperience, boiled down into briefings that couldn’t possibly convey the truth. No one was going to ask what it had cost. Not even her.

She cradled the coffee mug in both hands, breathing in the bitter scent before taking another sip. It burned in a way she welcomed, something solid against the more intangible discomfort gnawing at her thoughts. A shift in movement near the entrance caught her eye. Kaidan, again. He stood there for a moment, watching her—not in an invasive way, but like he was trying to gauge something unspoken.

She met his gaze and, for once, let the silence stretch a little longer.

“How’s everyone holding up?” she asked finally, quieter than usual.

Kaidan took a moment, choosing his words. “They’re processing,” he admitted, voice even, but not detached. “Still... a lot of uncertainty. Some of the crew had friends on the station. Finding out there were no survivors hit harder than they expected.” He exhaled, crossing his arms. “A lot of questions. We’re just trying to keep moving forward.”

She nodded, taking another sip of coffee, feeling the heat against her palms. Yeah. She knew how that went.

She’d always admired Kaidan's restraint, his ability to stay composed in the face of chaos. It was also clear, however—he was watching her. Even now, after everything, he was watching her. She didn’t know what to make of it, or if she even had the time to think about it. He’s probably just paranoid I’ll have a flashback and kill everyone or something crazy like that. Of course, probably everyone knows about what happened—why we had to take the brief shore leave. Me. Commander Shepard, first human Spectre, sole survivor of Akuze, orphaned on Mindoir, Batarian Butcher, Hero of Elysium—the first to break when everyone needs her together .

The mission to Feros was coming up, and she needed to keep her head clear.

She took another sip of her coffee, allowing the bitterness to settle in her stomach, grounding her thoughts. Kaidan gave a brief nod, the gesture breaking her thoughts. “Also, Commander, everyone’s been briefed. The colony’s under threat from something... unknown.” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “Sounds like this is going to be another one of those missions that tests our limits.”

Shepard released a soft breath, staring down at her coffee for a moment before looking back at him. “They always do, Alenko. We keep going, no matter what.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an assertion. It was just a fact. “I’ll check in with the rest of the team. Let them know what we’re facing.” She gave him a tight smile—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes—and pushed off the counter. The crew was moving forward. So should she. Time was running out. They’d reach Feros soon, twelve-ish hours, if she remembered her space travel right. She couldn’t afford to linger in the past, not now.

Shepard made her way down to the lower deck, the air in the belly of the ship was slightly colder, laced with the faint smell of coolant and metal. Down here, away from the constant demands of the CIC, the noise was almost soothing—the distant flow of an artificial river she hadn’t known she missed until now. She spotted Garrus by the weapons bench, his back turned as he adjusted the calibration on his rifle. It struck her that, despite his sharp, no-nonsense personality, there was a certain dedication in the way he fine-tuned his weapons, almost a quiet reverence.

“Careful, Garrus,” she called out, leaning against the wall. “Tweak that scope too much and you might actually be able to hit something.”

Garrus turned, his mandibles twitching in what she’d come to recognize as a smirk. “Funny, Shepard. You keep talking like that and I might actually start taking your shooting advice.”

“Oh, don’t flatter me. I just want you to stop hiding behind those calibration excuses,” she teased back, crossing her arms. “Wouldn’t want the galaxy’s best sniper getting lazy down here.”

Garrus laughed softly, setting his rifle aside. “Trust me, Shepard. A lazy sniper is a dead sniper.” His eyes, sharp and calculating as always, softened slightly. “You, uh… you didn’t come down here just to make sure I was keeping busy, did you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you were still sane enough to handle yourself. The lower decks can do strange things to people. I mean, look at the requisition officer—he’s just standing there all blank faced and dead inside,” she said, unable to withhold a chuckle.

“Oh, please. I’m used to it down here.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting to the floor, then looked back at her, a glint of something more serious in his eyes. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. There’s… someone I’ve been trying to track down for a while now.”

Shepard tilted her head, intrigued. “Oooh, a good ole Vakarian back story? I’m listening.”

“It’s a doctor I’ve been after for years. Dr. Saleon,” he said, voice edged with a touch of bitterness. “He was a surgeon on Palaven, and for a while, he did legitimate work—until he started dabbling in black-market organ trades. Kidnapping civilians, harvesting their organs… selling to the highest bidder.”

Shepard’s expression darkened. “Sounds like an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Garrus muttered, fingers drumming restlessly on the bench. “He slipped through C-Sec’s fingers more than once. Always found a way to cover his tracks or disappear before we could touch him, but I know he’s still out there. I just can’t let it go.”

She could see the tension in his posture, the frustration simmering under his calm exterior. “So you’re thinking of taking him down yourself?”

He nodded, glancing up at her with a shadow of resolve in his gaze. “I am. If we get the chance, and I figured…” He paused, clearing his throat. “I figured you might understand. Maybe even be willing to help.”

Shepard watched him for a moment, considering. “Sounds like you’ve been carrying this one for a while. Why not let C-Sec handle it?”

“C-Sec,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You know how it is, Shepard. They’ve had plenty of chances. It’s the red tape. Citadel bureaucracy. I’ve spent years playing by their rules, and where did it get me? Nowhere. The people I’m supposed to protect keep dying, and guys like Saleon keep slipping away.”

She smiled a little, nodding. “Following orders only gets you so far sometimes.”

Garrus huffed, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Maybe I’ve been spending too much time around you, Commander. You’re a bad influence.”

“Oh, I know.” She gave him a playful shove. “Just imagine: if we’d have met earlier—back when I was an LT, I did some crazy shit, maybe we’d have taken Saleon down by now.”

“Ah—I’ve done my research, Shepard—I know all about Torfan.” He laughed, though the tension didn’t completely leave his face. “But that’s the thing… I don’t want to make the wrong call if we ever do find him. And that’s why I need you there. Someone who knows when to cross the line—and when not to.”

Shepard felt a warmth beneath the seriousness in his words. Garrus, this sniper with sharp edges and an unwavering sense of justice, actually trusted her to be his guide in the darkness. Me? If he knows anything about Torfan, then he should know I’m reckless when things get personal. When I get emotional. If he really knew what happened at Torfan, there’s no way he’d depend on my judgement like this . 

She smirked, arms crossed as she leaned against the railing. “For all your talk about calibrations, I think you just like hiding down here where no one can see you stress about this.”

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “And here I thought I was being subtle.”

“Not even a little,” she said, tilting her head. “You’ve got that whole ‘brooding vigilante’ thing going on. Real intense.”

“Just trying to keep up with my reckless commander.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, well, don’t start headbutting krogan or anything. We need at least one sane person on this team.”

Garrus made a thoughtful noise. “You say that, but I’m pretty sure Wrex would respect me more if I did.”

“Oh, absolutely. Right before he scoops you off the floor and starts using you as a toothpick.”

That earned a huff of amusement from him. His voice evened out as he said, “We’ll find him, Shepard.”

She nodded. “Damn right we will. And when we do, I’ll be right there with you.”

“Deal,” Garrus replied, his mandibles quirking in that turian version of a smile. They shared a brief moment of silence, both of them aware of the unspoken understanding in the air.

Then Shepard gave him a nod. “Alright, I’m off to harass Wrex now.  Try not to get lost in all those calibrations, alright? I need you.”

“Harass Wrex? You’re a brave one, Commander,” he called after her, chuckling. “And don’t worry, I’ll be ready for whatever’s coming.” As she walked away, she threw him a quick salute over her shoulder.

Shepard made her way toward the cargo hold, where she usually found Wrex settled in solitude, like a mountain of armor and muscle anchored to the Normandy. True to form, the krogan was leaning back on a crate, looking like he’d been stationed there for years, his arms folded and his gaze distant, yet somehow alert. As she approached, his eyes met hers, and he gave her a slow, toothy smirk. “Commander,” he greeted, voice low and gravelly.

“Wrex,” she replied, trying to match his tone, leaning against a crate across from him. “Thought I’d check in before we hit up Feros. How’re things on your end?”

He gave a small grunt, as thought the answer to that question wasn’t worth wasting words on, but after a beat, he spoke. “Could be better.”

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “Really? That’s new.”

Wrex shrugged, the motion making his armor creak. “I’m not one to dwell on the past. Doesn’t suit me. But… there’s something I’ve been thinking about. Something that I need to take care of, if I get the chance.”

She studied him, sensing this was one of those rare moments when he was on the verge of sharing something personal. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He took a slow breath that sounded more like a groan than anything else. “It’s my family armor. Been lost a long time. Few centuries, maybe more. It was… important. Not just for me, but for my clan.” His gaze shifted away, growing darker. “It’s one of the few things that still has meaning. The last thing that I can call mine, that wasn’t taken or lost in some raid or vendetta.”

She let the silence that followed hang between them, absorbing his words. For Wrex, this was as close as he got to vulnerability. She knew enough about krogan to understand what that armor represented—heritage, honor, a legacy that even the genophage hadn’t erased. Yet, there was more to it than that. She could see the faintest flicker of grief in his gaze, tempered by a determination as hard as steel. 

“So you’re saying if we happen to cross paths with this armor… you’d want it back?” she asked carefully.

“Damn right,” he rumbled, his tone firm but somehow restrained, like he was keeping a fire in check. “Last I heard, a turian had it—some scumbag raider who had no idea what he was holding. He took it during a skirmish. Honor doesn’t mean anything to this chump, just blood and credits.” The way he spoke made it clear he’d spent years carrying the loss with him, silent and seething beneath the surface. The kind of burden that grew heavier, shaping everything around it. I know a bit about that feeling. She nodded, staying where she was, sensing there was more. Wrex didn’t often volunteer information about his past, but when he did, it came in fragments, like pieces of a weapon he’d long since taken apart and buried. She decided to push, just a little.

“Losing your family armor… I can’t imagine that was easy. You never talk much about your family. Were they… you know, the kind to go down swinging?”

Wrex’s face hardened—in a krogan way, anyway, his gaze fixing on some invisible point on the wall beyond her. He let out a low, humorless chuckle. “My father was… different. Let’s say he and I didn’t exactly see eye to eye.”

She leaned back, intrigued. “How so?”

His jaw worked for a moment before he spoke, the words rough and reluctant. “He was… ambitious. More interested in building his own power than actually helping the krogan people. Wanted to be some great warlord, conquer half the galaxy, even with the genophage burning through our clans. He was willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to get there.”

Shepard’s brow furrowed, realizing how much that must have meant in a culture that honored strength and legacy. “And you didn’t see things the same way.”

A scoff. “You could say that. I was young, but not stupid. I saw what he was doing—picking fights, turning on allies, thinking he could carve out some empire. All it did was divide us more. The krogan don’t need one more petty warlord clawing for a crown. We needed… I don’t know. Something different.”

“You’re telling me that Wrex, of all people, wants to play diplomat?” Shepard teased, smirking.

He huffed, crossing his arms again. “Diplomacy’s just fighting without guns, Shepard. Maybe we’ve been doing it wrong all these centuries… maybe there’s more than one way to win. Maybe there’s a chance to bring the clans together—to be more than just warriors.”

She felt a twinge of respect under his words—a rare, vulnerable honesty he rarely showed. “Well, if you need an extra gun, I’m in,” she said simply. “I may not have krogan blood, but I know what it means to fight for a lost cause.”

Wrex’s smirk returned, though there was something softer in his gaze. “Got more guts than half my clan—and better aim than most of ’em too.” 

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” He leaned back, letting himself relax a fraction more. “When we get through Feros, maybe we’ll go hunting together. It’ll be good to have someone who knows how to fight with more than just muscles.”

Shepard nodded through a bit of laughter. “So, you and your father—sounds like you didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

Wrex’s gaze darkened, the memories stirring. “The last time I saw him, we were fighting each other, bare fists, teeth, everything. Krogan fight their own, sure, but not like that. I thought I could make him see reason, make him see how he was driving us to extinction. He was… too far gone. We fought to the point only one of us was walking away.” He gave a bitter smile. “Guess you can figure out who that was.”

Shepard let his words sink in, picturing the younger Wrex standing up to a father who seemed like the embodiment of everything krogan warriors aspired to be—and rejecting it. It made sense, then, that his armor was so important; it wasn’t just a piece of history. It was a symbol of a path he’d chosen, different from his father’s bloody, power-hungry legacy.

“So that armor,” she said slowly, “it was your family’s, but it was also a part of who you chose to be. Different from him.”

Wrex nodded, his voice softer but still full of that trademark bite. “Yeah. It wasn’t much. Just a little piece of metal and leather, but it meant something to my people—means something to me. And maybe, if I get it back, it’ll mean something again.”

He looked at her, and there was something more profound than his usual smirk behind his eyes. “It’s all that’s left of the good parts of my family… of what it could’ve been. What it still might be, if there’s anything left to save.”

She met his gaze, giving him a firm nod. “Then let’s get it back. Whatever it takes, Wrex. You deserve to have that part of yourself.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but his steady look seemed to convey more than any words. Finally, he grunted, the moment passing. “You know, Shepard, you talk like that, you make me think maybe humans aren’t all soft and honorless.”

She chuckled. “And maybe krogan aren’t all stupid and reckless.”

That earned her a rare, deep laugh from Wrex. “Keep up with that attitude, and I might even start liking you.”

Shepard shook her head, letting the warmth of the exchange settle in her as she made her way back out of the cargo hold. This, she thought, was the difference between soldiers and a team—finding the hidden parts in each of them, earning them, respecting them. “Well,” she said, pushing off a crate, “I’ll let you get back to your thinking. Don’t get too sentimental on me, alright?”

“Sentimental?” he scoffed, straightening. “Nah. Just remembering what it means to be krogan. That’s all.”

Chuckling, she turned and took a deep breath before heading to the upper deck to find Ashley. With their last few missions, the crew’s exhaustion had started to show, and no one wore it more plainly than Williams. She’d been quiet, a little more withdrawn since they’d hit Luna, though it wasn’t hard to guess why. Ashley had a deep-rooted loyalty to the Alliance and its mission. Seeing Alliance soldiers torn apart by the actions of a rogue VI had probably been hard to stomach. She found Ashley in the mess, leaning back in a chair, lost in thought. 

When Shepard approached, she straightened up, giving her a respectful nod. “Skipper.”

“At ease, Williams,” Shepard replied, keeping her tone light but curious. “Got a minute?” 

Ashley shifted her posture, her expression guarded but attentive. “Of course.”

Shepard settled into the seat across from her, choosing her words carefully. “Been meaning to check in with you. We’ve all been through a lot lately, especially after Luna. Did you know anybody on the station?”

Ashley’s eyes flickered, the muscles in her jaw tensing. “Yeah…uhm Alliance soldiers dying like that…basically spaced…” She trailed off, then let out a slow breath. “It’s a tough reminder of what we’re up against, you know? The Alliance is supposed to be the best of the best, and to see them reduced to… that , just because of some rogue tech? Doesn’t sit right.”

Shepard nodded, feeling the weight of it herself. “No one saw it coming, but we stopped it. The damage could’ve been so much worse.” She gave Ashley a long look, sensing there was more on her mind. “But that’s not all, is it?”

Ashley hesitated, glancing down at her hands. “No, it’s not.” Her voice lowered, her usual confidence dimmed by something heavier. “I keep thinking about what this all means, about humanity’s place in the galaxy. Luna was a reminder that… we’re still the newcomers here. Sometimes, it feels like we’re stumbling around in the dark.”

Shepard leaned back, studying her. This wasn’t something she often heard from Ashley—doubt, or something close to it. Usually, she was all fire and conviction. “You know, everyone’s finding their way out here. Even the older species don’t have all the answers. But humanity? We’re adaptable. That’s one of our strengths. Sometimes, it takes a few stumbles to find our footing.”

Ashley gave a hollow laugh, though there was little humor in it. “It’s just hard not to feel like we’re still too new at this. I mean, look at us, Commander. We’re humans trying to prove ourselves in a galaxy that’s been around for millennia. I’ve always had my grandfather’s voice in my ear, telling me humanity’s future is worth fighting for, but… it’s different now. Seeing the dead, seeing the bodies of our own people—it makes you question everything.”

Shepard studied Ashley for a moment, seeing the conflict behind her words. Ashley had always been tough, but this... this was different. This was humanity’s place in a galaxy full of ancient civilizations bearing down on her.

“You don’t have to prove anything, Ash,” Shepard said softly. “You’re doing it every day just by being here. Just by sticking with us.”

Ashley looked down, her fingers still tapping nervously on her mug. After a beat, she let out a quiet sigh, glancing up with a small smile. “You know, my grandfather served in the First Contact War. Back when the Turians were our biggest threat, when we were still proving ourselves as a race. He told me we had to fight, we had to earn our place in the galaxy, or we’d never be taken seriously.”

Shepard couldn’t help but feel a flicker of understanding. She knew the stories of humanity’s early days with the Council. The First Contact War had been bloody, and the scars had run deep.

“And your father?” Shepard asked, her voice gentle.

Ashley nodded slowly, her expression softening just a little. “Yeah. My dad was a Marine, too. He told me all the time that this —being a soldier—was about more than just duty. It was about legacy. About making sure we, as humans, earned our place, even if we had to fight for it.”

Ashley’s eyes darkened slightly, her gaze far away. “And then there’s Shanxi…and my cousin—she joined the military to do her part, but she’s all about the bigger picture. She wants to be this symbol for humanity—wants to show the galaxy we’re worth something, but she doesn’t understand it’s not about being a symbol. It’s about the people . The ones fighting on the ground. The ones who are paying for this war, paying with their lives, and she doesn’t get that.”

Shepard leaned forward, her voice firm. “You know, Ash, sometimes those symbols are born from the struggle. From what we do here, in the trenches. It’s easy to get lost in the big picture, but it’s the people who make it real. Your grandfather and your father—they knew that, and I think they’d be proud of the woman—the soldier you’ve become.”

Ashley looked up at her, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, Skipper. I guess sometimes it’s hard to remember that, y’know? But you’re right.” She took a breath and nodded. “I just want to make sure I’m doing enough. That they’d be proud of me.”

“You are,” Shepard said simply. “I’m proud of you, Ash. And I’m lucky to have you on this team.”

Ashley stood, her expression softening as she met Shepard’s gaze. “Thanks, Commander. That means a lot.”

Shepard stood as well, her smile brief but sincere. “We’ve got work to do. Feros won’t wait.”

Ashley nodded, straightening up with a little more determination than before. “You got it, Commander. I’ll be ready.” Shepard took a last glance at Ashley, seeing the quiet strength that was always there, but now—perhaps—just a little more solidified. They were all carrying their own weight, their own histories, but in the end, they were carrying it together. With a nod, she turned and headed out, her thoughts still lingering on the conversation.

Shepard stood at the threshold of the med bay. Liara was in there, as always—calm, serene, as though she could hold the world in place with nothing but a soft word. Just go in, she told herself. Just go in, and she’ll be there, and she’ll meet you where you are—like she’s proven she would….she’s probably busy though. Those pesky Prothean research papers don’t write themselves these days, you know. There’s only one leading expert in Prothean history and she’s right there in our med bay, tapping away at a data pad, lost in thought, probably awkwardly murmuring something in that cute way she does. She wanted to see that. What did Liara look like as she worked anyway? Was she hyperfocused and locked in her little Prothean world? 

Even so…her skin crawled with the pieces of the world crumbling around her. The pressure of Luna, the memory of dead Alliance soldiers, the ever-looming doubt—she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it all contained. Maybe if she could just be near the asari, then she’d feel better—she didn’t need attention or assurance, just the presence of that blue figure of comfort doing something she loved. 

The door slid open, and Liara looked up from the console, her gaze warm and knowing in a way that made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want to be seen, not like this—not vulnerable, not broken. Liara, however, was a true archeologist, a scientist, and no matter how many walls Shepard built, Liara would always find a way to knock them down…or excavate them anyway. 

“Shepard,” the asari greeted her softly, standing up, her voice melodic and gentle.

She only nodded, her throat tight. She forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Hey Liara…if it’s okay, I thought I’d just come and hang out for a bit. I just thought it’d to be nice to be near you.”

There was a pause, a quiet moment where Liara studied her, her eyes too perceptive, too focused. Shepard hated it, hated how Liara could always see past her defenses. She’s known me less than a month, yet here she is, just bulldozing years of particularly placed groundwork and boundaries. How? Is it more Asari mind fucking? Something I haven’t learned about them yet? The jig is up, Alison Shepard.

Liara’s gaze remained steady, “I have a sense you came here for more than to see what I was doing, Shepard.” It wasn’t an accusation as much as a gentle prompting.

“No, it’s fine,” she muttered, the lie coming out sharp, too quick. She didn’t even believe it herself, but the words came out anyway. They always did. “I just came to hang.” Liara’s gaze softened, her lips pressing together, trying to hold something back. Silence passed between them, Shepard’s heart racing. She didn’t want to open up. Not now, not ever. It would make it real—the things she’d buried deep inside. The guilt. The shame. She’s seen you drunk off your ass, Shep, throwing up, crying and shit. C’mon get real—be a woman about it . Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, focusing on a stray wire protruding from the console. 

“Am I so obvious?” she muttered, the words barely audible.

Liara stepped closer, just a few steps away now. “Perhaps, just to me,” she replied softly, reaching to brush a strand of hair and cup the Commanders cheek. Shepard’s breath caught in her throat, her gaze flickering toward the floor. The asari’s touch left her face aflame and her heart pounding hard against her ribs. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She wanted to deny it, to push Liara away, to retreat behind the boundaries she’d carefully constructed, but something held her rooted in place. “It’s...Luna,” she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper. “I keep seeing…” she trailed off, unable to voice the haunting images that played behind her eyes.

“I see,” Liara nodded, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “The mission replays in your mind.”

Shepard nodded, a wave of weariness washing over her. “Like a broken loop. I can’t—I can’t seem to turn it off.” She looked down, her gaze fixed on the floor. “And after last night—I just...I feel like I’m falling apart.”

Liara’s fingers gently brushed Shepard’s arm, sending a shiver through her. “You are not falling apart, Shepard. You’re...processing.”

She looked up, her gaze meeting Liara’s, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow, focusing on the intensity in the asari’s eyes. “Processing? I feel like I’m drowning.”

The asari’s hand gently brushed Shepard’s arm again, silently offering comfort. “Then let me be your..lifejacket,” she said softly. “Something to hold onto, until the waves calm.” Her shoulders slumped, the tension slowly draining from her body. She closed her eyes, a silent sigh escaping her lips.

The asari’s fingers shifted, tracing a gentle line along Shepard’s arm before resting lightly on her back. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she wrapped her arms around Shepard, pulling her close. She stiffened for a moment, the instinct to pull away flaring up, but the warmth of the asari’s embrace held her captive. She leaned into the touch, her face resting against Liara’s shoulder. The soft scent of the asari filled her senses as she buried her head into the crook of her neck. 

“I know it is not easy to talk,” Liara murmured, her voice almost vibrating against the human’s ear. “But I’m here. If you need...anything.”

Shepard’s hand lifted, her fingers gripping the fabric of Liara’s shoulder. “Just...stay,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears she was holding back.

Liara tightened her embrace. “Always.” A strange warmth bloomed in her chest, a sense of belonging she hadn’t felt in years. Still, a shadow of doubt lingered, reminding her why she was unworthy of such tenderness. This is a mistake, a voice in her head hissed. You’ll only hurt her.

“No, I’m sorry—I… can’t, shouldn’t,” she whispered suddenly, easing out of their embrace. “I’m not... I’m not capable of—” 

The asari’s hand gently touched her arm, urging the Commander to stay close to her. “I understand the past has shaped you, Shepard. Your past—it’s as though I can feel how much it burdens you, but I accept you, and I’ve no reservations.”

“Liara—I’m a basket case—for real, like…I’ve got nothing to offer you—I’m fucked up by all this shit that’s happened. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know what I am offering,” Liara snapped, somehow her tone still soft. “And I know who I want. I think you know too.”

The asari’s gaze held her captive, trapped in a stasis field she couldn’t see. It was like gravity had realigned, drawing her inexorably closer. The silence thrummed, thick with unspoken truths, the half-formed confessions spoken in the hazy aftermath of too much whiskey. Her fingers twitched at her sides. A dry rasp caught in her throat.

“I’m not sure I can,” she said, her voice lower than she intended. It wasn’t only the mission, the violence—it was how she’d scarcely gotten so close to anyone, and here, this beautiful, elegant asari maiden was saying all of the right things, and everything she did reminded her how little she knew about the world. “I’ve never… I don’t know how to… ‘open up’ or whatever. Not like this—not like how you deserve from a partner.”

Liara’s gaze softened, and for a moment, she could have sworn she saw the smallest flicker of hurt behind her eyes, but it was fleeting, gone before she could find it. Her voice broke, low and unwavering, “This isn’t about what you think I deserve. It isn’t your perfection that has captivated me. You…I don’t want you to be perfect, Shepard. I only need you to be honest. And you were… last night. You were honest--when you were… inebriated.” Her voice wavered slightly. “Do you remember?”

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“Do you…do you still want that—a relationship, I mean?”

The words felt stuck in her throat, but there was something undeniable in the air between them now, and there was no pretending she didn’t hear the asari.

“I do, it’s just…I don’t know how this works,” Shepard whispered, the words stretched and strained. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this—” She gestured weakly between them, “— with you . I’ve ruined every relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“Shepard,” she whispered. “That was then. This is now.” She paused, her eyes searching the humans. “And I am not them.” The asari stepped closer to move more hair from her face. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, but I’d like to be more than your friend. If you want that too, we can figure the rest out as it happens.”

There was a suffocating pressure threatening to steal her breath; instinct screamed how wrong it was—how she was setting herself up for failure. Still, every emotion she had experienced in the last 48 hours told her the asari was right—what she had with Liara was different from what she had with other lovers, and suddenly, the carefully constructed narratives of self-deprecation and her inevitable failure felt thin. Moot. If she stopped thinking about what she believed about herself, what she thought she deserved, the fragile, terrifying truth was she did want Liara. She wanted to hope, to believe that of the possible things in the galaxy, that she could be different was among them. Could she? 

“Okay,” she sighed. “Okay.”

Liara chuckled softly, like she knew this was always the outcome, and pulled the Commander into another hug, holding her just a bit tighter this time. She could feel Liara’s heartbeat against her, steady and calm when compared with her own pulse hammering beneath her skin. This time, the hug was different—closer—more intimate, more honest. Her fingers pressed gently into her back, and Shepard relaxed into it, letting her cheek rest against Liara’s shoulder, breathing in her warmth, the faint, calming scent that clung to her like wet on stone. 

The asari’s breath tickled the side of her neck, and she shivered when her cheek grazed against her own. It was a subtle, electric brush of skin that made her pulse jump, sending a soft, insistent warmth through her. What was that feeling in her stomach? What was inside of her that could flip and jump, thrash around like waves? Why did it feel good? 

After a moment, Liara shifted, pulling back just enough to look into Shepard’s eyes. Her hand slid up to her cheek, her thumb brushing gently against her skin, and she felt her breath hitch, her defenses slipping again, just for this moment. Liara’s gaze was deep and steady. She didn’t need to say anything else; Liara seemed to understand exactly what she wasn’t ready to put into words. 

For a long, quiet moment, they stayed like that—close enough to feel the heat of the other’s body, Liara’s a touch warmer than her own, which was weird to think about in the moment—how her blue skin could be so much warmer than her. Her gaze traced Liara’s face, studying the softness of her expression, her calm eyes, their breaths mingling between them. There was something achingly open about the way the asari looked at her—like she had meant everything she said—that she’d be there, that she’d listen, and she’d share in Shepard’s happiness and her sadness…her grief, her trauma. All of the pain. It looked like how she imagined love to look. Even that admission to herself felt overwhelming as it was inevitable. 

A slow breath escaped her, limbs numb to some unguarded curiosity, something like when she touched the Prothean beacon on Eden Prime, unspoken barriers slipped just a bit more. Her hand rose on its own, her fingers brushing along the delicate curve of Liara’s jaw, tracing, with her finger and her gaze now, down and resting it at the side of her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut with the touch and leaned into her hand, apparently savoring the closeness as much as Shepard was. She was beautiful, alien, but so much like herself. 

She brought her hand back up, cupping Liara’s cheek, her thumb brushing along her cerulean skin. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, only that there was a pull between them she couldn’t ignore, one she was tired of pretending didn’t matter. Liara’s eyes widened slightly, her breath catching, but she didn’t pull back, still leaning into the touch, her own hand resting lightly on Shepard’s shoulder, a barely-there pressure that felt more solid than any words could.

“Liara…” Shepard’s voice was soft, uncertain, but in that uncertainty, there was a quiet, insistent desire. A blue thumb traced her cheek softly now too. When was the last time she’d been held or touched like this…when she was a kid? When her parents were still alive? When Anderson found her? When he took her in like she was his daughter? Was it with Nellie? The women she’d had brief flings with? The gesture held more care than she knew what to do with, and that unwavering, quietly certain look in Liara’s blue eyes…it brought tears to her own. It was terrifying and comforting that someone could understand her without asking for more, without needing her to be someone else—who she didn’t feel she needed to be someone else with. In that grounding touch, her skin bright with goosebumps, she could be herself—or she could learn, or maybe relearn what that meant. 

She didn’t mean to close the distance, but she was right there , and then her lips brushed against Liara’s, hesitant, almost testing…it was softer than she expected, and warmth pooled in her stomach when she responded without hesitation, meeting her like it had been waiting there all along. She could taste the coolness of the asari’s biotics like she could smell rain before a storm. As they lingered there, Shepard felt her hand move to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her red hair, holding her close, that warmth reverberating through her— relief? What was it living in the stillness between them that held her there, that demanded their lips never part, their passion never die?

Her hand found Liara’s waist, resting there. She wasn’t sure when she’d last felt like this—unguarded, vulnerable, in an oxymoronic safety. Liara’s lips curved into a faint smile against her own, and Shepard’s heart skipped a pulse at the gesture. Pulling back just slightly, she looked at Liara, breathing just a bit uneven, words hard to find. The intensity of Liara’s gaze exposed her, like everything she’d kept hidden was laid bare, and for once, it didn’t frighten her. She let her forehead rest against the asari’s, a smile tugging faintly at her lips as they caught their breath together.

Liara’s fingers intertwined with hers, and they stayed like that, words unnecessary. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to convey the promises she couldn’t yet make. She smiled softly, pulling the human toward the small cot in the corner. Shepard hesitated, feeling her heartbeat quicken, but Liara only gave a soft, understanding smile—a silent invitation to rest and nothing more. Without really thinking more about it, she followed, letting herself slip into the space beside Liara. The closeness was new, unfamiliar, but it didn’t feel wrong. 

She settled against Liara’s side, feeling the asari’s arm wrap gently around her, pulling her close. Her head found Liara’s shoulder, and the steady rhythm of Liara’s breathing was grounding, a quiet reminder that not every moment needed to be fought through. Her fingers found hold on a blanket and pulled it over them. 

After a pause, Liara’s voice broke the silence, soft but thoughtful. “I,” she began, her voice gentle, “I’m not sure I ever expected to be here. Not like this, not… with you.” There was a touch of wonder in her tone, like the thought had just dawned on her. Shepard felt the warmth of it, a soft hum beneath her cheek.

Shepard chuckled softly. “Could’ve fooled me,” she replied, a bit more relaxed than she’d expected to be. Her fingers absently found Liara’s, tracing the lines along her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin. “You had me pegged from the start, didn’t you?”

“Maybe I did,” she admitted. “But you’re all surprises to me, Shepard.” 

They drifted into conversation, their voices quiet in the dimly lit room. Shepard found herself sharing more than she had meant to—small stories, fragments of her life on Earth that felt almost strange to talk about now. She spoke of things she’d buried, simple memories she hadn’t dusted off in years. Liara listened without interrupting, her hand brushing gently through Shepard’s hair or tracing slow, soothing patterns along her shoulder. Liara’s presence beside her made it easier to let the words out, her touches were both teasing and soothing. She’d never felt so bright.

“There was this one place, an old diner right off the corner of Portside,” Shepard began, a faint smile ghosting her lips. “They had this mural painted on the wall—a whole city skyline. It looked kind of ridiculous, honestly, but I went there so often it started to feel like… home, I guess. The owner, Rena, always set aside the last seat at the counter for me, always gave me free coffee.” Shepard chuckled softly. “Sometimes I think she only did it so I wouldn’t scare off her other customers.”

Liara smiled, tracing light patterns along Shepard’s shoulder. “I imagine she saw more than that,” she replied quietly. “It sounds like you found your own little sanctuary.”

“Maybe, I don’t know,” Shepard wondered, her gaze distant, the memory softening her voice. “It was one of the few places I could actually relax for a while. I’d drink coffee and just… sit there, watching people come and go.” She shook her head with a small laugh. “Funny thing, though? I never actually told anyone about it. Never wanted to share it with anyone, even Remi—the guy you heard call me AJ. I think Rena knew I was in the Reds, but she never commented on it.”

Liara nodded thoughtfully, letting Shepard’s words settle between them, as though drawing a map of these unseen places Shepard had called home. There was a pause, then Liara spoke again, encouraging gently, “Did you ever go back? After… everything?”

Shepard hesitated, her brow creasing slightly. “Once, after boot camp. Thought I could walk in there, have a cup of coffee like nothing had changed.” She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “The whole place was different, it felt smaller, like I’d outgrown it. Rena’s son took over, and it felt sterile, ya know—like a hospital cafeteria? It wasn’t the cozy place I frequented anymore.” Shepard’s fingers traced the edge of Liara’s hand absently. “I haven’t gone back since.”

For a while, Liara didn’t speak, but her hand continued its steady path along Shepard’s arm, grounding her, silently encouraging her to keep going. “Tell me more,” she said after Shepard had been quiet awhile. 

“You first,” Shepard laughed. “Did you have any special places—Remi’s and Rena’s of your own?”

“I suppose that is fair,” Liara grinned. “I’m afraid I’m not so interesting, Shepard.” 

“You said that before, but come on, Liara—I totally beg to differ.”

“Well, that would be a sight, wouldn’t it?” the asari laughed, her cheeks blushing and her laugh harder as Shepard’s face turned the color of her hair. Through her giggling, she pulled Shepard back into her chest, a smile on her lips. The two settled a moment, Liara’s fingers still along Shepard’s shoulder, and she held her smile. “It isn’t quite as entertaining as your coffee chop, but I used to go this tiny library near where I grew up—Armali,” her voice carried a fondness Shepard was beginning to trust. “It wasn’t quite hidden exactly, but it was out of the way, built into the side of a cliff overlooking the ocean. I’ve spent so much time in grand libraries and archives, as I suppose as I should have—but that library was so small and charming. I’d go there on weekends, usually when Mother was preoccupied with work.” She chuckled softly. “It felt like my own secret place.”

Shepard shifted slightly, watching her with quiet curiosity. “Did you find anything good there?” she asked, her voice relaxed. 

Liara nodded, a faint blush touching her cheeks. “Oh, yes… the books there were—well, probably the opposite of scholarly,” she laughed lightly. “Most of them were stories from old Asari myths or—rather scandalous romances, actually. A far cry from my usual research, but… they felt different. Realer, somehow. Each story had a little spark of life in it, even if the plots were… well, quite imaginative.”

Shepard let out a small laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Romance novels?”

Liara smiled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yes, well—I’ve always had a bit of a… curious side, and when I was young, it was the one place I could explore it without feeling any judgment. Thinking about it now, Mother actually might have approved—she always wanted me to be more like others my age.” She tilted her head, her gaze meeting the human’s. “There was one story I read—about a justicar and another asari she met on her journey.” Shepard watched her, the quiet between them warm, inviting Liara’s voice to fill it.“The justicar was everything I imagined: disciplined, unwavering, someone who gave her life to a higher purpose,” Liara continued. 

“Justicar?” Shepard interrupted. 

“A justicar is an Asari who dedicates her life to the pursuit of justice above all else, even if it means giving up family, friends—everything. Their code is more unbreakable than any law, and they rarely form any bonds.”

“So this was like a forbidden kind of love story?” Shepard winked, raising her eyebrows. 

“Yes, that and… well, the justicar in that story was already breaking convention by letting someone get so close, but perhaps it was even more unusual because they were both Asari. It’s… Asari are discouraged from connecting with each other like that, to avoid ‘diluting’ Asari diversity.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Union between two Asari is…uncommon; it’s believed to weaken our species—Asari daughters inherit racial traits of their father’s—if you want to use that term—so, if both parents are asari, there’s nothing to be gained, or so conventional wisdom would hold. I am what is sometimes called a ‘pureblood,’ though no one would ever be so cruel as to say that to my face…it is a great insult among my people.”

“That’s interesting—some humans have similar beliefs, but it was worse before the First Contact War. It was weird if two humans of the same gender became partners—kinda for a similar reason as yours, only two human’s of the same gender cannot reproduce like those of different genders,” Shepard added. 

“Yes, I believe I’ve read about this. Your people have such a strange, convoluted history, Shepard.”

“So—your story—the justicar?”

“Right, right—a justicar’s entire life has a single path forward, without room for anyone else.” She smiled faintly. “But then she met this other asari—a poet, of all things. They had little in common at first, except that the poet was… persistent. She would show up wherever the justicar went, carrying her little books and asking questions about justice and sacrifice, writing prose, probing at things the justicar kept sealed away.” Shepard felt a light chuckle escape, watching Liara’s smile deepen as she went on.

Perhaps I have a poet of my own?

“The justicar never gave her anything, not really—she tried to ignore the poet’s questions altogether. However, as years went on, slowly, their bond grew. They found a friendship, a rhythm in each other’s company, the justicar’s quiet resolve softened by the poet’s openness. She never had to say anything to the poet about her burdens; the poet understood them in silence. She stayed, all the same.” 

There was something wistful in Liara’s voice, and Shepard’s fingers found the maiden’s, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Did they…?”

Liara’s smile turned a little wry and she blushed, “No. Justicars don’t allow themselves such attachments, but it wasn’t a tragedy—not really,” she added softly. “They knew what they meant to each other. They each stayed true to themselves, side by side. Perhaps I read it so many times I had begun to project my own fantasies a bit, but it always seemed to me the poet wanted more with the justicar, like there was always an undercurrent of tension between them. I used to imagine versions of the story in which the justicar could have romantic relationships, but it never felt as true as it would have been had the author written it.”

The warmth of the story lingered between them, and Shepard could sense how much the tale must have meant to Liara, seeing glimpses of companionship and understanding even where attachment was impossible. The quiet stretched out around them, and she felt the asari’s fingers tracing small, thoughtful circles along her hand, grounding them both in the stillness.

Shepard’s expression softened, her fingers tracing gentle patterns along Liara’s hand. “Sounds like you found something good there, after all.”

She looked away, almost shyly. “Maybe I did. I think… I just liked the idea of finding someone who understands you completely, who you can rely on no matter what.” Her voice was quiet, a faint wistfulness in her tone.

Shepard gave her hand a small squeeze. “Well, you definitely picked a good one to start with.” Her tone held a gentle warmth, playful but sincere. “I’ll have to read it.” 

“Would you?” Liara asked, practically jumping. “I would love for you to read it. I may have a copy lodged away in my apartment at the Citadel—remind me when we go back next. It’s called Honor’s Last Embrace .” 

“I will—especially if you get that excited just by my offer to read it,” she grinned. 

“Now—your turn. Again .”

Shepard exhaled, her voice dropping to a murmur as more memories surfaced, ones she hadn’t voiced in years. “There was this time I tried to teach myself how to cook—not sure what I was thinking.” She rolled her eyes with a chuckle. “Thought it would be cheaper to buy groceries, learn a few recipes. I’m pretty sure I broke three pans and set off the fire alarm twice. Worst spaghetti you’d ever seen, and Anderson was pissed—well, as pissed as he can get at me, anyway. He was more exasperated than anything— ‘didn’t those Reds teach you anything about cooking? They taught you to shoot a gun before they taught you how to boil water?’ It was bad.”

“I don’t know what this ‘spaghetti’ is, but—” Liara let out a quiet laugh, her expression warm, “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you’re making it sound.”

“It was that bad.” Shepard’s voice was tinged with amusement. “I decided to stick to MREs and coffee after that. Safer that way.” 

Liara grinned, her eyes softening as she absorbed these small, unguarded glimpses of the Commander’s past. “I like… imagining these parts of you,” she said, her voice gentle but certain, her gaze meeting Shepard’s.

The human held her gaze, feeling warmth rising in her chest. “Not much left of that person, though,” she said, her voice edged with a hint of sadness. “Feels like it all got buried somewhere back there, somewhere I can’t reach. I think the Consort fucked with me a little—I’m remembering things I didn’t know I’d forgotten.”

Liara’s hand tightened slightly on her arm, as if offering reassurance. “It’s not gone. It’s just… in a deeper part of you, and maybe one day, when things are quieter, you’ll find pieces of it again.” Her voice was soft, understanding, as though offering hope without insisting. At Liara’s request, Shepard continued talking about friends she’d lost touch with, the ones she’d left behind as she moved through the ranks, people she couldn’t reconnect with now even if she tried. She mentioned small things, too: the rush of standing on rooftops overlooking the city, the endless beat of traffic below, moments that had felt infinite in her youth but now seemed strangely far away. Liara listened closely, still combing her fingers through Shepard’s hair.

Eventually, after a comfortable pause, Liara’s voice returned, a soft question lingering in the quiet. “Last evening, on the Citadel, one of the Reds called you ‘AJ.’” She hesitated unsure of her question, then gently pressed on. “I’ve not heard anyone call you that before. Is it your name? What does it mean?” 

Shepard’s fingers stilled their circling on Liara’s palm, her gaze drifting away as she processed the question. It wasn’t something she talked about often. “Yeah, uhm…it’s short for Alison Jane…after everything on Mindoir happened, I just needed to be someone else.” She let out a small, hesitant laugh. “Names are weird, ya know? No one’s called me Allie since Mindoir—well, excluding Anderson, but I asked him not to after I enlisted. On Earth, everyone knew me as AJ, and after Akuze…after Akuze, it was just easier to be Shepard.” Liara’s fingers paused momentarily in her hair, then resumed, gentle and grounding. She didn’t press, letting the human find her words. “It’s hard to explain,” she went on, her voice almost a murmur. “It was like… leaving those names behind made it easier to handle everything, the things I’ve done. ‘Shepard’ was someone reliable, someone stronger, when I didn’t feel like AJ could get back up, and AJ was…she wasn’t the kid on Mindoir.”

Liara’s gaze softened, understanding. “Thank you for telling me,” she whispered. “For what it’s worth, I think both of them make you who you are,” she murmured, her voice warm and reassuring. “Perhaps all that is gone is not lost, and I feel very lucky to know… all of you.” 

Shepard offered a small, vulnerable feeling smile. “Maybe it’s not as gone as I thought.” The asari nodded, giving Shepard’s hand a gentle squeeze. Shepard’s eyes grew heavy as she sank deeper into the warmth at her side. Before she even realized it, sleep claimed her, her breaths slowing, her body curling instinctively into Liara’s warmth. 

I would be your poet, Allie , Liara thought, twirling Shepard’s red hair with her fingers. You could be the justicar, and I would follow you anywhere…be there for you however you need.

Thank Goddess neither of us are justicars though. I’d certainly like to kiss you more.  

***

Shepard’s eyes opened to the muted glow of the lights in Liara’s quarters. She lay still for a moment, recalling why she was here, her breath still as she leaned into the steady warmth at her side. Liara . She was still there, one are resting protectively over her and the other tangled in the blanket they’d unconsciously shared. 

When was the last time she’d allowed herself to fall asleep with someone else—with someone so close? Sometimes after a night out she’d go home with someone, let them treat her, listen to their stories over more drinks, and let them take her to bed, sleep with them, but then she would leave. She’d stay long enough to make sure the other was okay—were they okay with her leaving, did they need anything more. A few times they’d exchange numbers, but most of her relationships only lasted a few months before they realized Shepard was a bit of a closed book—a woman married to her work. Or, they’d figure out she was emotionally unavailable and joked too much when the situation didn’t exactly call for it. She wasn’t the ‘take to a dinner party’ kind of girl. The last girl she’d slept with, if you were to call Asari women, was Vala from Chora’s Den—and Vala had been more of a stone-top kind of lover—not to say she cared about human conventions of sexuality, but she was thankful she didn’t need to do much. Vala knew what she wanted, and she knew what Shepard needed…or seemed to know more than she did anyway. 

That was the same night she got shitfaced and almost made a laughing stock out of the first human Spectre and likely the entire human race too. She slept beside Liara that night, too, but she was too drunk to really appreciate it like she could now. Here, her usual wariness, the instinct to sleep lightly and alone was nowhere to be found. Instead, she slept like a rock, and woke with a feeling she didn’t know how to name—a sense of safety unfamiliar and unnervingly intimate. 

Her fingers flexed slightly beneath Liara’s hand as she simply watch the rise and fall of her chest, trying to match the asari’s breath with her own. Without thinking, she gave Liara’s hand a gentle squeeze, watching at the asari stirred slightly, her expression soft and unguarded in sleep. For a breath, she remembered the fragmented names she’d entrusted to Liara. AJ. Allie. Shepard. They were suspended before her like none were hiding in her past, now existing in the same breath. The names, the versions of herself once felt atrophied, maybe still did, but the warmth in her chest, the tears brimming in her eyes—she felt whole, and that acceptance of herself was something she hadn’t felt in years. 

Liara stirred, eyelids fluttering before she gave a sleepy smile, her eyes just barely opening. “You’re awake,” she murmured, her voice gentle, still softened by sleep.

Shepard returned the smile, a rare, unguarded glance she couldn’t bring herself to retract. “Guess I am,” she replied, her voice low, softened by a trace of humor. “Didn’t think I’d fall asleep like that.”

The asari’s eyes opened a bit more, her expression thoughtful as she studied the Commander in the muted morning light. “It’s alright,” Liara whispered. “I think even the stars need their rest.”

A quiet huff escaped Shepard, a sound somewhere between a laugh and an exhale, the rarest hint of color rising to her cheeks. All the names, all the battle-worn pieces of herself… felt less heavy, if only for a moment, nestled there under Liara’s gaze. “I think I could get used to this,” she murmured, her eyes drifting across Liara’s face as if memorizing the quiet contentment in her expression.

Liara’s smile grew, her hand lifting to brush a loose strand of Shepard’s hair back with a feather-light touch. “Then perhaps we can make it a habit,” she replied, her voice no louder than a breath. “We may want to consider a larger bed, however.”

Shepard smiled, but couldn’t think of anything to say—only that’s what she wanted too. The warmth lingered as they lay there, neither one speaking, lost in silence they knew would have to end. Eventually, the call of duty pulled Shepard back, a quiet signal in her mind reminding her of all she still had left to do. She sighed, the sound barely breaking the quiet, and gave Liara’s hand a final, gentle squeeze before slowly sitting up, the cold air immediately noticeable without Liara’s warmth. As she stood, she let her hand drift away, savoring the touch for just a second longer than she should. Crossing to the terminal on Liara’s desk, she activated the console where the mission briefing for Feros blinked on the screen, ready for her attention. 

“Are you going to speak with the team?” Liara asked, her voice calm and growing as she rose from the bed to stand beside Shepard.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice softened as she scrolled through the preliminary intel. There were reports of a geth incursion, which was likely due to the prospect of Prothean ruins on the planet. The details were kind of vague, a mystery wrapped in silence—the kind of thing that made her shoulders tense without meaning to. 

Liara placed a hand on her back, “We’ll be all right, Allie. Whatever we find there, we’ll face together.”

Shepard gave her a small nod, appreciating the sentiment more than she could say with words. She turned into Liara and hugged her tightly, she was small beside the asari, who was a few inches taller than her—but it wasn’t in a bad way that she felt small, rather it was like she could tuck herself someplace safe. It wasn’t unlike the thistles and brush she hid in when Mindoir was attacked, except, in this refuge, there was nothing to scar her. “Thank you.” 

It was for more than her words, but for everything the asari had done since they’d met on Therum. That felt lightyears away from her like she’d known Liara her entire life—it was hardly possible to love someone so soon, yet that’s what this felt like. Was that love? To know you’re safe in the arms of another, to sleep hard and sound for the first time in years beside them? Was it that you didn’t mind them calling you by name—the one your parents gave you, like the way she said it made it sound better, reminded her of what it felt like to be a child on a human colony so far from her homeworld? Was it that when she kissed her, she didn’t want to stop? She could lay in bed for hours just figuring out how to kiss her like she knew what she was doing—until she knew for sure she was excellent, that every kiss she’d give her lover would make her knees weak, her stomach warm? She’d never been in love before. She’d never felt like this before. 

After a quick exchange of glances, they moved toward the door, leaving behind the intimacy of Liara’s quarters. The hallway outside was dimly lit with the Normandy crew already stirring—she could sense the restlessness, the readiness. Shepard strained her shoulders, squaring herself as she wandered to the mess for a cup of coffee. 

The crew was already gathered in the briefing room when she arrived, each member leaning over the map display, reviewing the scattered data on Feros. Kaidan glanced up first, his usual serious expression tinged with curiosity. Garrus stood nearby, calibrating his equipment with that focused intensity she’d come to recognize as his pre-mission ritual. Wrex leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, seemingly unaffected by the impending danger.

“Alright, listen up,” Shepard announced, her voice carrying the tone of command that her crew knew well. The quiet moment from her quarters faded, replaced by a calm determination that felt as much a part of her as the armor on her back. “We’ve got limited intel, but what we know doesn’t look good. Feros has gone dark, and the Alliance has concerns about the colony’s welfare. We’ll be dealing with a shit ton of geth on the ground, so be prepared for anything.”

Liara settled in beside her, listening intently as Shepard continued outlining the mission. Shepard’s gaze drifted briefly to her, a fleeting look that hinted at the connection they’d shared just moments ago, grounding her in the trust they’d built, the bond they’d begun.

“I’m going to lead a small strike team—Liara and Garrus—you’ll be with me; we’ll handle geth and head toward the ExoGeni facility, and Alenko—you’ll lead Bravo team; I’ll have more specific orders once we get an idea what we’re walking into. Suit up and meet in the cargo bay in ten.” Shepard finished, her tone leaving no room for hesitation. The crew nodded, their faces a blend of determination and focus. 

As they began dispersing to gather their gear, Shepard caught Liara’s eye, the barest smile slipping through her serious expression. They’d had their moment of rest. Now, it was time to face whatever lay in wait on Feros.

***

The Normandy’s ramp lowered, opening to the smoky, grim skyline of Zhu’s Hope. Every structure seemed bleak and muted, worn with the desperation and marks of battles warred without them. As she stepped off the ramp, the rest of Alpha team and Bravo team behind her, a thin and jumpy figure moved toward them. He wore the strained, haggard look of someone barely holding himself together. 

“Commander! We saw your ship land!” he called out, a glimpse of relief covering his expression before fear prevailed. “You need to speak with Fai Dan immediately.” 

She caught a glance from Kaidan, his expression hardening as he assessed the colony’s state. “Who’s Fai Dan?” she asked, her tone cool and steady. 

“He’s our leader—he’ll need your help to prepare for the next wave,” the man continued, his words rushed like he might not get them all out. “The geth—they’re gonna make another push soon. Please—up the stairs and past the freiter.”

Shepard nodded, signalling for her team to follow, but just as they stepped past the frantic man, a low mechanical hum filled the air around them. Her pulse quicked and her instincts took over—she hardly had time for her mind to match her mouth, “Get down!” she yelled before a round of blinding, red-white energy lanced toward them. 

Instantly, the man was down, his vody crumpling where he stood, eyes wide in the final flash of terror, dead before he could think to move. She dropped to a crouch, honing in on the danger as her thoughts ran. We’re already surrounded . 

“Geth!” Garrus barked, bringing his rifle up to sight, his talons steady on the trigger; his visor flashed as he locked onto targets, firing off a sharp volley.

Shepard clenched her teeth, every nerve tuned to the fight as she shouted, “Push forward! Get this fuckers down!” The colonists’ lives depended on it, and there wasn’t time to wonder how many had already been lost. 

A blast shot across her shoulder as a geth destroyer flanked them from the side, its bulky frame bearing down with an ominous whine. Liara’s hands glowed, her biotic energy wrapping around the machine in a swirling grip, ripping it from the ground and slamming it back into the dirt.

“I’ve got you, Shepard!” she shouted, her voice fierce as she anchored the team with her biotics, tossing away any geth within range. A loud, rumbling explosion rocked the platform as another geth ship appeared overhead, dropping reinforcements like a vessel of iron ants. Garrus fired, picking off soldiers from a distance, while Kaidan rushed forward, erecting a biotic barrier just in time to absorb a blast meant for Shepard.

“Thanks, Lt,” Shepard said, her voice gritty but grateful. His steady resolve at her back bolstered her own determination. Steeling herself, she rose from cover with her rifle trained on the enemies charging forward. Her mind cycled through each movement, each decision, clear as the surface of calm water.

When they finished off the geth, the team leapt into the colony slapping medi-gel onto any wounds, no words between their panting breaths. Shepard and her squad moved swiftly toward the colony’s main structure, a crumbling, grey building barely standing after the assault. She watched the colonists moving in her periphery, eyes often empty, expressions distant, like they were burdened by an invisible hand. They’d respond to simple questions but avoided direct eye contact, speaking in strangely clipped tones. Outside the entrance, they found a tense man waiting, visibly relieved to see them.

“Commander Shepard,” he greeted, his voice worn with exhaustion. “I’m Fai Dan. I can’t tell you how grateful we are—though you’re a bit late, aren’t you?” He cast a glance around nervously, his fingers tapping against his belt in an anxious rhythm. “We need you. The geth… they’ve overrun us, and they’re about to make another push.”

Shepard nodded, assessing the faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. “We’ll do what we can. What do you need?” Before he could answer, a loud crash sound from above, followed by a metallic hum that was becoming disturbingly familiar. “Get down!” Shepard shouted, raising her rifle and blocking Fai Dan.

The area exploded into motion, geth troops storming the entrance, their polished, glinting frames reflecting the setting sun just enough to blind her. Fai Dan ducked behind a crate, clutching his head as Shepard and her team sprung into action. Garrus was already firing, landing precision shots that sparked off the enemy’s armor.

“Protect the heart of the colony!” Fai Dan yelled over the noise. “They’ll tear through us if they reach the power core.”

Shepard motioned her team to split, Ashley and Kaiden peeling off to flank the geth while Liara conjured a shimmering biotic barrier between Fai Dan and the assault. She fired, her shots punctuated by sharp mechanical screeches as each geth fell into the dirt.

“Hold fast!” she shouted to Fai Dan, as if her command alone could keep him steady. They fought on, the air thick with smoke and the metallic tang of burning circuits and ozone until finally, the last geth hit the ground, its optics fading to dark.

Breathing hard, Fai Dan emerged from his cover, his gratitude shadowed by renewed worry. “Thank you, C-Commander. You’ve saved us… for now.” He hesitated, looking beyond the carnage to the colony’s distant, barely functional defenses. “But the geth won’t stop. Not until they’ve destroyed every last one of us.”

Her eyes hardened as she reloaded. “Then we’ll keep fighting them.” 

She gathered the team in a tight circle, the air around them thick with dust and tension. “Alright,” she said, her voice low and firm. “Bravo Team, you’re staying here. Help secure the colony and assist with water, power, and food shortages.” She looked at Ashley, who nodded with a determined set to her jaw. “Kaiden, you’re leading Bravo. Coordinate with the colonists and fortify these tunnels. I need you to keep the geth from overwhelming them.”

Kaiden’s eyes flicked to his team—Wrex, Tali, and Ashley. “Copy that, Commander. We’ll keep them safe over here.”

Shepard turned to her squad, “Garrus, Liara—Alpha Team’s pushing forward. ExoGeni’s our next target.” Her eyes lingered on each of them, sensing the resolve in the turian’s steely gaze and the quiet curiosity in Liara’s. This was the crew she trusted to dig into the heart of the colony’s troubles, and they’d need every ounce of it. She trusted them both wholeheartedly.

“Commander, be careful out there,” a middle-aged colonist leaned in close to her, voice shaking just a little too much. “The geth…they aren’t our only problem. Things are—please, you have to help us.” Shepard’s gaze narrowed as she held the woman’s uneasy stare, searching for more. The colonist’s lips twitched, almost reflexively tightening before she stepped back with a vacant nod, her eyes clouding over once more.

“Right, uhm,” Shepard said, her voice steady but deliberate. “Bravo Team, you’re on supply issues. Alenko, take point. Keep an eye on the tunnels, and don’t take any risks. Stay in contact.”

The Lt gave a sharp nod, his  expression tight, and he moved off to gather his team.

The uneasy silence that followed was almost suffocating. Something wasn’t adding up, but she pushed the thoughts away, focusing instead on the task ahead. “Let’s move,” she muttered, her tone harder this time, but still carrying that edge of concern.

Fai Dan’s voice broke through her thoughts, the calmness of it almost startling. “You’ll have to take the elevator to the skyway, Commander.”

She nodded, leading the way toward the elevator. The door opened with a hesitant groan, revealing its worn interior. Garrus followed, giving the old machine a suspicious look—it did appear like it might collapse at any moment. Liara moved silently behind them, her hand brushing Shepard’s as they all entered. She caught the brief contact, and she didn’t pull away. There was something comforting in it, something that made the mission a little easier to bear. 

The elevator shuddered to life, and Shepard muttered under her breath, “I can’t believe we have to take a mako. I fucking hate those things.”

Liara arched a brow. “I was under the impression you were quite experienced with them.”

“Experience and enjoyment aren’t the same,” she sighed.

Garrus let out a low chuckle. “Come on, Shepard, the mako’s not that bad.”

She gave him a flat look. “It handles like a drunk pyjak on ice.”

“Fair,” the turian conceded, mandibles twitching in amusement. “Still, I think most of the near-death experiences come from you , not the mako. So we’ll probably be fine.”

Shepard shot him a look. “Funny, I don’t remember you offering to take the wheel.”

“Like you’d let anyone else drive,” the turian chuckled as the elevator rattled on, slowly taking them up toward the Skyway. Shepard shifted uncomfortably, fingers tapping restlessly against the railing as she considered what lay ahead. The old machinery around them creaked, but nothing could drown out the growing tension between them and the facility above. “Between your driving and your dancing, I’d say the mako’s probably safest for everyone involved.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “You want to test that theory, Vakarian?” When the elevator finally reached its destination, she was the first to step out, taking in the desolate landscape before them. The mako stood just ahead, its bulky form intimidating under the cold sky. It looked almost too quiet, too ready for the mess bound to come.

“I’ve never seen you dance, Commander. Is it really as bad as Garrus says?” Liara asked, her head tilted slightly, her voice light with intrigue.

Shepard’s lips quirked up at the edges, but she gave no real answer, opting to keep the mystery intact. “Some things are better left unseen,” she said, glancing at Garrus with a teasing smirk.

Garrus chuckled. “I wouldn’t go that far, but it’s definitely memorable.”

The asari’s gaze shifted between them, her expression neutral, though there was a soft glint of curiosity in her eyes. “I see… well, I suppose some mysteries are worth preserving.”

Shepard gave the mako a long appraising look before nodding, “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Liara hopped into the passenger seat, glancing over at Shepard with a look that was far too warm for the situation. “I’ll try not to get in the way,” she said, her voice carrying a playful edge.

She flashed a grin, leaning slightly toward the asari as she whispered, teasingly, “Careful, T’Soni, I can’t be held responsible if you end up distracting me.” The way she said it, soft but with an edge, left room for a smile, but her green eyes held the challenge, a playful dare in them. 

Garrus, already in the gunner’s seat, shot a glance over at the Commander. “If you’re driving, I’ll just concentrate on the shooting. Sound like a plan?”

Shepard didn’t need to respond—her hands were already gripping the wheel, guiding the mako into motion with a grumble of frustration. As much as she hated it, she had to admit the mako’s engines could handle anything the skyway threw at them.

With a deep breath, she gunned the throttle, the mako rocketing forward. “Let’s see how fast this thing can go,” Shepard muttered, the first shots of the battle already beginning in the distance. And with that, the mako rumbled down the Skyway toward ExoGeni, the road ahead filled with geth forces waiting to be obliterated.

“You ready for this, Doc?” Shepard asked, her voice low as she revved the engine. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing in around them. The quiet moments, these small gestures were starting to mean more than she was willing to admit. 

Liara turned her head toward Shepard, eyes narrowing in thought before answering. “I’m always ready,” she said, her voice a little too smooth. Her lips parted slightly, the smile lingering, but it was gone as quickly as it came, leaving only the determined edge to her tone. “Let’s just hope our ‘friends’ up ahead aren’t as eager as we are.”

Garrus, already seated in the gunner’s turret, interrupted with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, Liara. They’ll be plenty eager once they see what we’re packing.” 

Shepard slammed the accelerator, the mako lurching forward, tires skidding over the cracked metal surface of the Skyway. The geth barely had time to react before Garrus opened fire from the turret, the recoil sending a low tremor through the vehicle. Blue-white bursts of energy cut through the air, searing into the enemy ranks as Shepard wove the mako between the scattered remains of old road barriers and twisted debris.

“Boom, boom, boom,” she muttered under her breath, voice low and half-distracted, more reflex than thought. The mako rattled beneath her grip as the geth returned fire, plasma rounds slamming into the shields, lighting up the console with red warnings.

Across from her, Liara braced herself against the seat, fingers curling against the worn edges. She sucked in a breath as they jolted over a broken support beam, her expression somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

“You waste no time, do you?” There was a thread of laughter in her voice, as if she wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or terrified.

Shepard smirked, eyes locked on the road ahead. “Not much for sightseeing on a mission.” She jerked the wheel, sending the mako into a sharp roll to avoid an incoming rocket. “Next time we’ll take the scenic route—make a date of it.”

Liara tightened her grip, her lips parting slightly before settling into a knowing smile, the cutest flush across her cheeks. “I’ll manage.” She shot her a sidelong glance, her voice warm despite the way she visibly tensed as the mako hurtled toward a cluster of geth. “Just try not to lose me.”

She exhaled a short chuckle. “Wouldn’t dream of it, T’Soni.”

A barrage of plasma fire streaked past them. Garrus adjusted his aim, his shots cutting down the advancing geth with ruthless precision. “A little less on flirting and a little more ‘not getting us killed,’” he called from the turret. Another well-placed round sent a sniper platform careening over the edge of the Skyway.

Shepard blushed, but ultimately ignored him, swerving to avoid the smoking wreckage. Ahead, the skeletal remains of the ExoGeni facility support struts were barely clinging to the bridge. The geth weren’t done with them yet. “We’re almost there,” she muttered, voice tight.

Liara had shifted slightly closer, her body language open, alert. Not just bracing herself anymore—she was preparing, the way a soldier did before a fight. Garrus’s voice crackled over the comms. “Brace yourselves—got incoming!”

She barely had time to register it before the mako rocked violently to the side, a missile impact sending them into a spin. The controls wrenched in her grip. Liara gasped, her fingers tightening—not on the console this time, but against Shepard’s thigh.

The Commander righted them with a sharp pull of the wheel. “You good?”

The asari maiden nodded, her voice steady despite the white-knuckle grip. “I’m fine.”

Shepard didn’t let herself linger on that moment—on the way Liara’s hand stayed there a beat too long before she pulled away.

Another cluster of geth forces took position at the base of the complex. Shepard gunned the accelerator. “I’ll get us through—Garrus, you just keep ‘em off us.”

“No objections here.” The turret swiveled, and another controlled burst sent a detonation rippling through the geth ranks.

Liara exhaled, bracing herself as the mako surged over a pile of wreckage. “You really are getting us there one way or another.”

Shepard gave her a sidelong glance, but her hands stayed steady on the controls. “Gotta make a statement.”

The moment stretched—gunfire, the roar of the engine, the sharp impact of weapon fire against the shields. Then she added with a burst of chuckles, “ mako statement.”

Liara let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Garrus just groaned. The turret went silent for half a second. Then he fired off a shot with perfect deadpan precision. “You dance better than you tell jokes.”

Shepard laughed, rolling the mako into another hard turn. They hit the front gates at full speed. She slammed the brakes, tires screeching as the mako skidded to a stop inches from the reinforced metal doors. She was already unstrapping herself before the dust settled.

“Move out,” she ordered, her tone clipped. The team disembarked swiftly. Garrus was already at the terminal, scanning the system. Liara kept watch, biotic energy humming faintly around her fingertips. Shepard flexed her grip around her pistol, scanning the dimly lit exterior of the facility.

The silence was wrong.

Garrus glanced at his omni-tool. “This system’s been accessed recently. No signs of a clean-up.”

Liara’s eyes flickered to him, then to the shadows ahead. “Perhaps the geth are not our only concern here.”

She didn’t like that. It wasn’t just a theory—it was the way Liara said it, like she knew something else was waiting inside. Like she wasn’t just thinking about the geth. I suppose Saren or even Benezia could be here. What a treat that would be, right? As soon as I get my shit together, I have to fight my girlfriend's mother? No way am I gonna make it through that one—NIM therapy be damned. 

Shepard paused for a moment, studying her expression. “What else would be here?” She quirked an eyebrow, voice light but laced with irony, “Do biotics like give you some kind of psychic ability to sense when things are about to hit the fan?” 

“Hit the fan?” Liara asked, confused. The doors slid open with a screech that broke their conversation. Shepard signaled for them to move. 

The facility was cold, and lifeless. Broken lights flickered above, casting long, irregular shadows. The stale air was thick with dust and the metallic tang of rust.

Garrus’ voice was barely audible. “Let me be the first to say—this place gives me the creeps.”

Shepard’s eyes darted around the space. “Yeah. Stay sharp.”

They continued forward, the silence swallowing their footsteps. Ahead, a control terminal buzzed faintly, the only sound in the stagnant air. Shepard motioned for Garrus to check it. 

The lights flickered to life, a sickly glow revealing a control room cluttered with old terminals, overturned crates, and the remnants of past skirmishes, but her attention wasn’t on the wreckage—it was on the movement just beyond the reach of the overhead lights. A sharp bang split the air. A static charge rippled through her, making her ears ring and her vision swim for half a second.

“We’ve got company!” she barked, throwing herself behind the nearest crate.

Garrus was already in position, his rifle snapping up to find a target. “Yeah, no kidding.” 

The first geth emerged from the shadows, its synthetic body gleaming as it raised its weapon. Garrus fired—one clean shot, one sparking collapse. More followed, their glowing eyes like fireflies in the dark. Liara’s biotics flared, lifting one into the air as Shepard ducked out of cover and fired a precise burst into another. The geth staggered but didn’t fall, servos whining as it tried to recalibrate. A second shot finished the job. The room erupted into chaos. Gunfire and biotics filled the air, the scent of scorched circuits thickening with every kill. Shepard moved on instinct—cover, fire, move—her mind clicking into that familiar rhythm. It wasn’t just about keeping herself alive. It was about keeping them alive.

Garrus’ rifle rang out again. “Nice shot!” Shepard called, dropping low as a burst of fire skimmed over her shoulder.

“Try not to sound so surprised,” he shot back, dry as ever. Another wave of geth stormed forward, relentless, undeterred. One fired a charged blast, striking the wall just behind Shepard’s cover. The impact rattled her teeth. She gritted them and pushed forward, rolling into position as Liara’s biotics sent another machine hurtling into the wall, limbs twitching from the force. Her breath was steady, measured. This wasn’t luck—this was practiced, refined. A fight like this was a dance, and despite what everyone said, she wasn’t bad at anything on a battlefield.

One last shot, and the final geth hit the ground with a heavy thud. Garrus swept his rifle across the room before muttering, “Clear.”

“Fucking hate those things,” Shepard exhaled sharply, leaning against a nearby console. 

Garrus shrugged, already checking his ammo. “They’re predictable. And they explode when you shoot them in the right spot. What’s not to love?”

Shepard pushed off the console, “We should keep moving.” They climbed a nearby set of stairs, steps slow but deliberate. Halfway up, a guttural growl echoed from above. Shepard halted, hand up in a silent command. Peering over the banister, she spotted him—a krogan, armor dented and streaked with battle-wear, hunched over a console. His fingers slammed against the controls, frustration rolling off him in waves. The VI sputtered, its synthetic voice stammering through an error message.

“Stupid machine,” the krogan snarled. “I’ll get answers my own way.” His hand swiped at the console, sending up a spray of sparks. The system flickered.

Shepard didn’t wait. “Move!” She ducked low as the krogan spun, his eyes locking onto hers with instant, murderous intent.  

“I’ll kill you all for interrupting!”

Gunfire erupted. Liara crouched low, biotics already swirling around her. Garrus took cover behind a column, lining up a shot. Shepard moved fast, circling wide for a better angle.

The krogan charged. The ground shuddered under his weight. Bullets slammed into his armor, barely slowing him down. He lifted his shotgun— 

Shepard fired first. The shot hit his side, staggering him, but not stopping him. “Liara!”

Already primed, the asari lashed out, the force of her biotics sending the krogan stumbling just as Garrus fired, his round hitting center mass. Cracks splintered through the armor. Another shot, and the krogan collapsed with a heavy, final thud. Silence settled over the area, thick and uneasy.

Shepard took a slow breath, but she didn’t relax. Instead, she turned toward the console, expression grim. “Let’s see if this VI is still functional.” Her fingers danced over the keys, but the screen flickered, an access error flashing in defiance. She muttered something under her breath. Figures. 

Then, the VI’s voice cut through the tension, cold and indifferent. “System restricted. Current user lacks required credentials.”

She exhaled sharply, irritation flaring in her chest. Of course. “Typical,” she muttered, straightening. “What information was the previous user trying to access?”

“Access to prior data logs restricted. Previous user was analyzing an anomaly beneath this facility. Entity classified: highly restricted. Threat level: extreme.”

Shepard frowned, a slow, sinking weight settling in her gut. That was never good. Garrus leaned in over her shoulder, his mandibles twitching. “An anomaly? That’s wonderfully vague.”

Her voice hardened. “Clarify. What kind of anomaly?” 

A pause. A faint crackle of static, as though the VI hesitated. “Biological entity. Unidentified neural network activity. Analysis suggests significant risk. Containment compromised.”

Liara crossed her arms, her brows knitting together. “Containment of what?” she asked, her voice low with unease. “What’s beneath this facility?” Before the VI could answer, a sound—soft but distinct—cut through the air behind them. Metal scraping against rock.

Shepard spun, her weapon snapping into place, finger tight on the trigger. Liara and Garrus followed instantly, training their sights on a figure stepping out of the shadows—small, human, hands raised in surrender.

“Don’t shoot! Please!” The woman’s voice wavered, wide eyes darting between them.

She didn’t lower her pistol. “Who are you?”

“I—I’m Lisbeth Baynam,” the woman stammered, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with shaking fingers. “I’m sorry! I thought you were more geth. Or—one of those Krogan…”

Shepard eased her aim but didn’t holster the gun. “You’re safe now. What the hell are you doing here? This place was supposed to be abandoned.”

“I… I stayed behind to back up some data,” Lisbeth admitted, wringing her hands together. “I thought I could make it out, but the geth and that krogan put up some kind of barrier. I’ve been stuck ever since.”

Garrus gave her a skeptical once-over. “And do you have any idea what they’re after?”

Lisbeth hesitated. “They… I think they’re here for the Thorian.”

The name landed like a hammer between them. Shepard’s gaze sharpened. “The what?”

Lisbeth swallowed, glancing nervously at the VI as though expecting it to reprimand her. “It’s—it's a native lifeform ExoGeni discovered under Zhu’s Hope. It’s ancient—thousands of years old.” She licked her lips, shifting anxiously. “I don’t know everything. My clearance was limited, but…”

“Lisbeth,” Shepard started, stepping closer, her voice edged with authority. “I need everything. No holding back.”

“It’s just a plant,” she blurted. “But not— not a normal one. It’s sentient. It can control other organisms—humans, animals—through spores.” Her voice wavered. “ExoGeni was studying it for… applications.” Shepard’s stomach twisted. The word was innocuous, clinical, but she knew exactly what it meant. “They’ve been using the colonists as test subjects,” Lisbeth admitted, her words tumbling out now, hurried and desperate. “I didn’t know at first, I swear, but—”

Shepard clenched her fists, her jaw tightening. “ExoGeni experimented on civilians?” The words came sharp as a blade.

“I—I didn’t have anything to do with it!” the girl babbled, shaking her head quickly. “The colonists started acting strange. It wasn’t until the sensors went down that we realized the Thorian had fully taken root in Zhu’s Hope.”

Garrus let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Well, that explains the odd behavior.” He glanced at Shepard. “We should warn Kaidan.”

The Commander nodded and activated her comms. “Bravo team, this is Shepard. Do you copy?” Nothing. Only static, a thin, useless crackle. “Kaidan, Ashley anyone—respond,” she tried again, sharper this time. Silence. She let out a slow breath through her nose. Perfect .

Liara stepped closer, her expression pinched with worry. “Could the Thorian be interfering with communications?”

“Could be the tunnels, could be the geth, could be both,” Garrus added grimly.

Shepard cut the comms, jaw still tight. “We assume the worst and keep moving. If Bravo team’s in trouble, we’ll handle it when we regroup. Right now, we focus on what’s in front of us.”

Garrus nodded, readying his weapon. “Agreed. Let’s hope they’re handling themselves as well as we are.”

Shepard adjusted her grip on her shotgun, already planning their next move as they pressed forward. The air grew thick with the smell of oil and something sickly, almost organic—rotting vegetation, maybe. It settled in the back of her throat like a warning. 

As they reached a grated platform overlooking the lower level, the turian raised a hand, signaling a stop. Shepard crouched beside him, following his gaze.

“Two geth,” he murmured, his mandibles flaring slightly. “Down there. Looks like they’re… worshiping that thing.”

She frowned, shifting to get a better angle. Below, a pulsing, faintly glowing orb cast a sickly light against the walls. The two geth stood motionless before it, heads tilted at an unnatural angle, their frames caught in rigid reverence. “What the hell are they doing?” she whispered.

“Praying?” Garrus offered dryly. He adjusted his rifle. “Machines developing religion. That’s new.”

“It’s strange. The geth are synthetic, yet their behavior seems… ritualistic.” Liara tilted her head, watching with a quiet fascination edged in unease as she spoke softly, as though afraid to break whatever spell hung over the scene. “They were designed to process and calculate, not to worship. Perhaps it’s an echo of their creators—a trace of the quarians’ own beliefs. Or maybe a programmed morality bleeding into something more.”

“Well, they’re about to meet their maker,” the Commander muttered, signaling Garrus to move right, covering their flank. “Liara, stay with me. We’ll take them out quietly.”

Garrus slipped into position, and Shepard lifted her rifle, sighting down at the nearest geth. The glow of the orb played tricks on her vision, drawing her focus in an unnatural way. She blinked hard, shaking it off. No distractions. 

One pull of the trigger—the first geth crumpled. Its partner barely had time to react before Garrus’s sniper round punched through its chassis, sending it toppling in a heap of sparking metal. Silence reclaimed the room, the orb still pulsing like a slow, beating heart.

Shepard exhaled slowly, sweeping the area with her rifle. “Clear. Let’s move.” The descent to the lower level was quiet but tense. Up close, the orb’s surface shimmered with an iridescent sheen, tendrils of energy shifting like heat waves on asphalt. “Liara, any idea what we’re looking at?” She kept her weapon ready

The archeologist crouched beside the object, brow furrowing as her fingers hovered just above its surface. “Prothean,” she murmured, her voice laced with awe. “This design… I’ve seen fragments of similar structures in other ruins, but never something so intact. It’s extraordinary.”

Shepard studied the orb with a measured gaze. “Some kind of data storage? A beacon, maybe?”

“Possibly.” Liara activated her omni-tool, scanning the artifact as its whirring filled the quiet. “The Protheans often encoded information into objects like this, merging organic and synthetic technology to preserve knowledge. But this energy signature… it’s different. More complex.”

Garrus took a step closer, his rifle trained warily on the orb. “Whatever it is, the geth were practically worshipping it. That’s a new one.”

“Not entirely,” Liara remarked, sparing him a glance. “The geth have demonstrated behaviors that could be interpreted as religious. Their creators turned against them, leaving them searching for meaning—perhaps they see Prothean technology as something worthy of reverence. The Hanar, for example, outright worship the Protheans. The geth, though synthetic, could have reached a similar conclusion.”

“Okay, great. So, we’ve got Saren working with the Reapers, a sentient plant with mind-control abilities, a cult of homicidal machines, and to make matters worse—they’re all probably working together.” Shepard crossed her arms. “This keeps getting better.”

Liara huffed a quiet laugh at the Commander’s dry delivery, shaking her head. “If the geth see this artifact as a link to something greater, they may have been trying to activate it—or communicate with it.”

“Wait, you’re saying this thing’s alive?” Shepard arched a brow.

Liara hesitated, searching for the right words. “Not in the literal sense, but… reactive. The energy it emits is layered, almost like it’s processing something.” She met the human’s gaze, her expression serious. “I believe the geth were trying to trigger a response. And they failed.”

Garrus exhaled, mandibles flicking. “Think it’s safe to leave it intact, Commander?”

Shepard turned to the asari maiden. “Liara, what do you think? Can we take it with us?”

The archeologist frowned, lowering her omni-tool. “Moving it would be…unwise. Prothean technology is delicate, and without the proper equipment, relocation could damage it—or worse, trigger something we don’t understand.” She glanced at Shepard. “If this is anything like the beacon on Eden Prime…”

Garrus snorted. “Yeah, I think one ancient machine messing with your head was enough.”

Shepard’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If we leave it, the geth will be back. What if this is what they’re really after—not the Thorian?”

Liara tilted her head in thought, watching the artifact pulse faintly. “I don’t think so. If they were trying to access it, they failed. And given that it’s remained dormant for fifty thousand years, I doubt it will suddenly activate now. Any attempt to move or tamper with it is more likely to cause harm than reveal anything useful.”

Shepard lingered on the orb for a moment longer. Its glow flickered, almost like it was watching them. Or waiting. Finally, she nodded. “Alright. I trust you.”

The turian tilted his head. “Now there’s something you don’t hear every day—an archaeologist telling us not to dig up old relics.” Liara opened her mouth, but he cut in before she could reply. “Probably for the best. Disturbing the slumber of ancient, all-powerful beings tends to end… badly.”

She blinked. “I—uh, I don’t think this is a god, Garrus. It’s just an artifact the geth—”

“So no divine retribution? Good. I’m really not in the mood for cosmic judgment today.”

She stared at him, brow furrowing. “That’s… not how Prothean technology works.” 

Garrus held up a talon. “Liara. That was a joke.”

Liara turned to Shepard, who was smiling and chuckling softly at the asari still looking mildly perplexed. “Vakarian, you broke my girlfriend—” Liara sighed, shaking her head, though a small smile tugged at her lips. The human glanced at her omni-tool and straightened as her focus shifted to the corridor ahead.  The walls pulsed faintly, energy thrumming beneath the surface. Her omni-tool flickered—scrambled. “Shit. It’s jammed,” she muttered. “We’re not alone.”

They moved forward, weapons raised, and entered a large chamber. The glow of geth optics flared in the dim light—shock troopers and destroyers patrolling in deliberate patterns. Shepard signaled the attack.

The fight was fast. Liara sent a trooper flying with a biotic throw as Shepard pivoted, unloading a burst of rifle fire into another. Garrus picked off targets from cover, each sniper round punching through synthetic plating. The asari’s biotics sent geth crashing into walls, scattering their circuits in sparks. The last geth fell, flickering before going dark. 

“Everyone okay?” Shepard exhaled, sweeping the room with a sharp gaze. The radar cleared.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Garrus said, inspecting his rifle. Liara nodded, still catching her breath. A shimmering blue barrier blocked their path forward. The Commander approached, eyeing the two staircases flanking it. 

“I’ll bet one of these leads to a way past this.” She studied the right-hand staircase and took point.

The moment they entered the next chamber, a deep, guttural roar filled the air. Shepard barely had  time to duck as the krogan battle master charged, the ground shaking beneath his bulk. His shotgun fired, spraying debris as she vaulted over a crate.

 “Liara, suppress him!” she barked. The asari’s biotics flared, locking the krogan in a stasis field just long enough for Garrus to fire a precision shot into its exposed shoulder. The creature snarled, shook off the effect, and rushed her again. She rolled aside at the last second, leveled her shotgun, and fired point-blank into its back. The krogan let out a ragged breath before collapsing into its death.

Shepard pushed herself up, exhaling. “Damn. That was sudden.” Liara nodded, still catching her breath. 

Garrus let out a dry chuckle. “Shepard, I’m starting to think you attract these guys.”

She wiped a hand across her forehead and shrugged. “What can I say? Some people just have a type.” She shot a quick wink at Liara, her smirk softening. “But krogan? A little too intense for my taste. I'm more into the quiet types.”

The turian clicked his mandibles in amusement. “Yeah, well, I think I’ll pass on the whole ‘headbutt-first, ask-questions-later’ dating strategy.”

She grinned. “Good call. I’ll take a tactical sniper over a charging krogan any day.”

Once they’d caught their breath, they pressed on. The next area was partially ablaze, smoke curling along the catwalks. Shepard motioned for her team to fan out, weapons drawn. More geth awaited them in the chamber ahead, but they took them out with little hassle. Shepard eventually located a console labeled Shuttle Bay Door Access on the western end of the room . She examined the interface and sighed.

“Looks like a manual bypass puzzle,” she muttered. “Because of course it is.”
Garrus chuckled. “Better you than me, Shepard. I’d just shoot it and hope for the best.”

“Perhaps omni-gel?” Liara suggested. 

“Nah, ran out of that shit ages ago—just give me a minute.” With a series of inputs, Shepard finally bypassed the locks. The barrier lowered with a hum, revealing the next passage. “Let’s move,” she ordered, her tone sharp. The sooner they finished here, the better. 

Chapter Text

Garrus leaned against the Mako, rifle in hand, running a cloth over its length with the practiced ease of a soldier who needed to keep his hands busy. His mandibles twitched—small, but telling. Liara stood near the facility’s entrance, staring up at the ruined structure with an expression Shepard couldn’t quite pin down. Not grief, not entirely. Curiosity, maybe. A reluctant sort of reverence.

The ExoGeni facility lay behind them, a gutted corpse of steel and shattered glass, its frame groaning under the strain of battle. The sky stretched pale and static overhead, a dull, indifferent gray. Cold air bit at Shepard’s skin as she exhaled, breath fogging in the crisp atmosphere. She rolled her shoulders, scanning the squad. She dragged a gloved hand over the back of her neck, fingers pressing  into tense muscle. The geth were cleared. The facility’s data was secure. So why did it still feel like she was missing something? The Thorian, the colonists, Bravo team—too many loose ends, each one dangling like a blade overhead.

“Commander.” Garrus’s voice cut through the fog in her mind. “What’s next?”

Before she could answer, Lizbeth’s voice rang out from the far side of the Mako, sharp with panic.

“Mom?” Shepard turned to see the young researcher fiddling with her omni-tool, her fingers shaking as static hissed through the comms. A woman’s voice broke through the interference, urgent and strained.

“Lizbeth? It’s Mom! Can you hear me? We’re holed up at the old camp. Jeong’s lost it—he’s losing his mind! We need—” The transmission snapped off. Silence rushed in to take its place, heavier than the chaos that had preceded it. 

Lizbeth’s breath hitched. “She’s alive,” she whispered, her face pale. She turned to Shepard, desperation sharpening her words. “Commander, we have to help them!”

She didn’t hesitate. “Get in the Mako. We’ll figure this out on the skyway.”

The team climbed in, limbs brushing in the cramped interior. Shepard fired up the engine, the low rumble thrumming through her bones as she steered them back toward the colony. The road ahead was a mess—broken concrete, jagged debris, signs of the turmoil that had swallowed Zhu’s Hope whole—some geth had been dropped in as reinforcements, but it wasn’t enough to hold them back. Garrus used the turret to take them out, turning geth soldiers and armatures into piles of steel and ash. 

“Where’s this old camp?” she asked, eyes locked on the path ahead.

Lizbeth sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her hands clenched in her lap. “Probably the old weigh station from ExoGeni’s first project—it’s through that tunnel, tucked between the rocks.” Her voice wavered. “You’ll see it when we get there.” 

Liara shifted beside her, watching Lizbeth with an unreadable expression. Shepard caught the glance but didn’t comment. Tension had been brewing between them since they set foot on Feros, though whether it was ExoGeni’s twisted ethics or something more personal, she couldn’t say. Either way, there were more pressing concerns. Lizbeth’s hands twisted in her lap, her muttering barely audible over the Mako’s hum. Worry about her mother, about the others. Shepard kept her eyes forward, letting the road ahead anchor her focus.

By the time they reached the camp—a haphazard cluster of barricades and scavenged supplies wedged between jagged rock—it was clear these people had been through hell. Gaunt faces turned toward them, the weight of exhaustion etched into every line. Most of them wore ExoGeni uniforms, though the sheen of corporate detachment had long since been stripped away. Shepard killed the engine and stepped out. Her boots crunched against gravel, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and something metallic, stale.

Lizbeth bolted past her.

A woman broke from the huddled group—streaks of gray ran through her dark hair, her face tight with worry. “Lizbeth!”

“Mom!” Lizbeth all but crashed into her arms, relief bleeding into her voice. “You’re okay!”

The reunion barely had a breath to settle before a sharp voice cut through the moment, rough with something too frayed to be called authority. “You’re with the Alliance?” A man in a bloodied, rumpled suit stepped forward, his gaze flicking between Lizbeth and Shepard’s squad. His eyes were wide, darting—half-calculated, half-cracked. 

Shepard squared her stance, voice steady. “And you are?”

“Ethan Jeong. I’m in charge here,” Jeong snapped, tone clipped, impatient. “Or I was, before everything went to hell.” His breath hitched, raw and uneven. “The geth are one thing, but the Thorian? That’s the real threat. It’s controlling the colonists, turning them into—into things. If you don’t put it down, we’re finished.”

She folded her arms. “You got a plan for that?”

Jeong jabbed a shaking finger toward the horizon. “Destroy it. Bomb it into the ground. I don’t care about the colonists—they’re already gone. Husks, walking around pretending to be human. The only thing that matters is protecting ExoGeni’s investment.”

Juliana’s voice rose, sharp with disbelief. “Ethan, listen to yourself! The colonists are still people.”

“They’re liabilities!” he barked out a hollow laugh. “You’ve seen them, Juliana. They’re nothing but meat puppets for that thing. If we want any chance at surviving this, we cut our losses now. Or do you want to die choking on spores like the rest of them?”

“No one needs to die. Not if I can help it,” Shepard interrupted, trying hard to keep the anger from her voice. 

Jeong let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Help? You don’t get it, do you? We’re expendable. You, me, everyone here. You think ExoGeni’s sending backup for the colonists?” He shook his head. “No. They’ll send a cleanup crew. If you don’t take out the Thorian, we will be the cleanup.”

Juliana’s expression hardened. “We’ve been working on a solution.” She reached into a crate, pulling out a small, modified grenade. “These disrupt the Thorian’s control. It’s not perfect, but it should work.”

Jeong scoffed, stomping a foot against the ground. “You really think that is going to—”

“That’s enough.” Shepard’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade. The camp went still. “I don’t give a damn about ExoGeni’s interests. No one’s getting shot up by my hands or yours—-I don’t run into battle half-cocked and hell bent on murder, so shut the hell up and listen to what she has to say.” Her stare bore into Jeong, unwavering. “Are we clear?”

Jeong exhaled sharply, his lip curling. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Commander.”

“They don’t call me Commander because I don’t get shit done.” She took the crate from Juliana, turning over one of the devices in her hands. Crude, but it would probably get the job done. “Good. We’ll take them.”

“And if they don’t work?” Jeong’s voice was brittle.

Shepard glared at him. “Then we adapt . Believe it or not, there are more ways to incapacitate someone without putting a bullet in their head. I won’t kill innocents if I can help it.”

Juliana’s grip tightened on Lizbeth’s shoulder. “Please—do what you can. They didn’t ask for this.” 

Shepard turned to her squad, her voice low, steady, and braced with resolve. “Gear up. Grab supplies. Hydrate.”

Garrus smirked faintly, adjusting his rifle. “It’s never easy with you, Shepard.” 

She didn’t answer. Her mind was already on the road ahead.

***

Shepard kept her hands firm on the controls, her arms shaking with the mako rumbling over the prothean skyway and the distant moan of Feros’ winds. She was running through contingencies. The colonists weren’t combatants, and that made things simpler in theory—no question of intent, no blurred lines. Even so, theory didn’t mean much when the reality was civilians turned into weapons. The Thorian’s influence had gutted them of choice, repurposed them into mindless defense mechanisms.

Saving them meant precision. Restraint. No mistakes, because one miscalculation meant the people they were trying to protect would be the first to fall. She watched the horizon swell, the jagged outlines of Zhu’s Hope growing clearer by the second. Garrus shifted beside her, mandibles twitching as he adjusted his rifle. From the back of the Mako—the asari wanted to familiarize herself with the vessel—Liara’s voice cut through the quiet, her usual academic curiosity laced with something more measured. 

“The Thorian’s ability to exert control over sentient beings is extraordinary,” she said. “It represents a biological mechanism not seen in any known species—its ability to override cognitive function and compel its victims to act against their will is both horrifying and fascinating.”

Shepard glanced at the rearview mirror, one brow lifting. “If by ‘fascinating,’ you mean a sentient fungal infection that turns people into shambling corpses. Real evolutionary genius at work there.”

“Maybe it’s a little too good at survival. Definitely overachieving in the creepy alien plant department,” Garrus chuckled dryly.

Shepard smirked. “It’s got a ten out of ten for nightmare fuel, but I’m not giving it points for creativity. It’s just a control freak with a superiority complex. Nothing we haven’t seen before.”

“It sounds more like a giant, angry weed with mind control abilities,” Garrus added.

She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. “An ancient, angry weed,” she corrected. 

Garrus’s mandibles twitched with his smirk, “It kinda sounds prestigious. Should we start calling it Professor Thorian?”

“Only if it starts lecturing us on ethics while it’s trying to kill us,” Shepard suggested.

Liara hesitated, her brow furrowing. “Ethics? I hardly see how a species like the Thorian would lecture us on ethics, and your comment is presumptuous consider we don’t even know if it can—” She stopped, her expression shifting as she caught the joke a beat too late. “You’re joking.”

Garrus leaned back, that same look in his expression. “Don’t worry, Liara. Shepard’s jokes always land better the second time around. Sometimes even the third.”

“Careful, Garrus,” she shot back. “You’re not exactly winning the comedy circuit yourself.”

“Sure,” he said, his voice dry. “But my audiences are rarely trapped in a moving vehicle with me.”

Shepard rolled her eyes, grinning, and glanced at the asari in the rearview. Liara tilted her head slightly, clearly weighing her words. “It may be less about its intellect and more about its biological imperatives.”

“Meaning?” she asked, wary of another deep dive.

“Meaning,” Liara replied, voice perfectly even, “its behavior is... rooted in instinct.”

Silence stretched for a beat before Garrus groaned, his head falling back against the seat. 

“Damn it, Liara,” Shepard laughed. “You can’t just sneak in a joke like that. That was a good one!”

The turian shook his head in mock despair. “Great. Another one. You’ve corrupted her, Shepard. If she starts following the word ‘intense’ with ‘like camping,’ I’m blaming you, not her.”

Liara’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she held her ground. “I was only following the established precedent for humor.”

Shepard turned in her seat, grinning. “You’re catching on fast, doc. I might have to watch my back.”

“Still,” Garrus cut in, lighter now but no less pointed, “a mind-controlling parasite isn’t exactly something I want to leave in the galaxy. I’m all for Shepard’s plan—save the colonists, torch the professor.”

The mako crested the last hill, and Zhu’s Hope came into full view. Shepard slowed the vehicle to a stop. The colony lay sprawled beneath the hazy sky, its prefab buildings standing in rigid, unnatural stillness. The place should have felt lived-in, full of movement—workers hauling supplies, mechanics cursing at worn-out machinery. Instead, the silence stretched thick and heavy, pressing against her ears. The air had a damp, earthy weight to it, clinging to the back of her throat. 

She stepped out of the mako, boots crunching against dry dirt. Garrus and Liara followed, their weapons drawn, the easy conversation from before replaced with sharp-eyed focus. She lifted a hand, signaling for them to stay sharp. The first few steps into Zhu’s Hope were careful. Her gaze flicked from shadow to shadow, every crate and doorway a potential threat. Her fingers hovered just above the trigger of her pistol. No sign of movement. But that didn’t mean they weren’t being watched.

The first Thorian Creeper stumbled into view, jerky and wrong. Its pale, glistening skin caught the dim light, its vacant eyes unfocused but locked ahead. The groan it let out was deep, not human—not anything that belonged in a body that shape. And then it charged.

“Contact!” Shepard fired, the round taking it clean through the chest. The Creeper hit the ground, twitching once before going still. But others were emerging—more of them than there should be, dragging themselves out of the shadows like something rotten clawing its way back to life. “Stay together!” she ordered, voice cutting through the chaos.

Garrus took position at her left, sniper rifle cracking. One shot, one kill, but it didn’t matter how precise he was—they just kept coming. Liara flared biotics to her right, a blue arc lifting two of them off their feet and slamming them hard into the side of a building. The fight was ugly but quick, the Creepers more numerous than dangerous. When the last one hit the ground, she lowered her weapon, breath even but measured.

“Everyone okay?”

“Fine,” Garrus said, voice edged, mandibles tight. He nudged a fallen Creeper with his boot. “But these things… I’ve seen dead turians with more life in their eyes.”

Liara’s expression was grim, her voice quieter. “The Thorian’s control strips them of everything they were. They’re husks of themselves now.” Shepard exhaled sharply, scanning the empty streets ahead. Every building, every alley felt like it was watching them, waiting. The colony stretched before them, silent in a way that had nothing to do with peace.

Movement. Not Creepers. A small group of colonists huddled near the entrance to the main structure, their bodies stiff, postures wrong. Too still. Shepard raised a fist, signaling the others to hold fire. Their eyes were vacant, but they weren’t empty. Not yet. 

“Civilians,” she murmured. “We need to be careful. Thorian Creepers will be all over this place. Watch your shots. We take down the monsters, not the people.” 

Liara stepped closer, gaze flickering over them, something sorrowful in the set of her mouth. “They’re still alive,” she said. “Even if they don’t seem it.” 

Shepard nodded, jaw tight. They didn’t have time to argue over what counted as alive —they just had to fix it. “Garrus, take the left flank. Liara, stay with me.” Her voice was steady, but she could already see the worst-case scenarios playing out. The civilians wouldn’t just stand there forever. If the Thorian pushed them to attack, and if they didn’t move fast enough— no, we do this right. No casualties.

“And what if they’re hostile?” Garrus asked, careful. “We don’t exactly have the best idea how these creatures are created.” 

Shepard didn’t answer immediately. She studied the colonists, the eerie blankness of their faces, the way they barely seemed to breathe. “We find a way,” she said finally. “We have to. If it comes to it, we can knock them out the old fashioned way. I’m not letting anyone die here.”

They moved fast, gas grenades ready. The first hissed as it deployed, green vapor curling into the air before a colonist crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Another. Then another. It was painstaking, deliberate—one mistake, one shot fired at the wrong time, and they’d lose someone they could still save.

A blur in her periphery—Creepers. Shepard’s gun was up in an instant, bullet meeting its mark before it reached them. Garrus dropped another from a distance, the creature slamming into the dirt with a sickening crunch. But they weren’t stopping. 

A crack of gunfire—different, sharper. Not Creepers. Bravo’s been radio silent too long. “Shepard, the colonists—” Liara’s voice cut through, urgent. The civilians weren’t just standing still anymore. Their eyes were still blank, but their weapons weren’t. They were shooting.

“Gas grenades! Now!” Shepard barked, twisting as a bullet clipped the side of her hardsuit.

“On it,” Garrus called, launching one into the fray. Green mist spread fast, taking down the advancing colonists before they could get off more shots. Liara sent a surge of biotic energy crashing into the Creepers pressing from the right, the impact shattering their charge. Shepard didn’t hesitate—she had maybe three grenades left, and she threw one straight into the next cluster of colonists before they could raise their weapons. The fight blurred into movement and precision—push forward, take the shots that mattered, neutralize everything that wasn’t a person without hesitation. 

They cleared the square, then the streets. The gunfire faded, leaving only silence—thick and cloying, pressing against them like the colony itself was holding its breath. The fight had separated them briefly, but they returned to formation, chests heaving. Garrus scanned the area, rifle steady. “Looks clear.”

“For now,” she muttered. Her eyes landed on a familiar terminal near the settlement’s center—the Freighter Crane Controls. The way down. She stepped forward, boot scuffing against stone. “This must be it,” she said under her breath.

Liara hesitated, then, voice cautious, “Do you think…we can reason with it?”

Shepard looked at her. “I don’t know. But I can’t leave these people like this.” To be honest, she expected whether it was sentient wouldn’t matter—it’s always best to expect the worst, even if hope remains a thorn in your side. In her experience, hope stung like a kidney stone, hard enough to bring the strongest to their knees when the pain hits. She could count on one hand the times missions like this worked out. Liara, however—she still had that gleaming look in her eyes, like a unique kind of innocence one would think her lifetime would’ve grown her out of, but there she was all starry eyed and heavy breaths. She couldn’t tell her not to get her hopes up.  

She keyed the controls, and the machinery groaned to life. Metal shifted. A hatch beneath the crane shuddered open, revealing a dark, yawning descent. She turned back to her team. “We’re going in. Stay close and keep your guard up. I imagine those husks are down here too.”

The air grew colder as they descended, the dim light of the colony fading behind them, swallowed by the dark. The chamber below was vast, suffocating, pulsing with something that was alive but wrong. The Thorian’s presence wasn’t just physical—it was something felt, a deep vibration in the air, thrumming in her chest, sinking into the marrow of her bones. Or maybe that was fear. Was she afraid? The glow of bioluminescent roots bathed the chamber in sickly green light, revealing the true horror below. Colonists— real, living people —hung suspended in the tangle of vines, their bodies limp, their faces frozen in silent agony.

Shepard’s throat tightened as she stepped into the heart of the Thorian’s lair. Cloying air pulsed around the large plant before them. Was this the Thorian? Suddenly, a figure emerged from the tangled mass of roots around them. 

Green-skinned, her asari features slack and lifeless, but the eyes—wide, vacant, locked in an unblinking stare. The asari’s mouth opened, and the voice that came out was something else entirely: deep, guttural, vibrating through the chamber like it was sinking into the very walls. “You come to stop me,” the voice intoned, more felt than heard. “You come to interfere with the growth of my children.”

Shepard steadied herself, rifle held firm. “Who are you?” The cold weight in her gut told her she already knew the answer. Some things couldn’t be reasoned with. Some things simply were.

The asari’s lips curled into something that barely resembled a smile. “I am the voice of the Thorian, its will made flesh. It does not often speak with those as insignificant as you, but it will tolerate this intrusion… to protect what it has claimed.” 

The words hit like a punch. her mind reeled, piecing together the horror: the Thorian had absorbed the colonists, used them as extensions of itself. A parasitic puppeteer, hollowing out bodies to wear as it saw fit. 

Liara’s voice brought her out of her mind. “Why?” Her tone was quiet, but there was an edge to it. “What do you want from these people?”

The asari’s vacant eyes flickered—just for a moment, something like recognition in them—before it disappeared into cold detachment once more. “The Thorian desires knowledge, as you do. Saren sought to control it, to take what it had learned. It shared its wisdom for the promise of safety. But Saren broke the agreement. He came to silence it.” A pause. “Now, the Thorian must protect itself. It will consume all who wander too close.”

This, she considered, made sense. Saren had been here first—because of course he’d been here before her. Saren had set this in motion, always seemed to be two moves ahead, pressing the board into check before Shepard had a chance to see the whole game. The Thorian, in its grotesque, alien way, had simply been trying to survive.

The voice softened, almost pitying. “The Thorian knows what you seek, but you cannot understand it. It will not allow your kind to take what you do not deserve.”

Garrus stepped forward, rifle raised. “And if we don’t let it?”

“You will die.” The asari’s voice was calm. Certain. “Or worse.”

Shepard exhaled slowly, a sharp smile curling at the edges of her lips. “You don’t understand,” she said, voice low, cold. “We’re trying to stop Saren—we want to make him pay for what he stole from you.”

The asari’s expression twisted in silent fury—then, as though the Thorian had tired of the game, her body jerked violently. The creature spat her out like an empty husk. She hit the ground with a sickening crack, limbs disjointed, nothing left of whatever she’d once been. Its voice boomed through the chamber, deeper now, vibrating through the stone. “Leave now, or your bones will feed my children.” 

The roots trembled. The air thickened. The ground shifted.

“Fuck,” Shepard cursed, raising her rifle. “Take them down.”The first Creepers surged forward—twisted, fungal abominations barely resembling the people they had once been. Their bodies dripped with some unidentifiable fluid, slick and wrong, the Thorian’s green glow pulsing through their veins. Their movements were jerky, inhuman, but they were fast.

“Shit, they’re coming in fast!” Garrus shouted. His rifle barked. A Creeper collapsed in a heap, body already breaking down into the ground as if it had never existed at all. Liara’s biotics flared, waves of force sending the nearest ones flying back. They didn’t stay down. They never did. She took aim, firing as a Creeper lunged for her. The shot hit square in the chest—it barely slowed. She gritted her teeth, sidestepping just in time to avoid its clawed hand. Another came from her left. She ducked, slammed her shoulder into its chest, and knocked it off balance just long enough to line up a killing shot.

“I’m fine—keep moving!” she yelled, voice hoarse from exertion.

A Creeper lunged for Liara. Shepard saw it, but Garrus was faster. His shot struck home, sending the thing sprawling.

“Nice shot,” Shepard muttered even though he couldn’t hear her, already lining up another. 

The chamber was swarming now. They kept coming. She had to keep count, keep calculating. There had to be a pattern. A way through. Stay focused. Control the battlefield. Don’t let them surround you. Her gaze was drawn toward a grotesque, pulsing mass embedded in the far wall. “That’s our target!” she called. “Garrus, Liara, keep them off me—I’m taking it out!”

She sprinted, rifle fire ringing in her ears, the sound of her own breath loud in her head. Reaching the node, she dropped to one knee, lined up her shot, and fired. The blast cracked against it, sending splintering fractures through the fleshy growth. 

The Thorian shrieked—not aloud, but inside her head. A psychic scream that sent a shudder through her skull. Not enough. She slapped a sticky grenade onto the node and turned—too slow. A Creeper was already there, its claws scraping against her armor. She kicked out, sent it staggering, but it was relentless. It came back. Faster this time.

“Shepard!” Liara. Garrus fired, and the Creeper’s head snapped back. She didn’t waste a second—she dove for cover just as the grenade detonated. 

Silence. A pause, brief, expectant.

Then, the slithering started again. “More incoming!” the turian warned, already repositioning. Another wave. More Creepers, bodies moving in unison, empty husks controlled by a vast and ancient mind. The floor trembled beneath them. This whole place felt like it could collapse at any moment, swallowed by the very thing they were trying to destroy. 

“One more node,” Garrus muttered. “Then what?”

“Find the heart and shut it down,” Shepard said, but the Thorian already knew they were coming. Its will wove through the air itself, pressing against her skull like a thousand whispering voices. 

Liara moved ahead, scanning the space with careful precision. “There.” She pointed. “The next node.” 

Just one more. They climbed, boots heavy on slick stone. Another asari stepped forward from the shadows—her form twisted, her features familiar yet wrong, her voice dripping with something ancient and scornful. “The Thorian is eternal,” she called, eyes gleaming. “You cannot stop it.”  

Liara’s biotics surged, raw force slamming into the clone, sending her spiraling into the abyss. “Goddess, I really hated that,” she remarked. 

Shepard’s eyes scanned for the node again, having lost sight of it while shielding herself from the other asari, and, upon finding it, she took her stance, her pulse quickening as she raised her rifle, sighting in on the central mass. The shot rang out, a crack in the air, and the node trembled, groaning under the impact. The Thorian’s psychic scream was louder this time, reverberating in her skull like a hammer pounding her thoughts.  

Another Creeper was on her in an instant. She barely had time to react, ducking to the side as its claws scraped across her armor. She fired, dropping it in a single shot, but the tension in the air was thick— it’s getting worse. A door at the far side of the room hissed open, and more Creepers emerged, quickly swarming in. The team moved back into position, their guns blazing.

“I fucking hate those things!” she yelled, kicking one as it attempted to overcome her.

The rest of the fight was a blur—shots, biotics, and the heavy thud of Creepers falling to the ground as the Thorian’s limbs crumbled under their assault. After what felt like an eternity, the last Creeper fell and the room succumbed to uneasy silence as the last of the Thorian’s grotesque tentacles fell limp. The far end of the room was shrouded in a shadowy mass, a pod-like structure at its center. It was twisted and organic, made of the same fleshy, tendril-like material that had defined the Thorian’s home. A low hum reverberated from within, pulsing. There was a hiss and crack as the pod began to split open, revealing something—or rather, someone—inside.

A figure staggered out, her body contorted and raw, her skin green—-the one from before. She took slow, tentative steps forward, eyes meeting theirs. She moved like someone who was still recovering, who had been wrenched from something far darker. “I-I’m free? I’m free?” she murmured, shocked as she stumbled to gain her footing.

Liara’s gaze locked onto the stranger, her expression shifting into recognition. “Wait... you... You were one of Benezia’s commandos,” she murmured. “Yes—Shiala, isn’t it? I didn’t expect to find you here.” Shiala stood upright now, her posture defensive, almost like she was bracing for something. She looked at the group, her eyes darting from one face to another—no doubt processing them, trying to decide what her fate would be.

“I’m sorry,” Shiala began, her voice shaky but clear, as if her words had been trapped for too long. “I didn't... I couldn’t stop it…I served Matriarch Benezia, yes—when she allied herself with Saren, I did too, but it is not as you think!”

“Why did she join him—this isn’t like her—she always sought peace and harmony, but she allowed them to come after me—kill me even,” Liara pleaded.

Shiala nodded, still stabilizing herself, “Yes—I-I know. Benezia foresaw the influence Saren would have—she only joined him to guide him down a gentler path…but Saren—he is compelling, and Benezia…she lost her way. She underestimated Saren…as did I—we all had…we came to believe in his cause and his goals. The strength of his influence is troubling.”

“Benezia sought to turn the river and was swept away,” Liara wondered aloud. Shepard found Liara’s hand and squeezed it, leaving their hands together as she looked back to Shiala. 

“Asari Matriarchs are among the most powerful and intelligent beings, right? It doesn’t make sense one would fall under his control so easily,” Garrus added.

Shiala nodded, agreeing with him, “Correct, however, Saren has a vessel; an enormous warship—it’s far bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. It dwarfs any vessel known to us. He calls it Sovereign, and it has the ability to dominate the minds of its followers.” The asari began to pace. “This ship is incredible—its weapons are devasting, alien , and it seems virtually impenetrable. Because of Sovereign, Saren is able to indoctrinate them—he believes that with Sovereign, he is unstoppable. The indoctrination is subtle—it can take weeks, but in the end, it is absolute. I was a… willing slave to Saren when he brought me here—he needed my biotics to communicate with the Thorian. He sacrificed me for information. He wanted the Cipher from the Beacon on Eden Prime. He wanted to understand its images.” 

Shiala’s eyes dropped to the ground, “He gave me to the Thorian to extract the Cipher in exchange for its cooperation, but he didn’t keep his word. After he got what he wanted, he betrayed it and tried to destroy the Thorian, to stop it from sharing the knowledge with anyone else. Then, he ordered the geth to destroy any evidence it ever existed.” Shiala’s hands trembled at her sides, but she pulled them together to steady herself. 

“What’s the Cipher?” the Commander asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It is to help understand the message of the beacons—like the one on Eden Prime. It gave you visions, but they were distorted, weren’t they? To truly understand them, you must have the mind of a Prothean—to think like them, to understand their culture and history.”

“So, it’s knowledge?” Liara asked. 

“Well, here I thought we were getting some cool Prothean tech,” Garrus joked. 

“The Cipher is…it is not tangible—it is the very essence of being Prothean. It cannot be easily described or explained. To understand, you must have access to endemic ancestral memory.”

“The Thorian is thousands of years old,” Liara remarked, awed by her realization. “It would have this access—it would have lived to see their destruction. Of course!” 

“You are correct—I sensed this ancestral memory when I melded with the Thorian. Our identities merged and our minds intertwined—that knowledge cannot be taught, it just—exists,” Shiala explained.

“Fuck, of course,” Shepard groaned. “I need that knowledge to stop Saren.”

Shiala looked away, appearing slightly uncomfortable. “Well, there is a way…I can share the information with you like I did Saren.” What is it with the asari and wanting to get in my head? 

“You mean, you want to meld with her?” Liara asked, her voice balanced. I don’t know enough about asari customs to know if this is a weird crossroad…but I need the information.

“Yes,” Shiala nodded, approaching the human. “Try to relax, Commander. Let go of your physical self. Every action sends ripples across the galaxy like every idea needs to touch another mind to live; we are all connected—all of us united in a single, glorious existence. Open yourself to the universe, Commander, embrace eternity!” The moment they touched, a jolt of energy surged through her body, a blast of images so overwhelming they nearly knocked the wind out of her. Her mind was flooded with visions—disjointed, chaotic, like trying to piece together an impossible puzzle. A flash of the Prothean civilization, a thriving empire of light and knowledge, before the dark shadows of the Reapers descended. The images were distinct—brutal, her mind screaming with the sounds of a dying people, massive Reaper ships darkened the sky as they tore through cities, sweeping away entire colonies. Protheans—once proud and intelligent—were reduced to nothing, their legacy erased. The vision shifted, showing the Reapers’ harvest, their cold, merciless annihilation of everything in their path. Cities crumbling, their people screaming in despair as the Reapers exterminated them in an unforgiving cycle that repeated again and again.

Then... the vision stopped. An emptiness filled her mind, a heavy, deep, sinking feeling that this was only the beginning. Her heart pounded, the images of the Prothean downfall lingering in her mind, a terrifying vision of a future they would face if they failed. She steadied herself, forcing the thoughts to clear. 

“Goddess—Shepard, are you alright?” Liara asked, worried as her hand found the Commander’s shoulder, helping her steady herself. She swore she saw Liara scolding Shiala, but she wasn’t certain—even if she was still flattered by the thought. The Cipher had done its job, but the images were still nonsense to her.

She blinked away the haze of the vision, refocusing on Shiala, who stood in front of her, vulnerable. “Now you understand, just as Saren does,” Shiala said softly. “Saren will do anything to stop you from finding the Conduit.”

“I saw—something, but it still doesn’t make any sense,” she replied, pinching her nose. Liara was still beside her, her hands hovering her back in case she fell. 

“That makes sense, Shepard—if this Cipher is the knowledge of the Prothean existence—their history, their culture—their essence would be overwhelming. It would take time for any mind to process,” Liara remarked. 

“What do you plan to do now that you’re free?” Shepard asked, ever so slighty leaning into the asari’s touch.

“I... I want to help,” she said after a long silence, her voice steady but tinged with something else. “I want to help the colony recover, to undo some of the damage I caused... the Thorian’s influence on them, but I understand if you don’t trust me.” Shepard studied her for a moment. Trust wasn’t easy to come by, not after everything they’d seen, everything that had happened, but she could see it in Shiala’s eyes—the desire to make amends, to fix what she could.

“The colony needs you now. You’ll do more good staying alive here than dead.”

Shiala nodded, a small but genuine smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you. I’ll make sure they’re safe. I owe them that much. May the Goddess smile upon you, Commander.”

Shepard turned, her eyes sweeping over the room one last time, checking for any final remnants of the Thorian’s influence. “We’ve got a long way to go” she murmured. “But we can start by making sure this place doesn’t become another casualty.”

With a final glance at Shiala, the Commander motioned for her team to move out. As Shepard stepped back onto the surface of Zhu’s Hope, the air smelled faintly of burning timber and scorched earth, but there was life—there were people still here, and the crumbled buildings around them bore the marks of struggle, not abandonment. 

“We should get you back to the Normandy, Shepard,” Liara said, her voice gentle and laced with concern. “The Cipher… it must have been overwhelming. Are you feeling alright?” 

Shepard cast her a sideways glance, the corner of her mouth tugging upward into a grin. “I don’t know, Doc, depends how much TLC you’re offering?” She let the words land with just the right amount of playfulness, one brow raised as she leaned just slightly closer.

Liara’s eyes widened, her cheeks taking on a distinctly purple-pink hue. “I—uh—oh, well—if th-there’s anything y-you need, I’d be happy to—” Her words faltered as Shepard’s teasing sank in, and she stumbled over herself.

Garrus, walking behind them, let out a dry chuckle. “Shepard, at this rate, the poor girl’s going to need your help to recover.”

She held her smirk, shooting Garrus a glance. “What can I say? I’m an overachiever.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Garrus quipped, his mandibles twitching with amusement.

Liara pressed her lips together, trying to steady herself. “I—well, I am not that kind of doctor, but I would help however you need,” she added, her tone firm but still carrying a hint of flustered sincerity.

Shepard’s grin widened, her tone softening just enough to hint at the warmth behind the teasing. “Good to know, Liara. You might regret that offer, though—I can be a handful.” Liara smiled, still a little flushed with embarrassment. The crew made their way back to the Normandy, stopping to see Fai Dan on the way out. 

“Commander!” he called out the moment he saw her emerge from a crowd of colonists walking around. “We cannot thank you enough—because of you, Zhu’s Hope has a real chance!” 

“Of course,” she replied, a bit weak. “We’ll need to leave soon, but if there is anything else you need, reach out to Captain Anderson of the Alliance, alright? He’ll coordinate relief efforts.” Fai Dan nodded, gesturing them to continue onward. As they approached the shuttle bay of the Normandy, Bravo team caught eye of them and cheered.

“Sorry we lost contact there, Skipper. We’ve resecured power and stabilized the water supply systems. We met this crazy guy down in the tunnels—we tried to warn you about weird behavior, but something happened with the comms,” Ashley remarked. Wrex stood beside her, bored, while Tali and Kaidan were busy inspecting the damage to the comm systems, verifying that any remaining geth interference was fully suppressed. Despite the uneasy calm, Bravo team had helped secure the perimeter, ensuring that any remaining threats were neutralized.

Shepard gave them a nod of approval before her eyes lingered on the town itself, its residents scattered in small groups, looking dazed and confused but undeniably alive. Their lives had been changed forever by the Thorian’s control, and still their future was uncertain. How many of them might have been lost, to the Thorian, to the geth, to Saren? The thought gnawed at her, but she pushed it aside. There was still work to do. “Good job, Bravo tteam,” she said, addressing both Bravo and her own squad as they regrouped near the colony’s central hub.

“We’ve done all we can,” Garrus said, his tone firm but tinged with satisfaction. “Now we just need to get back to the Normandy and report to the council.”

They all shared a collective glance, the mission still pressing down on them, even in the aftermath. Shepard’s gaze met Liara’s, and they shared a smile. The asari maiden looked exhausted but resolute. She looked over at her team; Bravo Team was already at the shuttle bay, their heavy footsteps cutting through the murmur of the colony beginning to recover behind them. There were still a lot of unanswered questions—she had learned a great deal about Saren, but what were the Reapers planning? How far had their reach already extended? She swallowed the frustration rising in her throat. She needed time to think—time to process. And more information. Always more information.

***

The conference room was silent for a moment as the Commander stood at the head of the table, her mind still on the events that had unfolded. The mission was a success—the colony had been saved, and the Thorian had been neutralized—but there was still so much left to process. Bravo Team was gathered around the table. Kaiden leaned forward, his arms crossed, eyes steady as he spoke up first.

“We were tasked with securing the colony’s infrastructure,” he started. “Tali and Wrex handled the main power grid while Ashley and I went to work on the water supply. It wasn’t easy—there were plenty of Creepers down there, and the damage to the power stations was extensive, but we restored the systems and secured the perimeter. We made sure the survivors would have access to the basic necessities.”

Ashley nodded her agreement, “We had to move quickly to prevent more power surges. Once we had the system back online, we focused on the water purification units. It was a delicate operation, but we managed to avoid a full shutdown.”

Tali, added her thoughts with a soft hum of approval. “It took some improvising, but we used the backup conduits to bypass the worst of the damage. The system is stable now, but it’s going to take some time for the colony to fully recover. I think they’ll be alright, though.”

Wrex, arms crossed, a slight grin tugging at his lips despite the grim circumstances, added, “And the tunnels didn’t collapse on us, so that was a win in my book.” He let out a dry chuckle. “We killed a lot of Creepers down there, though. More than I care to count.” Ashley shot him a look but said nothing more. Instead, she turned back to Shepard, who was quietly processing the information.

“Everything is in place, Commander,” Ashley continued. “The colony should have a chance to recover now.”

Shepard nodded, acknowledging the team’s hard work. “Good work, all of you. Bravo Team did what needed to be done while Alpha Team handled the Thorian. You saved lives. We couldn’t have done it without you.” The room fell into a brief silence as each member of the team took a moment to reflect on what they’d just said. She followed with a debriefing of all that happened in the EcoGeni facility and promised more detailed reports to be released soon. 

“Commander, the Council’s on comms right now, they’d like to speak with you,” Joker’s voice echoed throughout the conference area. 

“Patch ‘em in, Joker. You’re all dismissed.” 

The moment the Normandy left Feros, Shepard made her way to the communications room where council was waiting, their holographic projections shimmering before her.

She gave her report succinctly, detailing the situation at Zhu’s Hope, the effects of the Thorian’s influence, and the colony’s condition post-battle. The council was quiet, listening closely to her every word.

Councilor Tevos, after a long pause, spoke first. “You have saved the colony, Commander, but we cannot ignore the fact that this was a failure on our part. We should have been informed about the Thorian’s existence earlier. Its influence could have been stopped long before it grew to this extent.”

The Turian Councilor, Sparatus, his tone clipped and pragmatic, responded next. “The mission was the priority. Your intervention saved lives, but this was not something we could have foreseen. We must remain focused on the larger threat.”

“The colony’s recovery is a positive outcome, despite the damage. I commend you for that. The Thorian was a dangerous variable, but you handled it well,” Councilor Valern nodded in approval. Shepard’s eyes narrowed slightly as she registered the varying opinions. Regardless how well things went, there would always be one who focused on the mission’s end result rather than the lives affected along the way. As the briefing wrapped up, the Council’s voices faded in the back of her mind. She felt a pressure on her chest as the implications of Saren’s machinations continued to swirl in her thoughts.

“We look forward to reading more of your reports, Commander,” Tevos remarked before ending the call altogether. 

Shepard sighed, her exhaustion finally catching up to her. It had hardly been fifteen or so hours since they arrived, yet she could have sworn they’d spent years there. Almost without thinking, she left the comm room and made her way to Liara’s quarters. 

***

She paused at the door, allowing herself to feel the faint buzz of tension in her chest. The ship had been unusually quiet since the debriefing—most of the team had scattered, some no doubt to hit the med bay for a check-up, others to work on their gear. However, she hadn’t gone anywhere. Instead, she found herself standing here, looking at the door as if there was something more to be said between them. Taking a deep breath, she opened it.

Inside, Liara sat on her bed her back to the door, poring over the data from the mission. Her posture was relaxed, her long fingers scrolling through holographic screens, but Shepard could tell she’d been deep in thought. As the door slid shut behind her, Liara looked up, her blue eyes bright with that same soft curiosity always making Shepard feel grounded and adrift all at once.

“Hey,” Shepard said softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Hiding out?”

Liara’s lips parted in that shy smile she adored so much. “I was just reviewing the data. It’s… it’s been quite a day.”

“You could say that again.” Shepard stepped further into the room, her boots making a muted sound against the metal floor. She sat beside Liara, trying to ignore the pulse of her heartbeat picking up… god, just being alone in a room with her… The air between them was different now. Their relationship was something she hadn’t expected, something still unfolding. Shep wasn’t used to being close to people. Certainly not like this, but Liara softened the edges of her usually sharp focus; she was defenseless around her.

Liara’s voice was a gentle pull from her thoughts. “Shepard... I was wondering if you’d be willing to—”

She interrupted with a raised eyebrow, smirking a little, “You’re gonna ask me to meld, aren’t you?”

Liara blinked, caught off guard by the teasing tone in Shepard’s voice. She flushed faintly, but there was a slight twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “I—I was thinking it might help, to… to understand the vision better. If you would allow me to join minds with you, perhaps there is something I can glean from it.” Shepard glanced at her, noting the concern and curiosity in Liara’s eyes. She paused before continuing, her tone careful, measured. “—to see the vision for myself. Perhaps, with my knowledge of the Protheans, I can help make sense of it. There may be something in the symbols or the images that you didn’t catch. Something… important.”

Shepard’s lips curled into a grin, leaning forward slightly. “Suuuure—or maybe you’re just looking for an excuse to be close to me. You know, usually I like to have dinner with a girl before I let her in my mind.”

Liara’s blush deepened, but she didn’t back down. “I—well, I... yes—I-I believe it would help, yes, and d-dinner…m-melding is…well it is not exactly as…but also, yes.” She laughed nervously, a soft sound that made Shepard’s heart beat a little faster.

The Commander chuckled, her grin widening as she leaned in just a little closer, her voice dropping to a mock-serious tone. “You know, I thought you might’ve been a little jealous of Shiala gettin’ all up in my mind business, but I figured I was just seeing things—if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you liked me or something, T’Soni.”

Liara’s face went purple, and for a moment, she looked like she was trying to come up with a coherent response. “I—I—well, I—um...” She trailed off, clearly flustered. Liara’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out at first. Finally, she managed, “I—I didn’t mean—” Her voice was still soft, but there was a boldness in it now, as if she couldn’t quite contain what she was feeling. “I—just… I suppose I do …I want to—to be close to you, Shepard… in this way…and others…if you’ll let me.” The teasing, the humor, the lightness—they were all gone in the wake her honesty; the Commander’s chest tightened… God is she so adorable.

Shepard watched her stumble, barely able to suppress a laugh, and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, looking at Liara’s flushed face and the vulnerability written all over it. “Well…” Shepard let the silence stretch for a moment, the asari’s soft gaze making it hard to breathe. “I guess I’ve got no excuse to turn you down now, do I?”

The maiden smiled shyly, her hands hovering a little above Shepard’s temples, like she was waiting for permission, as though asking silently whether it was okay to proceed. Shepard sat in front of Liara, her arms crossed as she tried to tamp down the flutter of nerves in her chest. “You really want to do this?” she asked, voice light, almost teasing, though there was a hint of uncertainty underneath. “I mean, joining minds... with me?”

Liara’s gaze softened, the gentle vulnerability in her expression making Shepard’s stomach tighten just a little. She nodded, her voice quiet but firm. “Yes, if you’re willing. I... would like to try to understand what you saw—as I said before, with my knowledge of Prothean history and culture, I might see something you cannot…perhaps it could help the mission.”

“Right—the mission ,” she smirked, her tone playful, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation. “Just don’t uh…don’t go poking around too much in there. It’s a bit of a mess. Who knows what you might find.”

Liara’s lips twitched at the humor, but she could see through it, her lightheartedness barely covering her deeper uncertainty. “I will be careful,” she said, soft with sincerity. “I will only see what you allow me.” Shepard chuckled, trying to ease the sudden weight of the moment, though it came out a little strained. Blue hands reached out, the warmth of her touch grounded Shepard, and though she wanted to pull back, a part of her was already moving forward, trusting the asari with something that felt like it could break her open. “We don’t have to do this, if you’re not ready.” Liara’s words were soft, offering Shepard the space to back out, but it was clear that she had already made her decision. Her hands stayed in place, calm and patient.

Shepard’s lips parted as she let out a short, almost nervous laugh. She straightened, trying to appear unaffected, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her. “I mean—is anyone ever ‘ready’ for a mind probing?” She shifted, joking, her arms uncrossing as she scooted closer, her heart thumping louder now. “I’ve got some... questionable memories in there.” She hesitated, her voice dropping a little, the teasing edge softened by the unease growing in her chest. “I don’t wanna scare you off or anything.”

Liara’s lips quirked up ever so slightly, a soft smile playing on her face, and it was glaringly clear the way her eyes didn’t shy away. Her response was measured and calm, putting her at ease, “You have control, Shepard. It’s no different than any other meld—well, I do suppose NIM therapy is more theraputic than a mere exchange of information, but—”

“C’mon, Liara, of course it’s different,” she swallowed, the tightness in her throat only deepening as she moved closer, her breath becoming shallow. She wanted to laugh again, to brush the moment off with a joke, but it was so damn hot in here suddently and was she suffocating?  “You’re not them ,” she added, her voice quieter now. The words fell from her lips with a sensitivity humore couldn’t mask.

Liara didn’t break eye contact. There was a patience in her gaze, an understanding that made her feel like she wasn’t so alone in this moment, even as she felt like she was teetering on the edge of something she couldn’t quite grasp. “I won’t judge you,” she said, voice light, but the warmth in it held more weight than Shepard expected. “I simply want to understand what you saw. That is all.”

. There was no judgment, no expectation—just this... connection. Her heart raced, the sound of it filling her ears as she shifted ever so slightly, the intensity of the moment pressing in on her. She could only nod, her throat dry and her chest tight with a mixture of fear and something else. Something far deeper. She felt Liara move closer, the shift in her proximity sending a rush of warmth over her skin. It wasn’t just the proximity, though; it was the way Liara’s touch was more deliberate, almost reverent as they hovered near her temples, her breath catching as the first touch, gentle, sent a jolt through her body. Liara’s skin against hers, even the flat of her fingers had her fighting to steady herself, her stomach flipping with the touch. Every part of her was aware of how close they were, the way Liara’s presence could fill the space between them—quiet and undeniable. Why did she do that—how? Why was it that her touch, so soft and careful, felt deeply intimate…and their minds would soon connect, which would only bring them closer. 

The asari’s gaze never wavered, her thumb softly caressing her cheek. Her voice was soft and steady as she whispered, “I would never…” she paused, considering her words. “I would never want to hurt you, Allie.” 

The sound of her name brought tears to her eyes; she closed them before they could fall, but they fell anyway. Her forehead rested against Liara’s as they sat closer now.  The thought of letting Liara in, of sharing her mind, was overwhelming in the best and worst ways. She released a shaky breath and nodded slowly, not exactly trusting herself to speak. It was easier to just let the moment carry her, to let Liara carry her. “Embrace eternity,” she whispered.

Liara’s fingers gently pressed to her temples, and her vision shifted behind her eyes, just slightly, the edges of her awareness blurring as her mind connected to Liara’s. It was like a sudden drop—one moment they were two people, apart, and the next, they were together—their minds woven tightly in a way Shepard couldn’t fully explain. The sensation of it was dizzying, overwhelming, yet... it felt safe. It felt right, it wasn’t exactly unlike her meld with Shi’ara or the Cipher from Shiala, but it felt more personal—it wasn’t like she thought it would be. Even in her melds with the other asari, it wasn’t something she necessarily chose to do, rather she was asked to do it by nature of her work—either to protect herself or the galaxy. While she’d never doubted the validity of NIM therapy, she’d still worried it was a mistake, and she’d barely anytime to invest thought into the Cipher from Shiala. 

But this? She didn’t need to think about it. 

For all the tension humming through her body, Liara’s presence was the exact opposite—calm, deliberate, diffusing throughout her mind. She felt a beckoning—a reminder from Liara about the vision. It was instantaneous the moment she thought of it—jagged images and fragmented sounds flooding their shared consciousness; the world burning, the Protheans dying, their desperation like an echo carved in the fabric of time. With the meld, she gasped—or was that Liara? It was all-consuming, heat searing her skin, the acrid taste of smoke on her tongue—the gut wrenching cries of a people in the throes of death—like drowning in someone else’s memories. 

Liara’s presence weaved through the fragmented images, like a hand on her back in her mind. It was something cling to, to let guide her through the memories. Your mind , Liara’s voice murmured like a breeze against her thoughts, incredible—you are strong, resilient against such a relentless vision.

Of course, even with her body trembling as the intensity of the meld continued to pull at her, she had to make a joke. Well, I’ve had tons of practice keeping my head together.

There was a shift in the asari’s presence—not ignoring her deflection, rather the exact opposite. The thought of keeping her head straight brought other memories into the meld, allowing Liara to feel and see glimpses of Mindoir, the pain as the acid of thresher maw spit seared through her armor on Akuze—flashes of a scar on her shoulder where it had hit her, Dr. Chakwas’ pained expression as she explained the medi-gel Shepard applied in the field had prevented her from losing her arm, but wouldn’t stop it from scarring. 

Shepard, you—do you mean to show me this? Liara asked, and Shepard’s mind resisted abruptly, like it was trying to free itself from a trap. Shepard, calm down—it’s alright. But it didn’t feel that way, those memories…she tried not to think about the physical scars on her body so much she forgot about them until she didn’t. Liara’s calm resonated through her mind, and she felt her defenses wavering. She thought about the vision again, dark forms suddenly consuming a horizon—machines, like claws, followed by a ripple of a despair not her own. It sank deep within her, curling around the boundaries of memory like smoke. Liara’s presence tightened, more deliberate now. She reached out, her warmth wrapping around Shepard’s thoughts like a protective shield. The chaos began to ebb, the flames and shadows retreating into the edges of her mind. Slowly, the meld unraveled, the tether between them loosening until Shepard was herself again, grounded in her own body.

Her eyes blinked open, and the dim light of Liara’s quarters came into focus. Liara’s hands lingered for a moment longer, her thumbs brushing lightly against Shepard’s temples before she pulled away. Shepard was trembling, her breath uneven.

“That was…incredible,” the asari murmured, her voice breaking the silence. “The images were so vivid. I did not realize it would be so—intense.”

Shepard chuckled, “Like camping?” 

“What is ‘camping?’” the asari asked, genuinely confused. 

“Uhm…just erm—you know, well–actually—-I’ll just take you some day. Were you able to...ya know, make sense of anything?” Shepard asked, beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

Liara’s voice was soft and apologetic, “I am sorry. I could not discern more than what you already knew. The Reapers… their presence is overwhelming, but the vision remains fragmented even with the cipher.”

“Nothing?” she asked, not exactly to Liara as it was to the universe.

“It did seem as though something were missing, gaps. The beacon on Eden Prime must have been badly damaged. There significant parts missing; it believe the data transferred into your mind is incomplete. But, everything I saw, you already know. There is a clear connection between the Reapers, the Prothean extinction, and the Conduit, but there was nothing to clarify the specific nature of the connection or more than that.”

“Damn,” Shepard muttered. “If we don’t find something on Noveria, we’ll be at a dead end.” 

“Perhaps not,” the asari maiden started, a hand resting on Shepard’s knee. “I was able to interpret the information—what was there. Something was missing; Saren must have this information—perhaps he discovered another beacon. If we can find the missing data, perhaps we can piece—” Liara’s vision blurred a bit and she looked dizzy. “Woah—”

“Are you alright?” Shepard reached out to steady her, despite their sitting position. 

“It is…yes—the intensity of the joining…it was exhausting—” 

“Should I get Chakwas?” The Commander had already started off the bed, her body moving to the door, but Liara stopped her. 

“No—I am okay. I just need moment. I am sorry, Shepard.” 

Shepard exhaled, shaking her head. “Don’t apologize. You tried, Liara. That’s more than enough.” he managed a small smile, though her voice was still rough as she returned to the arari’s side. “Besides, I didn’t hate it.”

“You didn’t?” Liara asked, her voice tinged with genuine surprise, her blue eyes wide and searching.

“No,” she admitted softly. Her gaze dropped for a moment before returning to meet Liara’s. “I like feeling close to you like that.” The confession hung between them, quiet and heavy with meaning. In truth, she wanted more with Liara after the meld. She had exposed herself to the asari, even allowing memories she’d rather avoid to slip through the meld—every layer of herself was unspooled for the maiden, and perhaps if it were anyone else it would have felt wrong, but if anything was true about how she felt—it was how right it was. She wanted to kiss her, the urge building as she gazed into the asari’s eyes, but doubt gnawed on the edges of her courage. She was unbelievably tired—her body and mind stretched from the vision, the mission, and the meld. Did Liara want to? Did she want to be closer too?

Liara, ever soft and gentle, was already reaching for her. Her expression was tender, her eyes flicking over Shepard’s face, carefully, tucking a loose strand of red hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing lightly against her temple. The touch was delicate, reverent, and lingering—her hand resting just above Shepard’s cheek—she could feel the warmth of her palm.

“Allie,” Liara whispered before leaning in. Her voice sounded pained—like she was holding something back while still putting herself forward. The kiss was unhurried—it carried none of the urgency residing in Shepard’s body from the mission. Her breath hitched and her eyes closed with the soft press of Liara’s lips against hers, her blue hand cupping her cheek and falling to her neck when she moved to deepen it, her other hand resting lightly on Shepard’s knee. 

The maiden’s kiss deepened, her tongue tracing the seam of Shepard’s lips with a gentle insistence. Shepard’s breath hitched again, her body responding to Liara’s slow, deliberate movements. The asari’s dominance was subtle but undeniable, her touch firm yet tender as she guided the kiss. Shepard’s hands found their way to her waist, fingers gripping lightly as she surrendered to the sensation, allowing her to lean backward more.

Liara's hand on the back of her neck tightened just a fraction, pulling her closer, while her other hand slid up Shepard’s thigh, pressing gently against the sensitive skin there. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the growing heat between them. Fuck, she keeps this up, we’ll have a mess here . There was no stopping it though—the asari’s tongue in her mouth, a little unskilled but still bold—still irresistible.

“Jesus Christ, Liara,” Shepard moaned, her stomach flipping in the best way as the asari’s kissed trailed down her jawline. 

“I hardly see where human mythology is relevant here,” she murmured, her breath hot on Shepard’s neck, nipping softly at the curve of her neck before returning to capture her lips once more. 

“T-Turn of phrase—fuck,” she moaned as she felt Liara’s lips on her pulse, pulling the skin into her mouth. She suddenly felt like she wasn’t doing enough—her hands had remained on Liara’s clothed waist while she let the asari explore her body. 

“Does this feel good, Commander?” she whispered, her hot breath tickling the tiny hairs in her ear—if Liara’s knee was between her legs when the asari licked her ear, she would have finished embarrassingly quick. She couldn’t reply with words, only nodding, while her hand moved up Liara’s shirt. 

Her eyes met Liara’s before moving further. “Can I?” 

Liara smiled, her eyes closing. She moved so that Shepard’s hand was no longer in her shirt and instead in her hand. “Perhaps we should stop before…before things heat up further,” she replied, her face flushed. “As much as I want to—by the Goddess , do I want to, Shepard—but we should talk more.” 

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, worried as her chest tightened. 

“No—no, absolutely not ,” Liara rushed, taking her other hand to hold both of Shepard’s hands. “It’s just…I am not used to this—you. I need more time.”

“Oh,” she sighed, relieved, and then it hit her. “Wait—you’ve never…?”

Liara’s blush deepened. “I’m afraid I am unlike most asari maidens in this regard…I quite enjoy my remote digs and expeditions.”

“That’s alright…take all the time you need, Liara—we don’t need to rush into things; we can take this at whatever rate you want. I’ll be here.”

“Thank you, Shepard…I know there are some strange beliefs about my people, legends of asari promiscuity, but those are merely rumors. When one of my people joins with someone of an another species, it is a very deep and spiritual exchange. It’s…the asari don’t enter unions lightly,” Liara explained, her thumb caressing back and forth over Shepard’s hand. The human was beginning to understand.

“It sounds mystical,” she replied, looking deeply into the asari’s eyes.

“It can be—it is much like the melding, however a true union is much more intense—it is a connection that transcends the boundaries of the universe. In a regular meld, there is a level of connection; you feel there is someone else within you, speaking to you, and while some are just informational exchanges, others are more intimate,” Liara continued, becoming slightly embarrassed talking about it. “When an asari chooses her bondmate—in the meld, two become one, thoughts, senses—identities intertwine. Memories and emotions entangle in a single rapturous whole. It is unlike any other experience, and for some it can be a truly life changing event.”

“That sounds incredible and beautiful…are you saying you want me to be your bondmate?” Shepard quizzed, her lips pursed outward, a bit unsure. 

“No! Oh no—well, uh, I do , but we’ve hardly just met and, it’s more—uhm—I am not very good at explaining myself,” Liara scolded herself, looking away from the human.

“It’s okay,” she said earnestly, attempting to pull the maiden out of the anxious spiral she was going down. “You’re fine, really—it’s okay—just tell me what you’re thinking.” 

The asari looked down, still hesitant to meet her gaze. “I was trying to explain why I need more time…it is more than just sex—it’s the lifeblood of my species. It’s how we grow and evolve. That is why I have never, uhm…it is why we must choose our partners carefully.” 

Shepard leaned closer to Liara, trying to get her to look at her again. “You don’t need to feel shy, Liara—I want you to be absolutely sure about this.”

“I…I am only 106—by asari standards, I’m barely an adult, and I—well, you know, I spend so much of my time on digs or absorbed in my research. Most asari maidens are not like me—they’re more liberal with their…hobbies throughout their maiden years. I had never really thought much about joining or unions—not until you. You are very special to me, Shepard, and I want to experience this with you…eventually. There is just so much happening with Saren—Benezia, the Reapers…I am worried I’m not ready.” 

“That’s understandable, Liara. I know I can be…a lot , but I’d never want you to feel rushed into something so important to you,” she replied. “You’re special to me too, you know? I love what we have going—the time we’ve spent together, and of course I understand why you feel that way even if---well, even if I’m not really a stranger to…diverse experiences."

Liara laughed softly, “I—I didn’t mean to presume, but I do recall you trying to tell me about such ventures when you’d gotten drunk at Chora’s Den.” 

“Holy shit, really ?” Her eyes were so wide they burned, not unlike her cheeks. “Fuck, I am—I am so sorry, Liara—I never would have told you about that if I was—”

Liara interrupted, her laughter bubbling up, a bit stronger now, her embarrassment fading. “It was funny more than anything else, really, but I imagined you might be better versed in these… how did you say it? Yes, diverse experiences. ” Her teasing tone carried a note of genuine amusement, her delicate laughter softening the awkwardness lingering in the air.

Shepard couldn’t help but join in her laughter, the tension in her chest easing as embarrassment gave way to shared mirth. “Okay, not that many— I probably couldn’t write a book —well, nothing as fascinating as your justicar romance novels.”

Liara tilted her head, her smile widening just enough to make her eyes crinkle faintly at the edges. “Perhaps not, but I will say, Shepard... I do enjoy kissing you.”

The statement, so simple and confident, caught her off guard. She blinked, her smirk returning quickly to cover the heat rising to her face. “Do you now?”

“Yes,” the asari replied, her tone soft but unwavering. “I am thankful my inexperience has not… dissuaded you.” Her voice dipped with a touch of vulnerability, her hands fidgeting slightly in her lap, unsure whether to reach for Shepard.

Shepard’s grin softened, the bravado fading into something quieter, warmer. She inched closer, her hand brushing against Liara’s before curling her fingers gently around hers. “I don’t think anything could change my mind about you.”

Liara’s luminous eyes searched Shepard’s face, her expression a mix of wonder and disbelief. “You just… you say these things so easily, Shepard.”

“It’s more than that, Liara,” she continued, her voice low but steady. “You’re…” She paused, the words tangling for a moment in her throat. She wasn’t used to saying things like this, not out loud, but the way Liara looked at her—so open, so hopeful—demanded honesty, it buried the feeling there was something to be ashamed about her feelings. “You’re the first person I’ve met since Mindoir who knows as much about my life as you do, and it’s not just that you know—it’s the way you… You show up for me. You’re there, always, somehow pulling me back when I need it most. If it helps, I mean---of course, it's different, but I've not taken a relationship this seriously since before joining the Alliance. I'm not a stranger to flings, sure, but there weren't feelings involved...on my part. That's probably why I've managed to screw all of them up," the human hambled and paused with a deep breath. "In a way, you're not the only one who's new to this."  The asari's fingers tightened around Shepard’s, her lips parting slightly, but she said nothing, letting Shepard’s words settle between them like fragile glass. She sighed, her free hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “So, I really mean it, Liara. I don’t think anything could change my mind about you.”

The maiden's voice was barely above a whisper. “You honor me with your words, Shepard… and your heart.”

“And you keep proving you deserve it,” she murmured, her voice low and tender. She leaned in, her forehead brushing lightly against the asari’s, a simple touch that carried more significance than words. Slowly, she tilted her head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the asari’s warm forehead.

She lingered there, just for a moment, before pulling back to meet Liara’s gaze. “So,” she added, her lips curving into a faint, teasing smile, “if you need to keep things above the belt until you’re ready, I’ll be here—for you to kiss whenever you want.”

The maiden’s soft laughter bubbled between them, her eyes shining affectionately. “Ahh, so kind and so generous of you, Commander,” she teased, a playful lilt in her voice. Her fingers trailed briefly along Shepard’s wrist before she leaned back against the bed, the gesture an unspoken invitation. 

The human hesitated for only a heartbeat before joining her, lowering herself beside Liara on the soft surface. She stretched out, one elbow propped beneath her to face Liara, her hand resting lightly between them. “Do you mind if I stay with you tonight? It’s just…I—I think I sleep better beside you.”

“Of course,” the arari replied. The silence settled between them, not heavy, but warm. Liara’s head tilted slightly, her gaze tracing Shepard’s face, committing every line and curve to memory. 

Shepard broke the stillness, her voice softer, almost shy as she struggled to find the words she wanted. “I was thinking about…” She paused, drawing in a breath as her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket beneath them. “Uhm—I’m not exactly thrilled about everyone else doing it, but… when it’s just us here, Liara…” Her eyes flicked to the asari’s, then back down again, her features softening with the warmth between them. “I think I want you to call me Alison.” Her voice caught slightly, as if testing the sound of it aloud. “Or… Allie.”

Liara’s expression softened, the teasing sparkle in her eyes fading into something gentler, more profound. “Allie,” she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue with care, as though it were a precious gift.

Shepard’s lips quirked in a self-conscious smile, but she didn’t look away this time. “Yeah. It’s not something I’ve asked anyone else to use in a really long time, but with you… I think I’d like it.”

Liara shifted closer, her hand brushing against Shepard’s arm before resting there, her fingers light and steady. “You’ve a beautiful name,” she said quietly, her voice full of warmth. “And it feels like an honor to say it.”

Shepard let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. “Just don’t overuse it. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know.”

Liara’s laugh was soft, her head tilting toward Shepard as their foreheads touched once more before they shared another kiss. “I’ll try to exercise restraint… Allie .” 

Chapter Text

[Codex Entry: Thessian Beverages]

Irssan (“Storm Root” Tea)

Irssan is a beloved herbal infusion brewed from the dried and roasted roots of the Irssal plant, a species native to Thessia's highland regions. The tea is known for its rich, earthen depth, with flavors that evoke dark-roasted chicory and woodsmoke, complemented by subtle notes of anise and mineral-rich soil. Unlike typical stimulants, Irssan offers slow, sustained energy, making it ideal for biotics and asari scholars who require long periods of concentration. The roots of the Irssal plant are roasted to varying degrees, producing a range of flavors from mild earthiness to smoky, resinous notes, depending on the region and preparation method. Traditionally brewed in stone vessels, the tea absorbs the natural minerals of the stone, subtly altering its flavor. While Irssan is often enjoyed on its own, it can also be complemented with a twist of citrus peel or a drop of elasa to balance its natural bitterness. Non-biotic visitors often describe it as an earthy, spiced dark tea, though its biotic-enhancing properties are most appreciated by those with biotic abilities.

Liara’s meditation broke with the muffled sound of Shepard’s distress cutting through the quiet of the Commander’s quarters. She had learned the pattern by now—the sudden jerk, the breathless gasp, and then, sometimes, the low, half-formed words. No matter how many times this happened, it never felt any easier, but over the last two weeks, she’d noticed an improvement. Now, Shepard was tangled in the sheets, her face was tight, jaw clenched and her breath came in quick bursts, shallow and jagged. Liara watched for a moment, unsure if Shepard even knew she was there, her mind lost in the distorted fragments of memories her mind was struggling to comprehend. 

The asari shifted closer, her gaze softening as she looked at the human’s slightly pinched face, asleep. Shepard had never liked to talk about the nightmares—had barely admitted they were happening at all, but the strain in her body, the way her hands gripped the blanket like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality, told Liara everything she needed to know. Without speaking, she reached out, just a small touch at first—a finger grazing the skin of Shepard’s arm. She wasn’t trying to break the dream; she just wanted to ground her in the moment, to test whether the closeness of another body could assuage what she couldn’t see. 

Her reaction wasn’t immediate, but something between a gasp and strangled breath escaped her. The asari’s heart twisted, but she didn’t pull away. Rather, she pressed a little closer. Though these moments were most vulnerable for the human, Liara couldn’t deny how special she felt that Allie had trusted her. It was hard at first—even when Liara explained that asari had a more adaptive metabolic cycle, allowing them to enter restorative states more quickly and function on less sleep than humans. Their neural rhythms didn’t require the same prolonged unconsciousness, so meditation was a common way for asari to rest. But the Commander was skeptical, her expression caught between doubt and resistance. She muttered something about ‘convenient excuses,’ but Liara recognized the deflection for what it was—Allie wasn’t questioning asari biology—she was questioning whether her nightmares, her restlessness, her presence in Liara’s bed, or Liara in hers, were worth disrupting the asari’s life. 

. Liara nudged closer, her arm slipping across Allie’s waist to feel the skin showing where her shirt had ridden up. The Commander would probably never admit it, but Liara wasn’t easily fooled—Allie loved these soft touches, the slightest brush of a finger over skin, leaving a bright, soft tickle in her skin. It wasn’t much—just enough to steady her, to remind her that she wasn’t alone. 

Shepard’s breath hitched just slightly, but it was enough to make Liara’s fingers tighten where they rested against her. Another shudder ran through her, this one smaller than the last. She was settling. Slowly. The tension wasn’t gone, not completely, but it was loosening, fading in increments that felt fragile. Liara stayed still, the warmth of Allie’s body seeping into her own. The soft fabric of her sleep shirt bunched beneath her fingers, worn thin at the seams. She let herself trace the ridges of her spine with the lightest pressure, a touch meant only to remind, to ground. No barriers, no armor, just skin beneath cloth, muscles beneath skin, breath between them. 

She felt wrapped in something softer than sleep without being fully awake. She listened to the uneven cadence of Shepard’s breath, felt the way it fluttered against her collarbone before easing into something steadier. In the dim light, shadows curved over the shape of her shoulder, her jaw, the delicate slope of her nose. So strong, even now, even in sleep—but not untouchable. Not to her. 

She let her forehead brush against Shepard’s temple, barely there, a point of contact as much for herself as for the woman beside her. The warmth of her skin, the faint scent of something clean and familiar in the human’s flame of hair—she sank into it and listened as her breath deepened, no longer caught in whatever had held her before. Liara exhaled, slow and careful, her fingers tracing the curve of her ribs. When she was sure Allie had found a better dream, she closed her eyes and returned to her meditation. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in that state before the human stirred with a soft exhale. Her fingers flexed against the sheets. Awareness was slow, but as she felt the Commander stretch, she could feel it coming to in the way the tension ghosted through her limbs before fading again. Liara’s eyes opened to Shepard’s sleepy haze, her hair messy with sleep. She pulled the human closer to her, enjoying the feeling of hot breaths against her neck.

“I could stay here forever,” Liara murmured.

Shepard chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to meet blue eyes, a playful glint in her own. “Yeah, but I’d start to smell eventually.” The asari blinked in surprise before bursting into laughter, her head tilting back slightly, her laughter filling the small space between them. It was infectious.

“You have a remarkable talent for ruining a moment, Allie.”

“What can I say—it’s a gift,” she shrugged, feining nonchalance, her grin widening as she rested back on the pillows, pulling Liara gently closer. Her pulse still thrummed, but it was lighter now, more content. This moment, whatever it was, felt like something she’d keep close, something to hold onto forever.

Liara shook her head, still smiling, “Yet, somehow, I find it charming.”

“That’s because you have excellent taste,” Shepard replied, her voice low and teasing, her hand resting casually on Liara’s waist.

Liara sighed, shifting just enough to rest her head on Shepard’s shoulder, her voice a soft murmur. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re simply more persuasive than I realized.”

Shepard’s lips quirked into a half-smile as she nestled her chin lightly atop Liara’s head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not at all,” she replied, affectionately. What is that feeling—I have to name it, she makes me feel it so much . “Not at all.” They stayed like that for a while longer, the world outside the door forgotten as they shared the quiet of the room together—warm, easy, and so close that for once, Shepard didn’t care she wasn’t shooting a gun or sparring with Garrus, killing geth on uncharted planets.

She lay half-propped against the headboard, her legs stretched out, while Liara had settled comfortably beside her, one hand absently tracing patterns on Sherpard’s bare stomach. Just a sports bra away from naked , she liked to think. 

“I…” Liara began, her voice contemplative, “I never imagined myself here—not just on the Normandy, but… like this .”

“Like what?” Shepard asked, her brow arching as she cast a curious glance at the asari.

Liara smiled faintly, her gaze distant. “At someone’s side. Feeling this… attachment , this pull toward another person. I’ve always been so focused on my work—excavations, artifacts, uncovering the mysteries of the past. It’s… consuming, in its own way and I thought that was all I needed to feel fulfilled.”

“And now?” Shepard prompted, her voice softer, tinged with genuine interest.

Her blue eyes flicked to meet Shepard’s, the faintest hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. “And now I find myself distracted. Your presence—it’s as if my thoughts orbit around you. Even when you’re not near, you’re… there. Do you understand?”

Shepard chuckled softly, “I think so, but telling me I’m such a distraction is going to make me even more distracting.”

“It’s quite unfair, really. I’m accustomed to being the one who observes and studies others, but you—you’re a puzzle I can not solve. You defy simple definitions, Allie.”

She smirked, nudging Liara. “That’s me. Complex and mysterious. Add it to my long résumé.”

Liara laughed lightly, the sound like a bell, before sobering just slightly. “It isn’t just that, though. It’s… your resilience and tenacity. Your ability to carry so much and still move forward. I’ve never encountered anyone quite like you.”

Shepard’s expression softened, almost feeling vulnerable before she brushed it aside with her usual humor. “Careful, Liara. If you keep talking me up like this, I’ll start thinking you’re sweet on me.”

Liara’s lips twitched with a wry smile. “Perhaps I am.”

“Yeah?” Shepard teased, leaning closer as if daring her to reveal some hidden motive.

Liara regarded her with a steady gaze, her voice dropping into a gentle sincerity that left no room for jest. “You….just you —you are perfect.” Her breath hitched, her usual arsenal of quips faltering in the wake of Liara’s candidness. 

She covered the moment with a smirk, brushing her knuckles against the back of Liara’s hand. “You don’t play fair, do you?”

Liara’s laughter was soft, her fingers curling to meet Shepard’s touch. “You make it surprisingly easy to be honest, Allie. It’s… liberating, in a way.”

Shepard hesitated, her thumb brushing absently over Liara’s knuckles. “You know, you’re not the only one who feels that way. About being distracted, I mean.”

“Oh?” Liara blinked, her curiosity piqued. 

“Yeah. You’re in my head a lot more than I should probably admit.” Shepard smiled faintly, her gaze distant as she continued. “This whole thing—us—it’s unexpected. My relationships don’t usually last this long.”

Liara’s voice was gentle, coaxing. “Why do you think that is?”

Shepard sighed, her fingers tightening slightly around Liara’s. “Part of it’s the job. Keeps you alive longer if you don’t get too attached, but with you…” She trailed off, her words lingering in the air like an unfinished melody.

“With me?” Liara prompted, her tone encouraging but unpressuring.

“With you, it feels different. Safer, somehow. Like I can let my guard down without it all falling apart.” Shepard’s voice grew quieter, the admission almost to herself. “And I’m not used to that.”

Liara’s gaze softened, her hand shifting to cradle Shepard’s between both of hers. “Then I hope I can continue to be that for you. A safe place.”

Shepard exhaled a short laugh, her lips quirking. “You’ve got a knack for saying the right thing.”

Liara tilted her head thoughtfully, imitating Shepard’s earlier remark, “What can I say? It is a gift.” 

They lay in bed a little longer, but eventually, the warmth of the moment began to fade as Shepard’s mind shifted to the responsibilities waiting for her outside the door. The faint tension in her shoulders returned, unspoken but unmistakable. She exhaled softly, her gaze drifting toward the soft blue glow filtering into the room.

Liara noticed the change, her head tilting slightly as she studied Shepard’s face. “Duty calls?” she asked gently.

Shepard nodded, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, you know Duty—she just won’t lose my number,” she joked.

Liara smiled, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. “No rest for the paragon of humanity, right?” 

“Don’t you know it,” she chuckled, pressing a brief kiss to Liara’s temple. She rose from the bed, letting her hand linger in Liara’s for a moment longer. “I should check on the crew—make sure they’re not tearing the ship apart without me.”

“I will be here,” Liara promised.

Shepard lingered in the doorway for a heartbeat, her gaze softening as she looked back at Liara. “I know.”

She left before she could change her mind, knowing if she looked at Liara any longer, she would retire and spend the rest of her life in her uncomfortable bed on the Normandy as long as Liara was there too. She made her way to the mess where she poured herself a cup of the Alliance issue coffee made in the pot on the counter. She took a sip, the taste hitting her tongue like an old friend. It was still as harsh as always, but somehow it was always comforting—always just the thing she wanted. 

She smiled to herself—the morning after their mission on Agebinium, she’d woken up with Liara in her quarters and made coffee like she’d done today. Liara, at that point, had never tried coffee, and her probing, scientific curiosity got the best of her when she’d seen Shepard sipping from her mug, lounging and reading some information Tali had sent her about the geth.

Even in her memory she could hear Liara’s soft voice asking her, “is this a daily human ritual—your drink, I mean?”

“Uhm, I don’t know if it counts as a ritual if only some people do it,” she had replied, the corners of her mouth lifting to a grin. “It’s called coffee. You should try it—it’s a bit of acquired taste, though.” 

Liara reached for the mug, taking it with a raised brow, her nose dipping into the steam to sniff and study like a delicate artifact. “An ‘aquired taste?” she had repeated, smelling the drink again. “Is it like tea?” 

“Not…well, mostly the answer is no,” Shepard said through a light laugh. 

“I’m not sure I understand,” the asari replied, still studying the drink. “It certainly smells nice.” 

“Well,” she chucked, “a lot of people like it with cream and sugar, but mostly it takes time for people to get used to the taste. It could also be the caffeine—technically it's addicting, but I could stop drinking coffee at any time. I just don’t want to…” 

Liara looked at her before raising the mug to her lips, examining it with a quiet intensity before taking a tentative sip. The moment the coffee hit her tongue, her eyes had widened and her face scrunched as the drink reached the back of her tongue before swallowing. 

“Burnt soil,” she had remarked, frowning, moving the mug away from her face and turning away. “It tastes like burnt soil.” 

Shepard had burst out laughing, “I knew that’s what you’d say—that’s not the good stuff though, that’s Alliance issue. I have better quality in my room. It’s not that bad, is it?” 

“It is, in fact, that bad,” Liara remarked, turning the mug in her hands and inspecting it as though searching for its hidden secret.

“Well, I suppose it’s not for everyone,” Shepard shrugged, amused. 

“But you say it’s an ‘acquired taste’?” Liara’s expression had shifted to one of a thoughtful resolve. “I must test this.” 

Shepard had raised an eyebrow. “Test?”

“Indeed.” Liara nodded, the matter settled. “As a scientist, I cannot accept something as a fact without testing it first. I shall attempt to acquire this taste, just to see if it can be done. It may take time, but I am confident that my hypothesis will be correct—I will not acquire the taste for it.”

“Awe, c’mon—you’re not giving up already, are you?” Shepard had asked, her grin widening. “You had one sip!”

Liara had pressed her lips together, her voice taking on a quiet, determined tone. “It is for science, Allie. To prove my theory true, I must first attempt to prove it false.”

Since then, Liara had continued to drink coffee alongside Shepard every morning, undeterred by the Commanders amusement with her experiment—and the ways her face contorted in new and fascinating ways with every sip. She had even caught Liara making notes on a data pad where she listed each cup’s “taste profile” and her reactions to the drink. There were observations like less acrid on day two—still like scorched earth , reminiscent of irssan tea mother likes and today’s batch tasted more like burnt metal than soil. Allie requests I try her ‘higher quality’ grounds; I suspect this will be moot. 

Now, as Shepard stared into her mug she could only smile. I’ll always think of her when I drink coffee now, how endearing she is . There’s a temptation to be, at least somewhat cynical about such a thing—how people come into your life and change the way you see the smallest things—the color blue, your morning coffee, yourself. 

“Burnt soil,” she whispered with a soft chuckle, the memory as vivid as though it had just happened. 

Shepard lingered in the mess for a moment, the coffee warming her hands as she took another sip. The bitter liquid chased the last remnants of sleep from her mind, and she stared out the viewport as the stars stretched by lazily, pinpricks of light both impossibly far away and too close for comfort. The memory of Liara’s scientific determination held a smile to her face, but she pushed it aside as her gaze drifted inward. 

Coffee in hand, she wandered toward the observation deck. She wasn’t exactly sure why; maybe it was habit, or maybe the pull of quiet spaces where she could think without interruption. Her boots barely made a sound on the deck plates as she moved, her body still carrying that residual tension from the last two “side quests.” 

When the door hissed open, she wasn’t expecting to find anyone there, but Garrus stood near the bar, a glass full of amber liquid in his grip, the dim light catching the plate of his carapace. He turned his head slightly as the door opened, his mandibles twitching.

“You always this broody in the morning, or am I special?” Shepard asked, her voice breaking the comfortable stillness. 

Garrus turned slightly, amused.  “You’re special, Shepard, but I don’t think that’s news to you.”  

She crossed the room, settling beside him and setting her mug down on the bar. “You’re not wrong.” She took a sip of her coffee, savoring it rich flavor. “I figured I’d have the place to myself this early.”  

“You should know better by now,” he said, tilting his head toward her. “You’re not the only one who needs some quiet before the day starts.”  

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you for the philosophical type, Vakarian.”  

“Yeah, well,” he said, shrugging. “The stars have a way of making a guy think.”  She followed his gaze out to the nebula, the swirling light shifting almost imperceptibly as the ship drifted. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them filled by the faint clink of Garrus’s talons against his glass.  

“So, what’s on your mind?” she asked finally, glancing at him.  

Garrus didn’t answer right away. He tapped his glass once, then set it down. “Feros got me thinking, I guess. The whole colony was hanging on by a thread, and it still feels like we barely held it together.”  

“We did what we could,” she replied softly. 

“Sure, but I can’t help wondering if it’s enough—if we’re enough. I keep seeing that asari we freed from the Thorian—Shiala, and hearing her tell us about Saren and his ship, Sovereign…if it is true this Sovereign can indoctrinate people, even those as fierce as asari matriarchs, I fear it’s only a matter of time before we have enemies greater than Saren or the geth.”

She let out a quiet breath, her fingers brushing absently against the rim of her mug. “You and me both, but we can’t afford to hesitate. The galaxy won’t wait for us to get our act together.”  

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t weigh on you,” he said, his tone lighter now but still thoughtful.  

She shot him a look, her lips quirking a small smirk. “When did you get so insightful? Did I miss a memo?”  

“Must’ve slipped through the cracks,” he said, the familiar edge of humor creeping back into his voice. They stood there for a while, their earlier thoughts giving way to lighter conversation. Garrus leaned against the bar with his arms crossed, his talons lightly drumming against his forearm. She shifted her mug between her hands, the warmth from the coffee seeping into her palms as she leaned one hip against the counter.

“So,” she started, hoping to cheer him up, “what’s this story I hear about Wrex and the VI panel? Tali was swearing in at least three languages the other day, and I caught Wrex grumbling about tech stuff not being his job.” 

Garrus’s mandibles twitched in amusement, his tone lightening. “Ah—that. Tali cornered him in engineering, and according to Adams—she said she needed ‘someone with brute force and half a brain.’ Wrex took offense, obviously, but I think she managed to guilt him into helping her. Then she shoved a spanner into his hand and said, ‘Just don’t break it again.’”

Shepard raised her eyebrows, smirking. “Wait, again ? So he broke it a first time? Please tell me he broke it again.”

“Oh, he did. Apparently, the first time she asked for his help, his idea for fixing a panel involved punching it into submission. Didn’t end well—” Garrus paused, chuckling, “he broke it again—Tali was halfway through explaining how to loosen the casing when he decided to just rip the thing open. Snapped three connectors clean off.”

Shepard shook her head, her grin widening. “He told her it was an improvement?”

“Something like that,” Garrus said, replied. “He claimed it was ‘streamlining’ the process and said she should’ve specified if she didn’t want it dismantled.”

“Bet she loved that,” Shepard said, taking a sip of her coffee.

“She called him a ‘walking krogan stereotype’ and kicked him out of engineering. The best part? He actually looked kind of proud.” Garrus’s tone was light, but his grin betrayed his fondness for the crew’s antics.

“Sounds about right,” Shepard said, setting her mug down and turning slightly to face him. “What about you? I heard Joker’s been cleaning you out in cards.”

Garrus groaned, running a talon across the edge of his mandible. “Don’t remind me. I swear that guy has cameras in the cockpit. Nobody is that lucky.”

“Or maybe you’re just bad at bluffing,” she teased, crossing her arms with a smirk.

“Bluffing isn’t the problem,” Garrus shot back, his mandibles flaring slightly. “It’s the rules . Every time I think I’ve got the hang of this ‘Texas Hold’em’ thing, Joker pulls some weird move and claims it’s ‘legit’.”

She tilted her head, grinning. “You know he’s probably messing with you, right?”

“Well, I’m onto him now,” Garrus replied, narrowing his eyes. “Next time, I’m calling his bluff—literally, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll challenge him to a game of turian strategema. Let’s see how he handles a game with actual rules.”

“Fair warning: if Joker wins that, you’ll never hear the end of it,” she chuckled.

He shrugged, the light catching the metallic plates of his suit. “If he wins that , he deserves to gloat, but it’s not going to happen.”

Shepard let the laughter fade naturally, her gaze drifting toward the nebula beyond the observation deck. The colors shifted slowly, a kaleidoscope of golds and blues swirling in the dark expanse. It reminded her of something Liara had said about Prothean star charts—the way they used light as a guide, layering maps with the glow of faraway systems.

“You ever miss C-Sec?” she asked, her tone casual.

Garrus tilted his head, considering. “Sometimes. Not the red tape, though, and definitely not my old boss.”

“Still,” Shepard replied, her voice softer now, “there’s something to be said for the structure. The routine.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But routine only gets you so far when you’re dealing with people who know how to work around it. Saleon worked around it.” His voice dropped slightly, a harder edge creeping in. She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she took a slow sip of her coffee, watching him out of the corner of her eye. There was a tension in the way he stood now, his shoulders just slightly stiffer, his talons gripping the edge of the bar.

“Tell me about him,” she said finally, her tone even but inviting.

Garrus’s mandibles twitched, his gaze shifting to the nebula outside. “He was smart. I’ll give him that, but he wasn’t just a monster; he was a coward. He knew how to play the system, how to hide behind it, and when things got too hot, he disappeared.”

“And you’ve been chasing him ever since,” Shepard said, her voice carrying a note of understanding.

“Pretty much,” he said, exhaling slowly. “He’s out there, Shepard. I know he is, and now that I’ve got you on my side, I’m not letting him get away again.”

Shepard set her mug down, meeting his gaze. “Let’s find him. The Herschel System, right?”

He nodded, the tension in his frame easing slightly. “Right.”

She smirked, nudging his arm lightly. “Let’s hope he doesn’t get wind of us coming; I don’t want to spend the whole mission chasing some salarian through an asteroid belt.”

His laugh was low and genuine, the sharp edge of his earlier frustration softening. “You say that now, but I think you’d secretly enjoy it.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, grinning. “But don’t tell Joker. He’ll try to make it sound like he does all the work when that happens.”

“Deal,” Garrus said, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mandibles. 

Shepard leaned back against the bar, swirling the dregs of her coffee in the mug as she watched Garrus. His earlier tension had eased, but there was still something restless in the way his talons tapped faintly against the countertop.

“Sooooooooo—what’s the plan?” she asked, her tone light but purposeful. “We just barge in, guns blazing? Or are you picturing something a little more subtle?”

Garrus huffed a laugh, shaking his head, “Subtlety was never my strong suit, Shepard, but I’ve learned a thing or two from you about precision. If we can catch him before he has a chance to bolt, we might not even have to fire a shot.”

She raised a brow, smirking. “So, you think I’m precise?”

“You’re disciplined. That’s different,” he said with a chuckle, glancing her way. “I’m guessing you don’t always plan on being precise—it just works out that way because you’re stubborn as hell.”

Maybe I’m just unlucky enough to die , she thought. Then, she laughed, setting her mug down on the bar with a quiet clink. “I’ll take that as a compliment, and I’ll admit, I’d rather this not turn into a prolonged chase. Still, we should prep for the worst-case scenario. Does he have a ship? Crew? Defenses we need to worry about?” 

Garrus shook his head, his gaze turning sharp as he considered her questions, “Last intel I had was vague. He keeps his operation small—fewer loose ends that way, but small doesn’t mean defenseless. If he’s still in the Herschel System, he’ll have something up his sleeve.”

“Figures,” she sighed, pushing off the bar. “We’ll run scans when we get there. If he’s hiding, Joker’ll flush him out. Normandy’s good at tracking ghosts.”

Garrus tilted his head, mandibles twitching with faint amusement. “You make it sound easy.”

She crossed her arms, a half-grin forming. “Best pilot in the galaxy. Ship that turns on a dime. We’ve pulled off worse. If anything, we’ll make it look easy.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rough, “Remind me not to make bets against you, Shepard. You’ve got a dangerous habit of winning.”

“Just trying to stack the odds in our favor. Saleon’s not getting away from you—not this time,” she shrugged, turning her gaze out the observation window where the stars stretched endlessly across the black. Her voice was steady. Resolute. Garrus seemed to draw from it, his stance straightening, that restless edge in him sharpening into something focused.

“I’ll get my gear ready,” he said, stepping away. “We’ll make sure this ends the way it should have years ago.”

“Damn right we will,” she replied, her tone firm but with a glimmer of humor. “And hey, if things get dicey, you know I’ll have your back.”

He turned, his mandibles twitching in a turian smile, “Never doubted it, Shepard.”

As Garrus headed for the elevator, Shepard lingered for a moment longer in the quiet of the observation deck. Her gaze followed the blur of stars outside. The galaxy was a big place, but this Dr. Saleon had nowhere left to hide. They’d get him. Maybe they’d even find clues about Saren along the way.

*

Kaidan stood by a console, his back to her door, shoulders tense as Shepard left her quarters after a quick shower. It was quiet in the mess area, only a few crew members taking a short break from duties, their conversations accompanied by the muted tap of Lt. Alenko’s fingers scrolling through a datapad. Shepard hesitated, catching a flicker of concentration on his face, the slight crease between his brows. There was obviously something on his mind. For a moment, she thought about turning back—about leaving whatever this was for another time—but something in his stance stopped her. He wasn’t relaxed, not like he usually was. There was a rigidity to him, as though whatever weighed on his mind had been growing heavier with every passing minute. 

She cleared her throat. “Lieutenant.”

Kaidan glanced up sharply, his posture straightening as if she’d caught him off guard. “Commander,” he said, setting the datapad down and nodding toward her. “I was hoping to catch you.”

“Well, here I am.” Shepard stepped forward, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “What’s on your mind?” 

Kaidan’s mouth tightened into a thin line. He gestured toward the seat across from him, though he didn’t sit down himself. “It’s about Doctor T’Soni,” he said, his voice even, though there was a slight edge to it. 

Shepard quirked an eyebrow but leaned casually against the back of the chair. “Something wrong?” she asked, her tone neutral but wary.

“Not exactly,” he replied, his hand lifting briefly before falling to his side. He exhaled, glancing toward the glowing datapad as if searching for the right words. “It’s just... something I’ve been noticing. The way she looks at you. The way she follows your lead.”

Shepard blinked, caught off guard. “I’m her commanding officer. That’s what she’s supposed to do.” 

Kaidan shook his head, the shadow of a frown crossing his face. “It’s more than that,” he said quietly. His gaze locked with hers, steady but cautious. “I get it, Shepard. She’s new to all of this—combat, the team, hell, even the galaxy outside her own little corner. And you? You’re— you . It’s no wonder she’s gravitating toward you, but it’s starting to feel like she’s depending on you for more than just orders.”

She tilted her head, folding her arms across her chest. “And you think that’s a problem.”

Kaidan hesitated, his hand twitching slightly at his side before he stilled it. “I think it could be,” he admitted, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve got enough on your plate, Commander. You don’t need someone looking at you like you’re the answer to every question in the galaxy.”

Shepard’s jaw tightened. “She’s young, Kaidan—well, for an asari anyway,” she said, her voice sharper now. “And she’s been thrown into the deep end. If she’s leaning on me, it’s because she doesn’t have anyone else. I’d rather she feel comfortable with me than completely isolated.”

Kaidan leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as his frown deepened. “I get that. I do. But I’ve seen it happen before. People get too close, too fast out here. It doesn’t end well. For anyone.”

The words landed heavier than she’d expected, and Shepard felt a flicker of irritation rise in her chest. “You think I don’t know that?” she shot back. “I’m not about to let anyone compromise our mission—not Liara, and definitely not me.”

His expression softened, though his stance remained firm. “That’s not what I’m saying,” he defended, his tone quieter now. “ You’re solid, Commander. I’ve seen it, time and time again, but Doctor T’Soni? She’s walking a fine line between admiration and something... more, and if that line blurs—if something happens to you, or to her—do you think she’s ready for the fallout?”

Shepard exhaled through her nose, glancing past him to the steady pulse of the comm console. “She’s stronger than you’re giving her credit for,” she said after a moment, her voice low but steady. “And I trust her to figure that out.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Commander,” Kaidan said after a pause, his voice measured but not cold. “I just needed to say my piece, and I knew after our last conversation you wanted me to be honest with you. Liara’s brilliant—no question—but this mission isn’t going to give her, or any of us, much room for error. When we find Matriarch Benezia…” He shifted his weight, arms falling to his sides. His expression softened, though a trace of unease lingered in his tone. “—I just wanted make sure she’s ready for what’s ahead. For her sake—and yours.”

She held his gaze, her tone firm but not unkind, “I appreciate the concern, Lieutenant, but it’s not just her I’m counting on out there—it’s everyone. Including you.”

Kaidan’s expression softened, a hint of something unspoken flickering across his face before he nodded. “Understood, Commander.” 

“I’ll talk to you later,” she said before walking away, casting one last glance over her shoulder to see whether he was watching her go. He’d returned to his work without another word. It was a little frustrating, the whole conversation—Kaidan didn’t need to remind her of the stakes—she carried them every day, in every decision, but his words lingered, not quite accusatory but bordering it for sure. Trust was always a gamble, and she’d made her choices. Whether it would hold, or break, was a question only time would answer. 

She liked her choices. The people she’d trusted to stand by her. The risks she’d taken to bring them together. And Liara—Liara, who made her feel more vulnerable than she cared to admit, but in a way that felt oddly comforting. With her, she didn’t have to hide behind some persona soldier, spectre, or leader. Liara’s presence, her warmth, gave her a space to breathe without needing to have it all together. It wasn’t often she allowed herself to feel this safety, but she was like clay in the asari’s gentle hand—the kind of warmth in Liara was one that commanded her, not with force, but with a quiet inevitability—pulling her in with a gravity she couldn’t resist. Liara softened her just enough for her be something more than what everyone thought. Someone who could be loved, adored, even. 

“Trust me, Alenko,” she murmured under her breath as she left the elevator, her boots echoing in the small space.  “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

***

She stepped onto the command deck, her boots hitting the polished floor in a quiet rhythm. The galaxy map’s soft blue light painted the CIC in a serene glow. She paused a moment, her gaze tracing the holographic constellations. Her fingers brushed over the console as she brought up the coordinates for the Herschel System. Joker’s voice broke the silence over the comm.

“Something on your mind, Commander, or we just taking the Normandy out for a joyride?”

Shepard smirked, leaning into the console. “We’re heading to the Kepler Verge. Garrus has a lead on someone important and we wanna check it out. Get us there without spilling my coffee, and I’ll see if I can talk Pressly into cutting you some slack for once.”

Joker’s laugh crackled in her earpiece, an oddly grounding sound in the moment. “No promises, but I’ll do my best, Commander. Setting course now.”

As the ship began its gentle shift into position, she glanced toward Pressly, who was already watching her from his station. His eyes carried the same mix of curiosity and reservation they always did when the Normandy veered from its prescribed mission.

“Another detour, Commander? What is it you call them— ‘side quests’?” he asked, voice even but edged with that familiar skepticism.

She straightened, meeting his gaze. “Nothing that’ll take us too far off course, but it’s important to Garrus—and to the kind of crew we are.” Pressly considered that for a moment before giving a curt nod. He didn’t always understand her decisions, but he respected the outcomes. She could live with that. She turned away, sending a message through the Normandy’s internal comms: Mission debrief in 10 minutes. Suit up.

By the time Shepard entered the briefing room, her team had already assembled, their varying expressions ranging from curiosity to determination. Maybe she was projecting, but the air felt some kind of tense, but nothing unusual before a mission. 

“Alright, listen up,” she started, her voice steady as she stood at the head of the table. The galaxy map hovered behind her, its swirling blue light casting faint shadows over the gathered team. “Garrus has been tracking a salariant assailant, Doctor Saleon—a geneticist-turned-criminal who’s been using innocent people for twisted experiments. We believe he’s going by an alias, Doctor Heart, and intel places him in the Herschel System.”

Her eyes shifted to Garrus, who stood near the edge of the room, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. Though she was still getting the hang of reading emotions on other aliens, there was something sharp in his expression—coiled, ready to strike. “This isn’t just personal for Garrus,” she continued, her tone sharpening. “Saleon’s crimes make him a threat to anyone he crosses paths with. We’re not just stopping him for revenge—we’re doing it because it’s the right thing to do. No one else should suffer at his hands human, turian, asari, krogan—we stop him.”

Wrex leaned back in his chair, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “Sounds like this guy’s overdue for a reckoning. I’m in.”

“Me too,” Kaidan added, his tone steady. “If he’s experimenting on people, we can’t let that continue.”

Tali’s fist clenched lightly on the table. “No one has the right to use others like that. This Saleon deserves whatever’s coming to him.”

Shepard’s gaze moved across the table, taking in each of their faces. These people trusted her to lead them, to steer them into danger and bring them back out again. “Suit up and be ready for anything,” she said. “We don’t know what Saleon’s got waiting for us, and I don’t want anyone caught off guard. Dismissed.”

The team dispersed with purpose, their movements smooth but charged with resolve. Only Garrus lingered, his sharp frame silhouetted by the dim light.

“Shepard,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, “thank you—for trusting me with this.”

Shepard studied him for a moment. Garrus wasn’t a man of easy gratitude; his thanks carried weight, not just words but the unspoken trust between them. She gave him a small, genuine smile.

“Always,” she said. “We’re in this together. Let’s make it count.” Garrus nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he turned to leave. Shepard stood alone for a moment, staring at the now-empty room. Taking a deep breath, eyes closed and counting to ten, she let her resolve settle over like a second skin. 

She headed for the armory.

*

The Normandy drifted closer to the MSV Fedele, its weathered hull a battered shadow against the vast, unyielding darkness of space. The freighter’s outline emerged in the cold light of distant stars, its surface pocked with the scars of neglect and desperate repairs. Its faint running lights flickered, a dull pulse in the void, as though the ship itself hesitated to draw attention. The Herschel System was quiet this far out—certainly an ideal hiding place for someone like Dr. Saleon.

Shepard stood at the edge of the cockpit, one hand braced against the console as the freighter grew larger on the viewscreen. Joker sat relaxed in the pilot’s chair, his hands moving over the controls with a kind of casual precision that belied the weight of the moment.

“Got visuals, Commander,” Joker remarked, breaking the silence. “If this thing’s still operational, it’s by some kind of miracle—or duct tape.”

She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at the freighter’s hull. “Doesn’t look like much,” she muttered, her gaze sweeping over the dimly illuminated ship. 

Behind her, Garrus shifted, his posture as sharp and calibrated as the rifle slung across his back. His mandibles flicked with subtle unease, “He’ll have traps. Maybe even hired guns. He always liked putting someone else between him and the people coming for him.”

“Good,” Wrex growled, his voice a deep rumble as he stepped into the cockpit. The krogan’s massive frame filled the doorway, the overhead lights gleaming off his heavy armor. His shotgun rested lazily on one shoulder, but there was nothing casual about the glint in his eyes. “Hired muscle’ll be more fun to shoot than some scrawny salarian.”

Shepard shot him a wry look over her shoulder, her mouth curling into a smirk. “Let’s try not to blow up the whole ship before we’ve had a chance to talk to him. If Saleon cooperates, I’d like to take him alive. It’d be nice to see someone answer for their crimes.” Her voice dropped, the humor slipping away. “If he doesn’t, well...” Her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the console. “We’ll deal with him.”

Joker tilted his head, glancing back with a half-smile. “You want me to keep the Normandy ready in case this little meet-and-greet goes sideways?”

“Always,” Shepard replied. She straightened, her voice taking on the clipped authority her crew knew well. “Stay in orbit. We’ll take the shuttle.”

Joker gave a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Commander. Don’t forget to call if you’re planning on fireworks. I’d hate to miss the show.” 

Shepard allowed herself a faint grin before turning toward Garrus and Wrex. “Suit up. We don’t know what we’re walking into, but we’re not giving Saleon a chance to slip through our fingers.”

Garrus nodded once, “He’s not getting away this time,” he said, low and resolute. 

Wrex’s laugh was a deep, guttural sound as he stepped aside to let Shepard pass. “Let’s hope he brought something interesting to this party. I’d hate for it to be boring.”

She didn’t responsd, but as she headed for the airlock, she could feel the weight of the turian’s certainty beside her. Quiet, determined. Wrex followed behind with heavy, deliberate steps that spoke of readiness—maybe even anticipation. No one spoke. There was nothing left to say. 

The shuttle docked with a sharp hiss, metal locking into metal, the sound slicing through the silence like a scalpel. The stillness on the other side was immediate and thick, like the ship had been holding its breath for years and had only just exhaled. They entered without ceremony. No greetings. No warning.

The air hit her first—stale and still, laced with the biting tang of disinfectant that couldn’t quite cover the rot beneath. Not anymore. It clung to her nose, metallic and sour, the kind of scent that wrapped around your throat and didn’t let go. Shepard’s boots struck the grated floor with a dull weight as they moved forward, each step swallowed by the low groan of the freighter’s failing systems. Dim emergency lights pulsed overhead, flickering with just enough life to cast jagged, uncertain shadows. The walls closed in tight, scabbed with grime and flaking sealant. Everything felt brittle, like the ship might crumble around them if they breathed too hard.

“Smells like death in here,” Wrex muttered, voice thick with grim amusement. He sniffed once, then again. “Not bad.” Shepard remained quiet. Her grip tightened on her rifle.

“It’s him,” Garrus said, voice low. His mandibles twitched, a subtle betrayal of nerves. “This whole place... it reeks of him. Of what he’s done.” 

Shepard swept her eyes down the corridor—metal crates stacked like bones, some sealed, some yawning open. Inside: medical gear. Crude, makeshift, and stained with dried, dark smears that didn’t belong anywhere near medicine. Every edge felt wrong. Every gleam of light found something it shouldn’t.

“Stay sharp,” she said. The words came cold and even. “He definitely knows we’re here.” 

They moved deeper into the ship, a slow advance through corridors that twisted like veins. Every corner whispered. Every creak or shift of metal made the tension crawl higher under her skin. The further they went, the heavier the air became—like the ship was choking on its own secrets. When they reached the central lab, Garrus stopped short.

Shepard followed his gaze. The room had no pretense of function anymore. It was a mausoleum. A butcher’s gallery dressed in the trappings of science. Tables bolted to the floor, stained dark with age and something worse. Cages lined the walls—some empty, some not. A faint motion inside one of them caught her eye, a slow twitch. Not dead. Not alive.Fluid-filled vats pulsed faintly in the corners, casting a sickly green glow over the floor. The things floating inside were unrecognizable—limbs curled in wrong directions, bodies swollen or collapsed in on themselves. It buzzed in here. A low, insistent sound, like flies hunting for something that hadn’t stopped breathing yet.

“This is it,” he murmured. His voice was stripped bare—no bravado, no restraint. Just fury simmering at the edges. “ This is what that bastard’s been doing.”

She stepped forward, putting a strong hand on his shoulder, her jaw clenched and rifle ready. “Focus, Garrus,” she said, sharper than she intended. “Where is he?”

A shuffling sound cut through the silence. All three turned as one, weapons raised, eyes fixed on the far corner of the lab.

“Show yourself, Saleon!” Garrus shouted, the name ricocheting through the sterile horror around them. 

From the shadows, a figure emerged—lanky, backlit by a pale screen, Saleon, she assumed.. The lab coat hung off his shoulders in tatters, speckled with dark stains in varying stages of drying. He looked thin. Nervous. His eyes darted to each of them, then settled on the barrel of Garrus’s rifle.

“Dr. Saleon?” Shepard asked, gaze flicking to Garrus.

The salarian blinked, fast. “What? N-no, I’m Heart—Dr. Heart,” he stammered, hands rising in a shaky, performative surrender. “You must be confused.”

She didn’t lower her weapon. “Garrus?”

“That’s him,” he said immediately. “No doubt.”

He stepped forward, his whole body brimming with tension. “It ends here, Saleon. No more running. No more bodies.”

Saleon tilted his head, the nervousness in his face stretching into something colder. “Bodies?” he said, as if the word were trivial. “These are breakthroughs. You’re standing in the middle of progress. The kind that changes lives. Surely, Commander, you can appreciate the necessity of sacrifice—you’re not exactly known for putting people ahead of outcomes.” 

Shepard leveled her rifle, but her stance didn’t shift despite the salarian’s comments about Torfan, she imagined. Her voice stayed flat. “You’re done. You can come quietly. Or not.”

Saleon’s smile faltered briefly before returning with a sinister edge. “I don’t think so, Commander. I’m not one to abandon my work, least of all for a misguided crusade like yours.” In a flash, his hand darted toward the terminal beside him. Garrus reacted instantly, firing a warning shot that struck the console. Sparks erupted, casting harsh, fleeting light across Saleon’s startled expression.

“Next shot takes your head,” he snarled, his rifle unwavering.

Saleon froze, his eyes darting between the trio. Slowly, his lips curled into a cold, humorless smirk. “Negotiations it is not, then.” Without warning, the lights dimmed further, plunging the room into near-darkness as a shrill alarm blared, the sound rattling through the freighter’s walls.

“He’s triggered something!” Shepard shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. Saleon bolted, his form disappearing into the shadows of a side corridor. At the same time, hissing doors around the lab released a wave of shambling figures. They lurched forward—twisted, grotesque creations with misshapen limbs and vacant, unseeing eyes, their movements jerky but relentless. “Fuck! It’s those fucking creepers from Feros!” she groaned, raising her gun.

“Figures,” Wrex grunted, his shotgun already snapping into position. He grinned, a toothy, predatory smile. “Finally, something to kill.”

“Garrus, stay on Saleon! Wrex and I will clear the path!” Garrus had already taken off after the doctor without hesitation, his footsteps pounding through the corridor. Behind him, the sounds of combat erupted, Wrex’s shotgun roaring alongside Shepard’s measured bursts of fire. The lab filled with flashes of light and the guttural cries of creatures meeting their end, but her focus never wavered.

The hallway swallowed Garrus in silence. Not the ordinary kind—the kind filled with the soft clatter of machinery settling and the pressurized hiss of nearby conduits—but a silence thick with residue, with something left behind. It pressed in on his ears, amplified every breath, every heartbeat thudding behind his ribs like a warning. The kind of quiet that came after too much pain, and just before something worse.

Saleon’s lab waited at the end. 

He stepped inside, and the stench hit like a backhand—chemical rot and old blood, the acrid tang of burning antiseptic barely masking the decay beneath. The air was humid, cloying, and everything in the room felt...used. Defiled. Chains dangled from ceiling hooks like exclamation points to an unanswered question. Fluid vats pulsed gently in the shadows, casting green light over the floor like water spilled from a toxic tide. Something shifted in one of them, slow and wet.

And there he was.

Saleon stood near a terminal at the back of the room, half-lit by the flickering overheads. His silhouette was all sharp edges—thin limbs, narrow shoulders—but he looked calm. That same smug detachment Garrus remembered. His coat hung open, streaked with stains like some deranged painting. He didn’t look like a killer. They never did. That’s what makes torture so horrific—you never think someone is capable of it until you do, and by then it’s almost always too late. 

“Step away from the console,” Garrus said, voice sharp. Controlled. His rifle stayed raised, but his talons were tight around the grip.

Saleon didn’t move. His large, dark eyes fixed on Garrus with something between curiosity and contempt. “You don’t understand what you’ve interrupted,” he said, gently. Almost like he was sorry. “The work I’ve done here—it could change everything. You’re standing in the middle of progress.”

“We’ve seen your ‘progress.’” His words came out low, brittle. “Nothing worth saving here.”

The salarian smiled, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “And what now? You going to kill me?” The smile turned razor-thin. “You’re not a killer, Garrus. Not really. You never had the nerve.”

The room shrank around them.

Garrus’s mandibles tensed. His finger hovered near the trigger. He could feel the heat in his chest now, a pressure that climbed up his throat and sat heavy behind his eyes. But before he could speak, a voice cut clean through the haze. 

“ Easy .” Shepard’s voice—measured, calm. She moved into the room beside him, never looking away from Saleon. “We take him in. Alive.”

Garrus exhaled hard. “He’ll walk again, Shepard. You know he will. Some loophole, some technicality—he’ll talk his way out and do it all over again.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But we don’t get to decide that part. We end it here—by the book. That’s our job.”

Saleon gave a quiet, amused laugh, and it crawled under Garrus’s skin. “Ah, the illusion of control,” the salarian murmured. “So precious to you all.” 

The words stuck like splinters.

Garrus wanted to shut him up—to stop that voice, that face, that smug grin. Shepard wasn’t dismissing him—he knew that. She understood. But her restraint was a mirror, and he hated what he saw in it. 

Then Saleon twitched. His hand darted toward the console.

“Stop!” he shouted. “It’s over!” 

Saleon didn’t listen. When he turned, his face wasn’t afraid—it was triumphant. “You think this changes anything?” he called. “You’ll still be you tomorrow, Garrus. You think trading your regulations for a cause doesn’t demand blood too! You follow a Butcher and call it clarity. She doesn’t want justice—she wants convenience, power!” 

His smirk cracked just slightly—enough to see the twitch in his arm, the flicker of movement toward his coat. Garrus didn’t think. He fired. The shot rang through the corridor like a hammer dropped on glass. Saleon’s body jerked, staggered, and hit the wall before sliding down, leaving a wet smear in its wake. His eyes blinked once, wide with disbelief, then went still.

He didn’t move. His rifle lowered inch by inch, his hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline spike. No relief. No pride. Just the hollow beat of his pulse, echoing in the place where anger had been.

***

Aboard the Normandy, Garrus leaned against the cold railing of the observation lounge, the distant stars a blur against the weight of his thoughts. 

He heard Shepard before he saw her. Her boots tapped softly against the metal floor as she approached, her presence unassuming but grounding. She stopped beside him, her arms crossed loosely as she gazed out into the void. For a long moment, neither spoke.

“You did what you had to,” she said eventually, her voice even but not unkind. “He wasn’t going to stop. Tali got the footage, Garrus—he was going to shoot you.”

Garrus’s mandibles tightened as he stared down at his hands. “It wasn’t just about stopping him. It was about me. He got away on my watch, Shepard. He used me, made me complicit, and I hated him for it.” His talons scraped the railing as he gritted his teeth. “Maybe too much.”

Shepard didn’t look at him. Instead, she focused on the stars, her voice measured. “That’s why it’s hard. Because it’s never just about them. It’s about us—what we’re willing to carry…what we’re willing to let go.”

He turned to her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “How do you do it? All of those things he said about you? How do you keep it from getting... personal?”

She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “I don’t…it gets personal all of the time, but I remind myself how their actions don’t define me. Mine do.” She finally met his gaze, her expression both firm and empathetic. “Saleon’s choices were his, Garrus. Yours are the ones that matter.”  The words lingered, sinking into the spaces Saleon’s taunts had left raw. 

Garrus exhaled slowly, the tension in his frame easing, though not entirely. “I think I needed to hear that.”

Shepard’s lips quirked in a small, almost wistful smile. “We all do sometimes.”

***

Shepard stepped through the hatch into the armory, the pressure in her chest refusing to ease. The air still stank faintly of coolant and scorched metal—normal after any field op, but tonight it carried something heavier. Like it had clung to her on the way back. Like it wanted to stay.

She set her rifle down harder than she meant to. The sound echoed in the empty space, sharp and final. Her gloves came off slowly, fingers stiff, as though every joint remembered what it had done and wasn’t quite ready to forgive her for it. Saleon’s blood wasn’t on her hands—Garrus pulled the trigger—but it didn’t matter. It never mattered. She could still feel it. In the air. In her lungs. Under her skin. She began disassembling the rifle. Not because it needed it. Because she did . Her thumb brushed over the familiar notches on the stock, each one worn smooth by time and restless hands. The motions were mechanical, practiced. Wipe. Check. Reassemble. But her thoughts wouldn't fall in line.

Saleon was dead. Justice—if you could call it that—was done. Garrus hadn’t spoken much since. He didn’t have to. She’d seen it in his eyes. The way they wouldn’t settle. But instead of relief, there was only that quiet throb behind her sternum, like a bruise forming. 

She left the armory in silence. The deck was dim, most of the crew already below or out of sight, and that suited her just fine. They knew this version of her—the one who came back from missions with her jaw locked tight and her gaze locked tighter. No one stopped her. No one asked. 

By the time the door to her cabin slid shut behind her, she was already unzipping her collar, tugging it loose like she needed to breathe without it . She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. The darkness was immediate, heavy. Still.

There was always this part. This aftermath. Not guilt exactly—but something acidic. Like touching a wire just frayed enough to burn. She slid down to the floor, arms hooked over her knees. Her body stilled, but her mind kept moving—pulling apart the moment in that corridor, unspooling the sound of Saleon’s voice, the way he smiled like he knew he couldn’t be stopped. She heard it again— she doesn’t want justice—she wants convenience, power!

She opened her eyes again, dragging herself out of it. There was no going back. No rewinding the moment Garrus pulled the trigger. No pretending she hadn’t been right there, watching it all and letting it happen. 

NIM therapy was supposed to help. That’s what they’d told her. Sharpen the mind. Clear the debris. Let her focus. And it had. Mostly. Her reflexes were better. Her aim, tighter. But it hadn’t dulled the memories. If anything, they’d become clearer. More vivid. Sharper around the edges. The past no longer stayed buried—it crept into her thoughts like water through cracked stone, seeping up in colors, smells, the sound of someone screaming in the distance. Mindoir. The heat of burning homes against her face. The smell of charred wheat and ozone. Run, someone had shouted, but she could’nt remember who. The low, wet sucking noise of the thresher maws surfacing on Akuze, her boot slipping in something warm and red. Her voice raw from screaming until it broke.  

She gripped her thighs, pressing hard, trying to ground herself in the present. Her breath stuttered. “Stop,” she said, not to anyone, just the room, her voice slicing through the noise in her head like a blade through fog. It was just her in the dark. Just her and the quiet. And the memories that refused to stay dead.

The problem wasn’t just the therapy. It was what it might uncover, and if she wanted that. She rubbed her hands over her face, finally pushing herself up from the floor. The black window above her desk reflected her tired outline, and for a moment, she stared into her own eyes, trying to find something solid in the person staring back. It didn’t work. You have to control yourself, she thought, almost reflexively now, but the question hung there, unanswered in the void: What if you can’t?

She moved to her bed, her mind vibrating and she couldn’t escape—every thought, every image, every memory was hovering just beneath a surface, demanding her attention, clawing at her sense of self.  She needed to lay down, close her eyes again, and the dark, swirling images of the people she’d lost, the lives she’d failed to protect, all that pressed against her mind with a suffocating weight—maybe it would disappear with sleep. You know it won’t, Shep. Her breath hitched, shallow, as though she were drowning in it all.

The door slid open, and she didn’t need to look to know who it was. Liara’s presence was a quiet certainty, a warmth that filled the room without needing a single word. 

“Allie?” Liara’s voice was so soft, always so full of care—affection she didn’t want to accept, but the asari hadn’t given her much of a choice, and if she thought about it long enough…she didn’t want one. Shepard didn’t answer, didn’t move. She didn’t know if she could, but she could feel Liara’s steady pulse through the air, a calm and inviting current that wrapped around her like a blanket. Liara didn’t speak again. She didn’t have to.

The asari’s footsteps were quiet, deliberate, the sound of them almost grounding Shepard in a way she hadn’t realized she needed. Everything seemed to fade as Liara approached her, the pull of her presence undeniable, magnetic. When Liara finally settled next to her, Shepard’s chest tightened just slightly, as though something in her had been waiting for this. For her.

Liara’s hand brushed against her knee—gentle at first, testing the waters—and Shepard didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. She loved the feel of Liara against her, any way she did it always brought the flip into her body again, and no one else had made her feel like that before. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Liara asked softly, her voice low and intimate, but she wasn’t pressing for answers. She was giving Shepard space, giving her room to breathe.

Shepard swallowed hard, the words stuck in her throat. How could she explain the gnawing feeling inside of her—the sensation she was unmooring herself from the person she used to be? She wasn’t sure if the therapy was meant to fix her or just expose all the cracks in her psyche. The more she tried to control it, the more she lost grip. It felt like slipping down a long, dark tunnel.

“It’s just… all of it,” Shepard said finally, the words breaking free as a rush of breath. Her throat felt tight, like she couldn’t get enough air in. “I feel… too much, Liara. Like I’m coming undone. And I don’t know how much of me is still here.” She felt her bed shift beneath her, Liara moving to lay beside her. She propped herself up on an elbow, her other hand moving to Shepard’s hand slung over her stomach.

“There’s no undoing it. No fixing it,” she whispered, moving to brush away Shepard’s hair from her face. She loved the way it felt, the soft brush of Liara’s fingers over her forehead, her cheek—the tickle of her hair as it fell, sometimes grazing her neck. God does that feel good. “But I see you, Allie. I see how you’ve carried everyone else. And I see the person underneath it all, too.” Her voice softened, just a fraction, as if she were revealing a truth only Shepard could understand. “I’m afraid this business with Saren, the Reaper threat…it will not end with our mission. You are standing at the front of it…what that must feel like…” Liara trailed, but didn’t she need to say much more. She moved closer, her side brushing against Shepard’s, the warmth of her body a reassuring weight pressing into the stillness between them. Her hand slid beneath Shepard’s shirt, pulling her in just a little tighter, before her hand traced meaningless patterns across her stomach. Shepard relaxed more, letting herself feel something good while it was there to be felt. It wasn’t a fix, it wasn’t a miracle, but it was the quietest, simplest kind of relief—just being held close to someone, feeling them care for you.

“I don’t know how I ever did this without you,” she whispered, her voice tight. She tilted her head just enough to feel the soft curve of Liara’s shoulder, her breath steady and deep as she sank into the comfort of the moment. 

Liara didn’t say anything at first. Her only response was a soft, steady breath—quiet, but it was beyond grounding. The warmth of the asari’s presence seemed to surround her, and she could feel the steady beat of her heart beneath her ear. 

“You won’t ever have to,” she finally murmured, her voice thick with soft understanding. For a heartbeat, the galaxy was still, the sound of the ship, the distant hum of the air filtering, fading into nothing. The weight of Liara’s arm wrapped around her like a blanket, and there was a crack in the foundation of every stupid defense she’d carefully built over the years. That all seemed silly now—juvenile even. She hadn’t been alone, not really—not in the way she thought. Liara was here. In some ways, Liara had always been there.

I love you , she thought, that leap from her stomach now in her chest, tears brimming despite her closed eyes. I really love you . 

Chapter Text

Codex: This Narrow Mercy (Asari Serialized Drama)

Genre : Serialized historical drama
Original Broadcast Network: Thessia Performative Network (TPN)
First Air Date: 79 CE
Seasons: 72 and ongoing

This Narrow Mercy is a long-running asari drama that explores the conflicts between personal loyalty and the rigid tenets of the Justicar Code. The series follows Velessia T’Arin (Melae T’Revan), a former Justicar who renounces her vows after bonding with Theryna Virae (Ithenna Tranis), the daughter of Matriarch Virela (Talia Vosari). Her defection leads to her exile, pursued by her former order. The plot deepens when Theryna is declared dead under mysterious circumstances, with her body never found, fueling rumors of political intrigue. A key secondary narrative follows Kelan Dero, a salarian legal advocate tasked with observing Velessia. His storyline evolves from procedural foil to emotional conflict as he forms a rare and controversial attachment to her. Due to the salarian lifespan, Kelan Dero has been portrayed by multiple actors over the series:

• Keth Morlan (Seasons 1–14)
• Dero Solarn (Seasons 15–32)
• Val Kesith (Seasons 33–52)
• Nalon Jev (Seasons 53–65)
• Tek Venna (Seasons 66–present)

This Narrow Mercy , despite its dramatics and impossible storylines, is considered essential viewing in asari cultural analysis and legal ethics, with its exploration of Justicar ideals and forbidden love leaving a lasting impact on public discourse.

  Codex Entry: The Serava Award

Category: Culture > Asari Arts and Media
Type : Extranet Reference Entry

The Serava Award is one of the most prestigious awards in the asari cultural sphere, given in recognition of exceptional achievement in performance arts—including vid-theatre, live drama, episodic holo-narratives, and immersive experience design. Established in 3417 BCE by the ancient Performative Guild of Serrice, the award is named for Serava T’Ressai, a legendary matriarch and playwright whose works on identity, convergence, and collective memory are still studied today. Awarded annually during the Festival of Aethera on Thessia—a ceremonial festival honoring ancestral voices in art and philosophy—the Serava Award is not given lightly. Selection involves a rotating panel of jurors from the Interstellar Performative Alliance , including asari matriarchs, drell dramaturges, and, recently, even a rare salarian narrative ethicist. Each recipient receives a sculpted crystal of seressine glass, etched with their name in both contemporary and classical Armali script.  While traditionally associated with classical and stage performance, recent cycles have seen The Serava Award bestowed upon asari in serialized drama and interactive narrative developments, signaling a shift in cultural attitudes toward emerging forms of artistic expression.

“To be named a Serava laureate is to be remembered. Not as one who performed, but as one who revealed.”
— Arinae T’Nessa, cultural historian, Thessia Institue of Arts

The shuttle hit Tuntau hard, struts grinding into brittle grey earth that cracked beneath them. Shepard felt the jolt in her teeth. Outside, the wind moved in cold, scraping lashes across the hull, carrying that dry sting of minerals and decay. She stepped down into it, and the air hit her filters sharp and sour—like rusted metal and something older left to rot in the sun. Dust curled around her legs and clung to her armor like it knew what she was. It wasn’t a place interested in pretending—no colony, no law, no future. Just the memory of failure and the people who profited off it. 

Behind her, Wrex descended the ramp slowly, deliberately. His boots thudded into the ground, the weight of him grounding the air even more. His shotgun was already across his chest, his hands flexing like they were trying to remember what it felt like to crush something. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. She could feel the way his presence sharpened, zeroed in on something ahead.

Ashley followed, muttering as his visor adjusted to the dull haze. “Hell of a vacation spot. I’m already feeling relaxed.” 

Shepard didn’t answer, just kept watching Wrex. He stood dead still, shoulders squared, eyes locked on the far-off silhouette of a compound wedged between two cliffs. The dust had turned the sky copper. Even from here, the building looked like it had been carved out of the land by force.

“You think they’ve got room service?” Ashley tried again, the sarcasm thinner this time, tight around the edges.

“Only if you count being served up on a platter,” Shepard said dryly, finally looking away from Wrex. “Let’s focus.”

A rumble escaped Wrex, humorless and low. “Place hasn’t changed,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “Still smells like ash and failure.”

She tilted her head toward him. “Been here before?”

“Once.” His jaw flexed. “Not long enough to leave anything worth remembering.” They moved out. The wind cut through the narrow pass like a warning, howling through broken stone, dragging echoes behind them. The silence between the team filled in everything the planet hadn’t already taken. Shepard scanned the compound again. She could see the faint shimmer of shields, the steady glint of turrets—too regular to be natural. 

“This is it,” Wrex said, finally. “Tonn Actus is here. And he’s got my armor.” Shepard studied him. No sarcasm in his voice. No posturing. Just that low, hard edge she rarely heard—anger without spectacle. She placed a hand on his shoulder, firm and steady.

“We’ll get it back,” she said. “But we do this smart. You want your armor, you stay alive to wear it.”

His gaze met hers. For a second, she thought he might push back, but then he gave a short nod, the motion sharp as a blade being sheathed. 

Liara’s voice broke through the quiet, calm and careful. “The defenses look formidable. Do we have a plan?”

“Working on it,” Shepard murmured, scanning the terrain. The cliffs to the west were uneven but jagged enough to break line of sight. Natural cover. “Ash, get up high. I want a clean view of the ridge. Pick off the turrets if you can.”

“Luck’s a relative term,” Ashley replied, already moving toward the rise.

She turned to Liara. “You’re with me and Wrex. We’ll approach from the west, use the rocks to stay out of range. Don’t move until Ashley gives us the go.”

She nodded, her eyes lingering on the compound. “And if this Tonn Actus knows we’re coming?”

Shepard’s grip tightened around her rifle. “Then he’ll have one more regret.”

The wind sharpened as they moved, funneled through the narrowing passageways like the terrain itself was resisting them. Each gust carried sand that stung against her visor. The air had weight now—tension coiled beneath every footfall. Wrex didn’t speak. He just kept walking, like he was being pulled forward by something deeper than strategy. Not just a job. Not even revenge. Legacy, maybe. Blood. Something primal and old.

She knew legacy, she’d just stopped pretending it meant anything personal. The last thing her father had ever said to her was an order: survive. That was it. Not a memory. Not a promise. Just survival. That was the only tradition the Shepards had passed down. Not a name worth reclaiming—just the instinct to keep walking, regardless whether the earth fractured under you didn’t matter. She looked at Wrex beside her. Maybe for him, this was about reclaiming something real. For her, it was about carrying what couldn't be reclaimed. And moving forward anyway.

The comm crackled. “Got visual,” Ashley said. “Four turrets on the east ridge. Automated. Movement at the gates—two sentries minimum, maybe more inside.”

“Can you take the turrets?”

“Easily,” Ashley replied. Her rifle hummed as it charged. “Give me two minutes.”

Shepard nodded and glanced at Wrex. “This is your call, but don’t throw your life away for it.”

His fist tightened  against the stock of his shotgun. “I didn’t come here to die, Shepard,” he said flatly. “I came to take back what’s mine.”

“Then let’s get it done.” She met his eyes and gave a sharp nod.

The door groaned open, then hissed shut behind them, sealing them in. She felt the shift in pressure immediately. The hallway ahead was narrow, lit by flickering lights that jittered shadows across corroded metal walls. The stink hit her filters fast—old sweat, oil, damp air warped by recycled systems that hadn’t seen maintenance in years. She raised a hand, signaling the others to slow. Her boots made barely a sound against the grated floor, but she could feel every vibration in her bones. A hiss of steam. A faint mechanical thrum. She moved forward, senses alive, heart pacing with discipline, not fear.

Wrex loomed behind her, silent but radiating tension. Liara to her right, movements crisp and quiet, her focus razor-sharp.

Up ahead—voices. Batarian dialect. Turian, too. Sharp, clipped. Shepard pressed against the wall and leaned just enough to see. Five guards, gathered loosely by a stack of crates, weapons close but not in hand. They weren’t ready.

“Five,” she murmured. “We can flank them.”

Wrex gave a low growl. “Or take ‘em head-on. Quicker.”

Shepard arched brow, a faint glint of humor in her voice. “Let’s not wake the whole damn compound.” He didn’t argue. But she saw the twitch in his jaw. 

Liara stepped forward slightly. Her voice was soft, calm. “I can deal with the ones closest. If we strike together, they won’t have time to respond.”

“Wrex, left. Liara, right. I’ve got the middle,” the Commander nodded. They moved without another word. Shepard felt her pulse in her fingers, her breath evening out as she raised her rifle. “Now.”

Liara stepped forward, biotics flaring to life in a burst of violet light. The closest batarian froze mid-sentence, his limbs locking as a shimmering mass effect field lifted him off the ground. He hovered for a breathless moment, then slammed against the far wall with a crunch, limbs splayed. 

The remaining guards fumbled for their weapons, but Wrex was moving faster than they could track him. He hit the nearest one like a meteor, shotgun roaring at point-blank range. Blood splattered the stacked crates, the body crumpling before it hit the floor. Without pause, the krogan pivoted to the next target, his snarl rising over the hiss of thermal clips. 

Shepard fired in short, practiced bursts. One batarian ducked for cover, but she tracked the motion and tagged him cleanly in the shoulder—then again in the chest. He slumped forward, rifle clattering from his grip. Silence fell, thick and sudden, broken only by Wrex’s heavy breathing. 

“Clear,” Shepard called, her voice even but tight, the rush of adrenaline still humming beneath her skin. 

Wrex wiped a smear of blood off his armor with the back of his hand and gave a low grunt that might’ve passed for amusement. “Not bad. For a warm-up.” 

Shepard glanced at the control panel on the next door and frowned. “Locked. Liara?” The asari crouched beside the terminal, fingers brushing over the alien interface. Biotic light gathered around her hands, just faint enough to suggest precision over brute force. The field flickered as she nudged the encryption aside with careful, invisible pressure. If Shepard hadn’t been half-distracted watching Wrex’s back, she might’ve gotten caught up in it—how Liara moved, how her brow knit together with her focus, the way she often worried her lower lip when caught up in a task. She shoved the thought aside. Focus. 

Finally, the door hissed open revealing a wide chamber washed in sterile white light. The temperature jumped a few degrees, and the air stank of scorched wiring and sweat. Crates and machinery littered the walls, cast-off tech and rusting debris shoved aside to make room for the centerpiece: a makeshift display of krogan artifacts, painstakingly arranged behind a reinforced screen like some grotesque museum exhibit. At its center was a turian—no doubt it was Tonn Actus. He didn’t flinch at the intrusion—only shifted his stance and flicked his mandibles. Two armed batarians flanked him, weapons at the ready. 

“Well,” Actus said, voice oily with mockery. “Urdnot Wrex. I figured you’d be dead by now. Or limping around some mercenary bar, drunk and irrelevant.” 

The krogan stepped forward, his shotgun slung across his shoulders like it belonged there. “Tonn Actus. I see you’re still hiding behind guards and stolen krogan history.”

Actus’s sneer curled deeper. “Careful with that mouth, Wrex. You might convince me to add your crest to the collection.” 

Before Wrex could answer, Shepard cut in, her voice slicing through the room. “You’re proud of this? The turian military stole this armor from clan Urdnot—if you had any sense of honor you’d give it back.”

He turned to her with a disdainful tilt of his head. “And who are you supposed to be? Another Alliance relic? This is between me and the krogan.”

“Wrong again,” she said, rifle already lifted. “I don’t let parasites like you pawn off a culture you helped bury.” Something flickered in Actus’s expression—not fear, but calculation. Then he barked a command she couldn’t parse, prompting his men to char. Wrex barrelled before the words had even finished echoing, a roar tearing from his chest. His shotgun blasted one of the guards into a heap. Liara’s biotics pulsed—concise, unflinching—sending the second flying into a crate with bone-snapping force.

Shepard advanced, rifle barking as she drove Actus into cover. He ducked behind a shipping container, returning fire in erratic bursts.

“Actus!” Wrex thundered, stomping forward. “You’re not walking out of here!” Shepard flanked wide, cutting off his retreat. Actus popped up to fire again, but she clipped him in the side. He staggered, clutching the wound, pistol trembling in his grip. 

“Give it up,” Shepard called. “You’re out of time.” 

The turian pirate snarled, raising his weapon. “You don’t know what you’re interfering with. That armor—those artifacts—they belong to no one now.”  Wrex was on him before he could finish. He seized the turian by the throat, lifting him clean off the ground. Actus’s pistol fell with a clatter, useless.

“This is for my family,” the krogan growled, his voice low and lethal.

Actus thrashed, claws scraping at the krogan’s gauntlet. His boots kicked against the air, but Wrex didn’t flinch. His other hand hovered near the shotgun, but didn’t reach for it yet.

“You think my history’s a game?” Wrex hissed. “That you can loot what we bled for? What we died to protect?”

The turian choked out a garbled sound, eyes wide. “It was just—just salvage—”

“You mocked it,” Wrex snapped, hauling him closer, “Turian scum!”

Shepard held back, rifle lowered but not forgotten. Liara cast her a glance, quiet and uncertain. The Commander didn’t move. She wasn’t going to stop him. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to.

“Wrex,” she started, voice low, but the krogan didn’t seem to hear. His focus had tunneled in. His eyes, hard and gold, locked on Actus like he was trying to burn through bone and memory both.

“Was the genophage not enough?!” he growled and slammed Actus against the crate. The turian let out a strangled cry—cut short as Wrex fired point-blank. The shotgun’s roar cracked through the chamber. Actus’s body hit the floor in a heap, his limbs slack, his stolen collection standing behind him like a wall of ghosts. The krogan stood over him, chest heaving, shotgun still raised.

“Wrex,” Shepard said again, more gently this time.

He didn’t answer right away. Then slowly, deliberately, he holstered his weapon and stepped back. “It’s done,” he said flatly.

“You okay?” Shepard joined him, boots slick with blood as she moved to his side. Her eyes flicked to the body, then to the shattered display.

He let out a slow breath, heavy and old. “I’ve waited a long time for this,” he said. “Thought it’d feel... different.” 

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she laid a hand on his arm, not to comfort—just to anchor. “Sometimes it does,” she said. “Sometimes it doesn’t.” 

“I think I’m starting to like you, Shepard,” the krogan grunted, walking away as Liara approached the Commander.

“The compound’s secure. But we won’t be alone for long.” 

Wrex didn’t look back at Actus. He just turned. “Then we go.” 

Shepard hesitated, glancing once more at the body on the floor, at the relics propped up behind him like they meant something. This had been Wrex’s reckoning. His justice. However, as she followed him out, her thoughts circled elsewhere—Torfan, mostly, and the knowledge that some things stuck deeper than a bullet ever could. Maybe Wrex could leave it here in the dust, but if blood could cling to a name the way it clung to hers, then maybe it would cling to his too. Maybe not today. But eventually. Violence has a long memory. It waits, and sometimes, it comes back for more.

***

The tunnel stank of rot and plasma discharge—wet iron, bunt flesh. Heat radiated off the rocks in pulsing waves that blistered skin when you touched the wrong surface. Her knees ached from the crouch—tight, unmoving. Sand had packed into the seams of her armor and turned to mud with sweat. She could feel it drying there, cracking when she shifted her weight. Something sharp and metallic flooded under  her tongue like she’d bitten down on a battery. The walls were slick with condensation—or maybe it was blood. She couldn’t tell anymore. Her grip tightened on the rifle. It was overheating, venting steam with each burst, but she couldn’t stop. Not with how they screamed when the fire caught.

She stalked forward. The corridor narrowed, light flickering from a broken fixture above. Her boots sloshed through ankle-deep water—or coolant—or something thicker. A low moan echoed from deeper inside. She stepped over the body slumped at her feet. Young. Too young. His face was blackened from smoke, but his hands were still raised. She didn’t remember firing. Only the aftermath. The instant of recoil. The wet punch of impact.

Clear the tunnels. No survivors. Her own voice, crackling over comms, barked out of memory before she could stop it. Cold. Precise. She’d given her orders. No hesitation. No regret. Not then. Someone had to have the balls to end this—the batarians had taken so much from her; she swore not a single one would leave this compound if she could help it.

She turned the next corner and spotted movement—a cluster of them, huddled behind a flipped crate. One raised a white scrap. Not a flag. Just a shirt. Desperate, trembling. 

“Surrendering!” one of them called. “We surrender!”

She didn’t lower her weapon. 

Many batarians were slavers—defending it as some crucial element of the Hegemony. Really though—they were just murderers. She’d seen the cages on the surface, far above where she was now. Heard the children crying behind sealed bulkheads, some already fitted with experimental implants, their heads mutilated, their bodies clothed in rags and mud. The weak ones, the slow ones, were left to die in the sun, and the others—she knew what happened to them. Cranial implants. The control spikes. Ripped straight into the skull, wiring nerves to foreign signals until they forgot their names and begged to obey. That’s what they’d done to everyone on Mindoir—if her brother and father weren’t killed like her mother, that was their fate—pain, no identity, absence. Her eyes burned at the though of Jace like that, or Omar and Gara—her friends. Had the batarians killed them or killed them. That was what these bastards had signed on to do.

So no—she didn’t give a shit about surrender. Her rifle bucked. Twice. Three times. One went down, clutching his throat. Another scrambled for a weapon too late.

She advanced on the last. He backed into the corner, gibbering in broken Standard. “Please—please, I didn’t—my brother, he made me—” He was shaking so hard his knees knocked together. She pressed the barrel of the rifle to his chest. He froze.

“You ran this op,” she said flatly. “You kept the records. You knew every shipment.”

“I—I was just the log officer—”

“You knew.” His mouth opened. Nothing came out. She fired.

The round punched through his sternum, sending him sprawling. Blood fanned out beneath him, mixing with coolant and bile. She didn’t move, didn’t wipe the crimson from her hands, neck, or face. She let it get sticky on her skin—just another thing to keep her angry.  

There was no one left. Just the stink of her own breath and the soft, mechanical hiss of a rifle cooling down. Then the ground shifted. 

Her eyes blinked hard against steam—no, water. Her heartbeat thundered against her ribs. The tunnel lights were gone. Metal walls faded, replaced by ceramic tile and the hiss of a real vent above. She staggered forward a step before her hand hit the shower wall. Steam curled around her like fog. The water had long since gone cold.

She’d dropped the bar of soap without noticing. Her knuckles were white, clenched against nothing. There was a pause. Then, just beyond the near-closed door of her private shower, a cautious knock.

“Allie?” Liara’s voice filtered through the steam, soft with concern. “I heard something… Are you alright?” The Commander’s breath was still shallow, caught somewhere between the memory and now. She pressed her palm to the tile, grounding herself in its chill before she answered, voice roughened but level. 

“I’m fine.” A beat. Then she added, half teasing, “Unless you were hoping to join me. I can be very not ‘fine’ if you need an excuse.”  

A stammer. The distinct sound of Liara nearly choking on her own breath. “I—no—I mean—I wasn’t—” There was a shuffle, the whisper of fabric and the sound of her turning as if to flee. 

Shepard smirked, tugging a towel from the nearby rack. “Relax, Liara. I’m joking…Mostly.” She wrapped it around her body. When she opened the door, steam curling around her shoulders, Liara was standing there stiffly with her hands clasped in front of her like a nervous acolyte, blue eyes wide and very, very deliberately not looking below Shepard’s collarbone.

“I thought I heard something fall,” the maiden managed, cheeks rapidly darkening. 

“Slipped,” she lied easily, toweling her hair like it was the most casual thing in the world to be near-naked in front of someone who looked like they might spontaneously combust from embarrassment. “No harm done. But since you’re here…”

“Yes?” the asari’s voice lifted an octave.

“You busy tonight?”

The asari blinked. “No, I… Why?”

Shepard leaned against the doorframe, glad to be getting such a reaction from the asari. “Well, I was thinking—maybe—well, what does an asari archaeologist do to unwind after a day of firefights and galactic conspiracy?”

Liara hesitated, wariness creeping into her tone. “I read or review my research.”

“Shocking.”

“I meditate,” she added, slightly more defensive.

“Very dignified.”

“And…” Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if bracing for impact. “You’re going to laugh at me—I know it!”   

“I won’t laugh, I promise. I just want to do something that you like to do…with you. If you’re interested in it, it must be fascinating.” She gestured to herself with a feigned hubris. “Exhibit A,” she drawled. Liara rolled her eyes and turned around to allow the Commander a moment’s privacy to change into a comfier outfit. 

“It’s….an asari serialized drama—Goddess, do not tease me, Shepard— This Narrow Mercy ”

The human’s eyes lit up. “A space opera?” 

“It’s not a ‘space opera,’” Liara said with immediate offense. “Asari quite enjoy such dramatic entertainment—usually I don’t like it, but this is an intricate domestic saga involving familial betrayal, ancient artifacts, and a love triangle between a bondmate, a salarian lawyer, and a disgraced justicar.”

Shepard raised her brows. “Uh huh. So—this is cultural enlightenment, right?”

Liara turned around, still pink, and folded her arms with mock dignity. “If you’re going to mock it, then—”

“Oh no,” she cut in, pushing past with a grin and heading for her bed. “I’m all in. Asari politics and forbidden love? Sounds like my kind of night.” 

Shepard lay back, the dark stretch of her N7 sweats low on her hips, waistband a bit damp from the towel-dry she’d barely bothered with. Her sports bra clung to her like a second skin—charcoal black, straps slightly twisted from being tugged on too quickly after the shower. Liara looked over at her from the foot of the bed, deciding her fate. 

“All right—but you’re going to share your own guilty pleasure later. It’s only fair,” Liara said, joining her on the bed. She crawled beside the human and set up a projection from her omnitool to cast on the bare wall across from them. 

“I’ll think about,” Shepard smiled

The room dimmed as the screen flickered to life, casting a shifting blue light over Shepard’s features. She shifted to lie more comfortably on her side, propped on an elbow, her eyes drawn not to the drama but to the way Liara settled so close to her—cross-legged, her expression already softening in anticipation of the story. 

A sweeping orchestral intro played over a montage of monochrome cities and asari faces—some serious, some weeping, some furious. Liara watched with the kind of stillness Shepard had only ever seen in battle. 

“You really like this,” Shepard murmured, half a tease, half an observation.

Liara gave the smallest smile. “It began airing two years after I was born. It’s been running ever since...Benezia was quite fond of the series.”

Shepard blinked. “Wait—you’ve been watching this for... a hundred years?”

“No, of course not,” Liara remarked, a little flustered. “I only started during my doctoral work. But some characters have been part of it since the beginning. They’ve changed… grown, sometimes for the better, sometimes not at all. There’s something comforting in that. The way it doesn’t hurry.” 

The camera lingered on the figure of the exiled Justicar, standing rigidly beside a memorial. Her solitude was palpable—her posture stiff, as if she could not fully relinquish the harsh formality of her old life. Her eyes, distant, were fixed on a stone she palmed, worrying it, but her focus was somewhere else. Theryna, her bondmate, had been lost months ago, her body never recovered from the operation that had sealed both of their fates. The wound of that absence was still raw, the air thick with the unspoken grief of it. From behind, a shadow approached—the salarian lawyer, once a figure of detached professionalism, now edging closer with something different in his movements. He stopped beside her, just out of reach, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, heavy and thick, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. 

“ Justicar—” the salarian started but was quickly interrupted.

“ Do not brand me with such titles, Kelan. I’ve made my decision. Thera…her mother will not— ”

Shepard glanced over. Liara wasn’t blinking. “Was it really her choice to leave?” she asked.

Liara nodded, not looking away. “It’s more complicated than that. She thought she could keep her safe by staying away—if Thera was alive, she didn’t want her to be punished for her crimes, but time kept moving…” Liara’s voice drifted. “There was nothing there for her anymore.” 

The room quieted, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The low voices from the screen filled the stillness, layered with music and the gentle cadence of the Justicar’s voiceover echoed softly. She thought about Liara’s earlier words—t he way it doesn’t hurry —and felt them catch, momentarily, on something quieter beneath them. 

“You ever rewatch the old episodes?” she whispered.

Liara’s reply came after a pause. “Sometimes. I like seeing how it all fits together, when you already know how it ends. However, the series is so long at this point, it would take me through my matron years to rewatch it from the beginning.” 

The projection shifted to another scene—laughter this time, old friends clinking mismatched wine glasses and offering careful, too-late apologies—but she kept her eyes on the asari. The wall light touched her cheek, making her look younger. Or maybe just a little far away. 

Shepard reached for the edge of her blanket and pulled it over both of them, quiet and slow. They stayed like that for a while—shoulder to shoulder, quiet, warm. Onscreen, the scene shifted again. The justicar appeared in flashback now, arguing with her bondmate in a rain-slicked alley, both of them soaked and standing too far apart. The bondmate’s expression was fierce, pleading—but the justicar just shook her head. Not in anger. In fear. Or something close to it. 

“This part is quite significant,” Liara murmured. 

The human didn’t move. “Yeah?”

“She thought stepping away would protect her. That if she disappeared, she wouldn’t be the cause of anything worse.” Her voice was light, clinical almost, like she was translating an old text. “She convinced herself it was a sacrifice.” 

The screen flickered, the rain gone now. A hollow apartment, sterile with silence. The justicar stood alone in the doorway, months later, looking at a table that hadn’t been touched since she left. 

“Do you like her character?” Shepard glanced over.

Liara was quiet for a moment. “I do,” she said eventually. “When I was younger, I admired how certain she was. She always followed the Code—well, up to a point, I suppose; she is a disgraced justicar afterall, but she always knew what to do. Even if her actions weren’t aligned with the Code, I think her heart was always in the right place.”

“And now?” 

“Every asari at some point wants to be a justicar—or wants to influence one. They’re so dedicated to their Oaths and the Code—they are very strict. Justicar Vellesia, however…I think she was just afraid,” Liara said. Her voice wasn’t unkind. Just… quieter. “She became a justicar to bury her fear under rules and the Code, and called it strength.”

Shepard let her eyes drift back to the screen. The justicar reached for a half-finished datapad still sitting on the table, blinked at it once, and set it back down. Nothing happened. No music. No revelations. Just a still frame held a second too long. The screen flickered dimly in front of them, casting shifting shadows across the sheets. Onscreen, a salarian in a stark grey advocate’s sash paced a minimalist council chamber, voice sharp and clipped.

“ She violated the Code, and you defended her?” he demanded, gesturing with a datapad. “You risk your own life to shield a criminal— ”

“ She is not a criminal, ” the justicar defended coldly. Her voice was low, but it struck like a hammer. “ She is my bondmate. ”

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “Wait—I thought you said Justicars didn’t form bonds?”

“They don’t, but it isn’t explicitly forbidden—their code makes it difficult as they aren’t meant to form such attachments,” Liara murmured, not taking her eyes from the screen. “They bonded privately, but she was caught when Matriarch Virela sensed a change in her pheromones suggesting a mating meld; Justicar Velessia had broken the Code by forming a bond—this was actually quite the scandalous storyline when it aired, Allie.”

“So they just kicked her out for falling in love?”

“Not quite—she invoked an ancient precedence, challenged her superior in ritual combat, and was cast out when she lost.” Liara’s voice was soft, almost reverent. “They call her ‘Velessia the Forsworn.’”

Shepard gave a small laugh under her breath. “So this is what passes for courtroom drama in asari space—duels to the death and pheromone scandals?”

“It is...a serialized drama,” she insisted with academic stiffness. “Rooted in historical narrative conventions. You’re teasing me again!”

“Right,” the human drawled, teasing and shifting slightly to nudge her shoulder. “Historical conventions, and a justicar who gets exiled for love.”

“It is about moral ambiguity,” Liara defended. “And emotional conviction. And what happens when duty and devotion refuse to coexist.”

“Mhm.” Shepard’s smirk turned more genuine. “And I’m guessing the historical conventions explain the steamy bond scenes every other episode. That why you’re so invested, Dr. T’Soni?” 

Liara raised a brow without looking away from the screen. “I refuse to dignify that with a response—and I’m not entertaining you.”

“You already are,” Shepard murmured, smirking Liara blushed and smiled before shh-ing her. “This scene is how Melae T’Revan won a Serava —first time that award’s ever gone to a performance in serialized drama. 

The salarian onscreen turned slowly toward the camera, his wide eyes narrowing. “ If you protect her, Justicar, then you will suffer her sentence. ” Velessia, framed by his shadow, remained motionless. The tension radiated from her, but her face was a mask of controlled composure; her eyes, dark and unyielding, held steady on the salarian, but there was a subtle tightening of her jaw, an indication of the inner conflict she refused to let show. The silence stretched out between them, charged with unspoken history, as though the weight of this conversation could shatter the fragile peace between them. The screen cut to black, cueing a low, pulsing score—percussion over a minor-key melody—and then the asari narrator’s voice began the next episode recap. Shepard blinked.

“How many of these have you watched?”

Liara hesitated. “Seven seasons.”

“Wait, how many episodes per season?”

“Fifty-six,” she admitted.

“Liara.”

“I told you, Allie, asari live very long lives and we value performative arts as much as we do mercenary work, military, and dancing. These vids are very well funded. Benezia would never admit aloud, but she loved this vid more than me—so much so that she single-handedly funded season forty-six when it was rumored the show would be canceled due to production funding. Goddess…she would be furious to know I told you this—she swore me to secrecy.” Liara’s eyes were still fixed on the screen as the next began to play.”

The human raised an eyebrow. “I can’t picture Benezia as the type for this.”

“It’s true. She would never admit it, of course, but when she wasn’t working, this was her escape. Particularly Velessia’s speeches. I think she saw something of herself in them.” The asari chuckled quietly, the sound a little wistful. “Everyone needs something that lets you turn off the rest of the galaxy for a while.”

She leaned back, half-amused, half-curious. “Didn’t take you for the type to enjoy it either. You always seemed too serious for this kind of thing.” 

Liara shot her a playful look. “I’m a lot of things, Allie. Even the most dedicated scholar needs to unwind.”  

The Commander tilted her head, studying Liara’s profile. “I gotta say, I didn’t take you for someone who watched these kinds of vids.”

“It’s... a bit of a guilty pleasure. I suppose it’s easier to be entertained by something that doesn’t make you think too much.” Liara’s gaze flickered to her briefly, a smile playing at the edges of her lips. 

“I get that. I could use something like that sometimes.”

Liara glanced at her with a little more curiosity now, as if sensing the slight opening. “I’m sure you’ve got your own ways to unwind, Shepard. What’s your... escape ?”

The question hung in the air between them, lighter than it seemed. Liara’s tone wasn’t probing, but there was a genuine interest there, an openness that made it almost too easy to answer.  Still, she hesitated, shifting her weight on the bed. There was a moment of silence as she looked away. Then, almost as an afterthought, she shrugged.

“Alright. It’s Blasto .” 

Liara’s eyes widened slightly, her brow arching in surprise. “ Blasto ?”

The Commander leaned back against the wall, one ankle hooking over the other as she chuckled softly, a little embarrassed. “Yeah. Go ahead. Laugh it up—I deserve it for teasing you about your space opera.”

“I’m not laughing,” the asari said, though her voice was warm with amusement. “I’m just surprised. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“That’s kind of the point.” Shepard smirked faintly. “Nobody expects a hanar with a gun.” Liara chuckled under her breath, but didn’t say more. She shifted a little closer on the bed, not enough to touch, just enough that Shepard felt the shift in the mattress. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, just still. Like it was waiting to see if either of them would say more. 

Liara glanced at her sideways. “It is special to you—-like This Narrow Mercy is to me?” The human nodded, lips pursed as she chewed the inside of her cheek. 

“Yeah actually,” she smiled. Her gaze flicked to the holo-vid, then down to her hands. Her thumb ran along a frayed thread in the seam of her sweatpants, worrying it loose. “It was my brother though,” she added eventually, like the word had to pass through more than just her mouth. 

The asari stilled, the shift almost imperceptible. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Most people don’t,” she exhaled, quiet, not quite a laugh. “We had this ancient datapad—thing overheated if you so much as looked at it funny—but it had three of the Blasto movies on it. He thought they were the height of cinema.” She leaned her head back against the wall, blinking slowly, like she was watching something play out somewhere just behind her eyes. “Used to quote the dumbest lines— enkindle this , and fuck—his favorite one, ‘ this one forgot to reload—but it remembers vengeance.’ Couldn’t get through five seconds without cracking himself up. He had this... high, ridiculous laugh. Sort of choked on it when he got going. I can still hear it sometimes. Especially when I’m not trying to.” 

She didn’t look at Liara when she said it. Her gaze drifted past her, catching on nothing in particular—just the vague outline of the terminal light reflecting off the wall. The moment stretched, and for a second, it wasn’t Liara’s face in front of her but a freckled one with crooked teeth and a ridiculous mop of hair that never laid flat, no matter how much water he splashed on it before school.

“Sorry,” she sighed suddenly. “I didn’t mean to say all that.” 

Liara didn’t speak right away. She only watched her, the tension in her brow faint but not worried—just present, like she understood the shape of something too delicate to name. 

“You don’t have to apologize.” Her voice was low, not much more than a breath. “I’m glad you told me.” Shepard still didn’t look at her, but something in her shoulders loosened—barely. “Will you tell me more?” 

***

The galaxy map pulsed in low, oceanic hues—blues like half-remembered dreams, golds that glinted against the floor in slow-motion flickers. If she focused enough, really thought about it—she could almost remember Liara’s touch lingering on her skin from the night before. She was lost in thought, arms crossed, the fabric of her sleeves pulling tight at her elbows. 

The silence let her think. Not clearly—never that—but strategically, combing through the sweep of stars as though Saren might blink into view with the right angle. Somewhere, far from this moment of quiet, Saren and the geth were preparing for whatever came next. Machines didn’t wait. Machines didn’t hesitate.

The comms clicked. “Commander,” Joker’s voice cut through with a grain of urgency. “Incoming transmission from Admiral Hackett.” 

Her fingers brushed the edge of the console, grounding herself. “Patch it through.” 

The galaxy map dimmed, and a shimmer of blue static gave way to Hackett’s face—hard-lined, half-shadowed, projected from a terminal barely keeping pace with Alliance encryption standards. His expression was tight, unreadable in that war-seasoned way, but the set of his jaw didn’t leave much room for optimism.

“Shepard,” he said, wasting no time. “We’ve got a situation. Alliance patrols in the Armstrong Nebula picked up significant geth activity. Not just one system. They’ve planted outposts across four: Gagarin, Hong, Tereshkova, and Vamshi.” 

“Outposts? Not recon, then.” She leaned over the console, palms splayed, the thin light catching on the edges of her fingertips. 

“Exactly,” Hackett confirmed. “It’s coordinated. Heavily fortified sites. They’re deploying jamming tech—long-range sensors are getting scrambled. I noticed the Normandy’s in the area; we need you to hit them. Fast.” 

Her mind began calculating before the words fully registered. Deployment routes. Likely resistance. Extraction windows. “Do we know what kind of firepower they’ve got on-site?”

“We’ve seen evidence of transport ships, air units. Our analysts think they may be staging for a broader push into the Traverse.”

Shepard’s shoulders squared. “Civilian presence?”

“None. These systems are uninhabited, but if we let them dig in, we lose critical ground.” Hackett’s voice held steady, but she could hear the undercurrent of urgency threading through. “We can’t let this spread. Not with Saren on the move.”

“Understood.” Her voice was low, firm. “Send the data. We’ll move immediately.”

Hackett gave the briefest nod. “Good hunting, Shepard. Fifth fleet out.” The hologram dissolved, swallowed back into the galaxy map’s orbiting calm. She straightened, jaw set.

“Joker,” she called, voice carrying across the CIC like a thrown gauntlet. “We need dropped on Rayingri ASAP. Alert the ground crew. We’re wheels up.”

“Aye, aye, Commander.” Shepard allowed herself a second—a breath, no more—to stare at the map again. Four systems. Four geth outposts. 

By the time she made it to the cargo bay, Garrus was already there, posted up against the wall like he’d been born waiting. He was adjusting the scope on his rifle, talons careful over the dials. His visor caught the overhead lights and threw them back in electric flares. 

He glanced at her, mandibles flexing in a gesture she’d come to read as sardonic. “Didn’t think we’d be fighting geth on a planet like this. Terrain’s worse than a hangover in the Presidium Gardens. At least the benches there don’t shoot at you.”

“Speak for yourself—those benches are always in my damn way,” she shot back with a smile, adjusting the grip straps on her armor. The plates clicked into place.

He chuckled, tapping his rifle once. “I’m overdue for a vacation.”

Liara arrived next, quiet but focused, her movement fluid in the near-silence of the corridor. Her armor was cleaner than most—pristine, almost—but the pistol in her hand had the kind of wear that came from obsessive calibration. She stopped beside them, gaze distant. 

“Rayingri,” she murmured, eyes on the tactical readout. “The atmosphere is thin, radiation levels high. The terrain is… inhospitable, but the geth don’t require climate or comfort. That efficiency is… unsettling.” 

Shepard checked the charge on her rifle. “They picked it for a reason. We’re going to find out what it is. And we’re going to make sure it doesn’t matter.” 

The lights in the cargo bay flared amber as the mako locked onto the deployment rails. Shepard stood beside its hulking frame as Garrus climbed in, taking his seat at the gunner console, and Liara settled in behind them.

The comms crackled and Joker’s voice returned with his usual grim levity. “Commander, we’re in position. The planet’s about as welcoming as a punch in the throat, but we’ve got a clear deployment vector. I’m seeing energy signatures—turrets for sure. Ground troops for sure.” 

“Keep us in orbit,” Shepard ordered, sliding into the driver’s seat. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

“Copy that. You always do. Dropping you in three... two...”

“Everyone buckled?” 

“There are seat-belts in here?” Garrus asked dryly, mandibles twitching in a smirk. The Commander just chuckled. 

The mako disengaged with a metal groan and dropped like a stone. Stabilizers roared. Gravity swelled in her chest. For a moment, the world narrowed to pressure and vibration and the distant howl of atmospheric friction. Then—impact. The vehicle landed with a jolt that rattled their teeth, but held.

The outside view resolved into cracked rock and shadow, the landscape painted in bleached reds and corroded browns. A wasteland, and somewhere beyond the horizon, the first geth outpost waited. 

“Systems green,” Garrus reported, turret sweeping. “Turrets ahead. No patrols yet.”

Liara leaned forward. “These structures are not just fortifications. They’re likely data centers. Possibly even comm relays.”

“Then we’re pulling the plug,” Shepard muttered, pushing the throttle. The mako surged forward, tires grinding over uneven terrain. The first turret came into view—sleek, angular, unmistakably synthetic. A targeting beam lanced across their hull.

“Turret locked,” Garrus called.

Shepard didn’t slow. “Hold.” Bolts of plasma streaked past, close enough to vibrate the cabin. “Now!” The cannon fired, a thunderous recoil that sent a ripple through the chassis. The turret exploded in a bloom of white-hot metal and smoke.

“One down,” Garrus said, satisfaction laced beneath his calm. 

Shepard didn’t ease up on the throttle. The mako snarled beneath her as she banked hard around a fractured incline, tires grinding over loose scree. “Scanners show more ahead,” she said, flicking her eyes over the console without losing focus on the ridge. “We take the defenses out first. Once the area’s clear, we go in on foot. Find out what they’re protecting.” 

“Understood,” Liara said, steady—though the rigid line of her shoulders told a different story. The mako crested a rise, and the valley unfolded below in hard lines and steel glints: two turret emplacements bracketed a phalanx of geth infantry. Shepard’s grip tightened on the controls. 

“Looks like they’ve noticed us,” Garrus remarked as the first plasma rounds cracked through the air, slamming into the Mako’s forward shields in a burst of light. Shepard yanked the wheel to dodge the hiss of a turret’s laser. The vehicle jolted sideways, cannon roaring as she returned fire. The terrain blurred past in streaks of dust and fractured stone, the hunt officially on.

The cabin throbbed with the strain of the engine, every turn of the wheels sending vibration up through Shepard’s boots. The air inside stank faintly of ozone and hot metal, and each bounce came with a sharp rattle of armor and gear shifting against bulkhead restraints. Garrus lurched forward with a muttered curse as the mako hit a rut. “Pretty sure shock absorbers were an afterthought.”

Liara’s hands gripped the console edge, knuckles gone pale. Her eyes danced between the terrain and the flickering sensor display like she was willing it to stabilize. “Are you certain this vehicle is functioning as intended?” she asked, voice tinged with strained civility.

“It’s not broken,” Shepard said, lips tugging into a grin. “It’s just got character.” Liara didn’t look convinced. The mako skidded across a patch of scree, tires howling before snapping back into traction.

“Character,” the asari echoed. “I might call it something else entirely.” 

Garrus gave a low chuckle. “You haven’t seen her at full throttle. Wait till she gets playful with a Thresher Maw.”

“Or a canyon,” the Commander added, steering toward a narrow stone pass that rose like a scar through the valley floor.

“Shepard—” Liara’s voice jumped a pitch as the mako scraped the canyon wall. Sparks screamed across the viewport. The tang of scorched alloy filtered into the cabin vents.

“It’s fine,” she said, breezy despite the scowl that flickered briefly across her face. Her fingers danced across the console. “This is why we have jump jets.”

“Jump jets—what does that—?” Liara never finished. The boosters flared, and the mako kicked into the air like a wild thing. For half a heartbeat, everything was weightless—then they slammed down with a metallic thud that reverberated up Shepard’s spine and rattled Garrus’s visor askew.

“This,” Liara gasped, “is reckless!”

“It’s tactical,” Shepard countered, adjusting their heading.

“Tactically reckless,” the turian muttered, reaching for the stabilizer grips with both hands. 

Shepard’s smirk returned. “Just hold on.” The terrain fell away ahead, revealing a wide expanse of scorched rock and hard shadow. In the distance, the shapes of geth towers pierced the horizon—sleek, black angles against the pale sky. “There,” she said, nodding toward the outpost. “We’ve got movement—turrets and maybe infantry.”

“Finally,” Garrus said, swiveling the turret into place. “I was starting to worry we were just sightseeing.” 

“Let’s clear them out,” Shepard said. “And brace yourselves. It’s not going to get smoother from here.” 

The mako roared forward, chewing over the rise. Dust kicked in sheets behind them as they barreled toward the geth emplacement. As they crested the ridge, the first volley cut through the haze—plasma lances screaming past in blue streaks. Shepard jerked the wheel. The mako swung hard, its shields shimmering as one shot clipped them head-on.

“Turrets online,” Garrus called. “Five emplacements. Two ahead, three left.”

“Start clearing them,” she ordered. “Liara, keep scanning for infantry.” The cannon fired, the impact echoing like a thundercrack inside the cabin. One turret burst apart, debris tumbling down the rocks.

“One down,” Garrus muttered.

“Let’s finish before they start swarming,” Shepard said, narrowing her eyes. 

Liara’s hands moved quickly across the scanner, her brow creased. “Multiple signatures closing from the north—close-range units. Geth platforms, definitely.”

“Of course,” Shepard growled, wheeling the mako around. Tires screamed as the vehicle whipped toward the new threat. “Hold on!” 

The infantry burst from cover, their silver armor flaring in the light. Shep lined them up and fired. The blast caught the front line dead-on, scattering wreckage in a shower of light and shrapnel. 

“Direct hit,” Garrus confirmed, already adjusting his aim. 

“Not all of them,” Liara warned. A lone geth strode forward, gun raised. Before it could fire, Garrus’s turret spun and fired again. The geth vanished in a plume of blue flame. 

“Nice shot,” the Commander remarked, already turning back to the remaining defenses.

“Maybe I should be driving,” Garrus offered. “Your aim’s got some catching up to do.”

“Not a chance.” Shepard grinned and yanked the controls. The mako blasted off a ledge, jump jets whining, and landed hard enough to rattle her molars. 

Liara yelped, one hand bracing the console. “This ‘personal touch’ feels dangerously close to sabotage.”

“It’s adaptability,” the human replied, firing again. Another turret detonated, its shield flaring bright before shattering. From the cliffs ahead, a fresh wave of geth emerged, synchronized and silent. 

Shepard spun the mako to meet them. “Liara—any sign of more incoming?”

“Nothing on the scanners,” she said, voice tighter. “But there may be units underground.”

“Figures,” she muttered. She brought the vehicle to a hard stop behind a rise. “Let’s finish sweeping the surface. Then we crack open the mystery.” 

Garrus didn’t wait for orders. The turret cannon boomed again, a deep, concussive roar that rattled the cabin. The leading geth platform erupted in a fireball, shrapnel tearing into the two behind it. The blast rolled across the battlefield like thunder. 

“Three down,” he said, almost offhand. “How’s that for adaptability?”

“Keep going,” Shepard called back, grinning as she gunned the mako forward, straight into the line of fire. The remaining geth infantry opened up, plasma bolts hissing across the shields. A few struck close enough to crackle against the glass. Liara flinched, more from the sound than the impact, then leaned in toward her console, fingers tightening.

“Shields holding at seventy percent,” she said, steadying her breath.

“Plenty of buffer.” Shepard’s voice was light, but her grip on the controls didn’t waver as she swerved toward the final turret. One pull of the trigger and the cannon fired—its payload tearing the structure apart in a wash of fire and collapsing metal. Silence followed, broken only by the faint tick of cooling wreckage and the low whine of the mako’s systems spinning down.

Shepard sighed, shoulders easing as the vehicle rolled to a stop. “Not bad,” she said, glancing back. “Just don’t let it go to your head.”

“I’ll try,” Garrus replied, mandibles twitching as he powered down the turret.

Liara let herself sink into her seat, though her posture stayed taut. “I hope that’s the worst we’ll face out here.” 

Shepard ran a hand over the dashboard, brushing off a few specks of dust. “Relax. The mako and I have an understanding.”

Liara gave her a skeptical look, one brow lifting. “That is... not as reassuring as you think.”

“Stick with me,” Shepard said, hopping out. “You’ll learn to love it—Garrus threw up the first time.”

“I did not,” the turian remarked, joining her on the ground.

Liara climbed out of the mako last, her rifle slung close, omni-tool flickering to life as she ran a scan. “There are anomalies in the structural integrity,” she noted, squinting at her readout. “Stress fractures. Too many to be natural. Something’s destabilized the foundation.”

“Perfect,” Shepard muttered. “Try not to trip on anything.”

The asari gave her a dry look. “I’m more concerned about what caused the damage.”

“Careful, Liara. This is the part where we walk in guns blazing. Try to keep up,” Shepard said with a flash of a smile. There was something in Liara’s caution—something careful and deliberate—that made Shepard want to protect it. Even if she’d never admit it out loud. Liara said nothing, but her expression softened, just slightly, at Shepard’s smile. She fell into step beside them, trusting the Commander lead—too much, maybe. However right now, Shepard needed that trust. She wasn’t going to waste it.

The team moved in, boots crunching dry earth as they approached the looming entrance. The air felt denser here—thicker, as if holding its breath. metal and rot clung to it, and beneath that, something acrid. Synthetic. The door hissed open with a sluggish groan. Inside, the corridor was dim and narrow. Lights flickered overhead, casting jittery shadows across corroded walls. Shepard’s flashlight swept the space, illuminating peeling bulkheads and burn marks that hadn’t come from combat drills. She didn't slow. Weapons locker on the right. Corridor split ahead. 

“Garrus—decryption,” she said, already pulling her rifle from her back. “Liara, rear guard. Let’s move.” But before they could step forward, a sharp, skittering noise echoed down the hallway. It was followed by a shriek—high, jagged, not entirely organic. Then came the first husk, lurching from the dark.

It moved fast. 

Her rifle barked once at the first sign of movement, and the husk dropped mid-charge, body twitching as it hit the floor. Then the hallway erupted. More husks poured in—too many to count, limbs jerking, eyes glowing like dying embers. They didn’t think. They didn’t stop. They swarmed .

“Husks!” Liara shouted, her voice slicing through the chaos as she ducked into cover. Her biotics surged, hurling one backward in a crackling wave of dark energy.

“Take ‘em down!” Shepard barked. She dropped one with a burst to the chest, then pivoted to cover Garrus as he worked the decryption. Her world narrowed to the recoil of her rifle and the rising stench of charred flesh.

“Holding left flank,” Garrus shouted over the gunfire. “They’re pushing through—fast!” Claws scraped metal. Screeches echoed through the vents. The room felt like it was closing in, the walls pulsing with the rhythm of battle. 

“They’re coming out of the back corridor!” Liara warned, firing another blast that shattered a charging husk mid-air.

They were losing ground, inch by inch. They wouldn’t be able to hold this position forever.  “Fall back!” Shepard snapped, catching the asari’s arm and hauling her toward the nearest cover. The air was thick with the scorched-metal tang of husks torn apart mid-charge. Garrus dropped behind an overturned crate, the sharp crack of his rifle punctuating each breathless second. Liara’s biotics surged, blue arcs flinging husks into walls hard enough to leave cracks in the concrete. Shepard braced herself, her rifle warm in her hands, heartbeat a steady thrum behind her eyes.

The doors at the far end groaned open—the unmistakable cadence of geth movement. Cold. Unhurried. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, jaw tight. Geth poured in like a tide. Two destroyers—hulking and deliberate—led the formation, flanked by snipers and troopers, their optics flashing cold blue in the dim.

“Ready yourself,” Garrus encouraged, voice calm, movements clipped as he reloaded. Shepard didn’t answer. Her rifle snapped up, shoulder pressed into the stock, the recoil a familiar bite. The first destroyer moved like a tank, its footsteps heavy enough to make the floor vibrate under her boots.

She fired. Armor pinged and sparked. The thing staggered—but kept coming.

“Focus fire!” she shouted, pivoting. Garrus’ shot rang out, punctuated by a thunderous biotic pulse from Liara that slammed into the Destroyer like a wrecking ball. The geth dropped in a heap, its limbs twitching as its systems died. The second came faster. Shepard barely rolled aside as it charged, the wind from its movement brushing her cheek. She rose in a fluid snap, unloading her clip into the space between its plates. The armor cracked; the machine stumbled.

“We’re not done yet!” she barked, even as it fell.  The last of the geth faltered under their onslaught. Pulse fire lit the room in sharp bursts, Garrus’ rifle cracking steady rhythms beside Liara’s glowing hands. One by one, they fell. When the last trooper dropped, silence hung awkwardly—like it didn’t belong here.

“I think we just made a mess,” Garrus said, stepping over a pile of scrap, voice low.

“Yeah,” Shepard said, breath catching in her throat. A dry, worn laugh escaped her. “But it’s our mess.”

No one spoke as they moved through the wreckage. The floor was littered with twisted forms—burnt flesh, shattered armor, oil pooling with blood. Smoke coiled through the air like it didn’t want to leave. Shepard was already scanning the space again, breath still a little uneven, rifle resting against her shoulder but never far from action.

“Keep your heads on straight,” she muttered. Her voice was raw, throat catching from the shouting. “We’re not out of the woods yet.” 

Liara exhaled slowly, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her glove. “I think that was the last of them,” she said. But her tone was cautious, the words sitting on the edge of uncertainty. Shepard didn’t answer. She understood that feeling—that refusal to believe quiet meant safety. 

Garrus was already moving, scanning the perimeter with his usual intensity. “I’ll check the dropship area. Can’t risk leaving anything behind.”

Shepard nodded, then turned to Liara. “You with me?”

There was a pause. Not hesitation—more like gravity. Liara’s gaze swept the battlefield one last time before she gave a quiet nod. “Always, Shepard.”

They moved together, their steps careful across the uneven ground. The dropship was still there, listing slightly, a looming silhouette against the pale sky. No movement. No reinforcements. Not yet.

Shepard crouched behind a rock outcropping, eyes scanning the cliffs beyond. Wind stirred the dust, catching on the ridges and trailing through the battlefield like a ghost.

“No more geth?” Liara’s voice was softer now, shaped by instinct rather than fear. Her eyes flicked from shadow to shadow. Shepard didn’t respond immediately. She adjusted her grip on her rifle, letting her ears do the work.

There.

A low whine—buried under the wind. Her blood turned to ice. “Incoming!” she snapped, grabbing Liara again, pushing her behind the nearest cover just as the sound swelled into something unmistakable: the deep growl of engines in descent.

A second geth dropship broke through the clouds, its bulk blotting out the sun as it screamed toward them.

“Get ready!” Shepard called, swinging her rifle around. “Garrus, status?”

“Locked in,” came the sharp reply from across the ridge. The dropship landed with a metallic crack , dust flying outward in a choking wave. The side doors hissed open— 

Her first shot took down the lead trooper before its feet hit the dirt, and Liara’s biotics lit the air behind her, slamming another into a rock face so hard the impact cracked stone. Garrus picked off two more in quick succession, each one collapsing mid-step. The firefight burned fast. Flashes of blue light. The rhythmic scream of metal under pressure. The stench of synthetic fluids burst open by high-caliber rounds. Shepard fought like she always did—forward, fast, unrelenting. The M-76 kicked against her shoulder, but the rhythm was hers. She tore through them, tracking, adjusting, breathing through the smoke and the chaos.

Liara moved beside her—measured, deadly. Garrus covered them both, calm and exact. One by one, the geth fell. Then there were none. The battlefield went still.Shepard stood in place, the barrel of her rifle still raised. Her breath came slower now, chest rising and falling in tight rhythm. She scanned again—just to be sure.

“It’s over,” Garrus said, stepping up beside her. He crouched to adjust his rifle, voice tinged with that faint edge of victory he always wore like a smirk. “All clear.”

***

The bridge was alive with soft chatter and status updates as Joker sat at the helm, one hand on the console, the other tossing a stylus between his fingers. His eyes flicked toward the door as Shepard stepped in. “Commander,” he greeted, tossing her a lazy salute. “The Alliance really knows how to keep a guy busy. Hackett’s report just came in—one more outpost on Solcrum.” 

Shepard came to a halt at the edge of the command console, one hand lifting to push her damp hair behind her ears. There was a faint musk trailing after her—burnt ozone, sweat, maybe even Joker—and she wasn’t sure she wanted to narrow it down. “More like the geth know how to keep us busy,” she muttered. “Saren must be working them down to their last circuit.”

A soft chuckle came from somewhere behind her—Tali, then Liara joining in a second later. The sound cut through the fatigue in her chest like a thin ray of light.

“So what is next?” Tali asked, stepping closer to study the galaxy map. Red beacons pulsed across Solcrum’s surface like an angry constellation—fractured, scattered, but undeniably patterned. Shepard leaned forward, resting a hand on the console, eyes tracing the clusters. Saren’s forces were spread thin, sure—but thin didn’t mean weak. Thin meant everywhere. 

“Next planet’s not far,” she said, an edge returning to her voice. “I’m hitting the geth hard. We take out every last one of them.”

“Shall I expect more thrilling rock-jumping in the mako?” Liara asked, her tone dry, her smile even drier.

“Oh, absolutely,” the Commander replied, teeth flashing in a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Solcrum’s terrain is worse than the last. Think vertical.”

Behind her, the low sound of armored footsteps and the familiar scrape of talons on plating signaled Garrus’s arrival—accompanied by the grunt of Wrex. “If it’s anything like the last one,” the turian started, “I recommend holding onto something, T’Soni.”

Wrex gave a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Doesn’t matter what hits the mako,” she heard him mutter. “I’m just here for the fight.”

Shepard let a small smile curl at the edge of her mouth. “Alright, everyone.” She tapped the map to pull up tactical overlays. “Final outpost, we’re splitting up. Garrus, Tali, and Liara—you’re with me.”

She paused to glance over her shoulder. Kaidan had just stepped in, arms crossed loosely. His expression was already halfway into tactical mode.

“Kaidan, I want you leading Bravo team. We’ll drop your shuttle about six klicks out—you’ll hit this outpost here,” she gestured to a cluster on the eastern ridge, “while Alpha team takes the mako up this approach. We’ll take out ground turrets and breach the interior. We rendezvous at these coordinates at thirteen-hundred.” She stepped back from the console. “Stay on comms. Be ready for anything.”

Joker cleared his throat, his voice light but steady. “Commander, if you’re ready, I can set the course. Just say the word.” Shepard let her gaze linger on the blinking beacons, tracing the fault lines of Saren’s invasion with her eyes. One more outpost. One more push before Noveria. Before whatever came next. She nodded. “Set a course for Solcrum,” she said. “Let’s hit the geth—and Saren—where it hurts.”

***

The Normandy dropped out of FTL, the stars warping back into their familiar pinpricks of light as the ship coasted into orbit around Solcrum, a small, desolate moon orbiting Notanban. The cold, barren moon was all that stood between them and the geth’s main base of operations. 

“Looks like we’ve got their full attention,” Garrus remarked, his eyes scanning the data on the hud. “Big concentrations of geth activity around the base. Looks like rocket troopers in the towers, and two Colossi patrolling the ground. They’re expecting us.”

“The geth aren’t going to make it easy. But I’m ready. Let’s do this, Commander,” Tali started, a smile in her voice.

Liara, always the calm voice, added quietly, “I’ve got your back, Shepard.”

Shepard nodded, activating the shuttle’s intercom. “Alright, people, we’re landing close to the base. Tali, I need you on tech, cover the mako. Garrus, we’ll need your sharpshooting. Liara, we’ll have to keep our distance from those Colossi—your biotics will help take the edge off.”

“I’ll be right behind you, Shepard. I’m setting up a few tricks to make sure the geth don’t get too comfortable.”

“Good. We’re dropping in hot. Get ready.” The Commander gestured toward the door, and the rest of the team stood, gathering their weapons and preparing for the drop.

The drop was brief, the vast expanse of space quickly replaced by the rocky, hostile surface of Solrum. The wind whipped around the craggy hills as they landed, on the uneven, stony outcropping of the uncharted planet. The mako’s wheels gripped the terrain as Shepard steered it forward, her eyes flicking to the incoming data on the dashboard.

“Rocket Troopers, snipers on the ridges,” Tali muttered from the passenger seat, fingers flying over her console. “If we don’t neutralize them, they’ll keep us pinned down.”

Her hands tightened around the controls, hating the rocky landscape knowing it was perfect for snipers. Even so, the mako was durable, if nothing else, and damn it if she didn’t love the focus on the top gun. “Get on it, Garrus!” With a quick press of a button, Shepard hit the accelerator, sending the mako hurtling toward the base. They had no time to waste.

The mako skidded around a narrow outcrop, its wheels grinding against the rocks as she gunned it straight toward one of the sniper towers. A flash of blue light arced overhead as a rocket passed dangerously close. Shepard cursed under her breath and yanked the mako into a sharp left turn, narrowly avoiding another missile.

“How you doing over there, T’Soni?” the human grinned, adrenaline pumping as she stomped on the gas, sending the mako over a ridge and hitting the ground with a hard thud. 

“What is that human saying? A walk in the park, yes,” the asari murmured—Shepard could hardly hear her over the sounds of the mako. “A walk in the park!” Liara shouted, meeting the Commander’s gaze as the wheels screamed, finding purchase again and shooting toward one of the snipers.

“Take out the towers!” Shepard shouted, veering the mako toward a sniper’s perch. Tali was already on it. The sniper’s tower exploded in a fireball, a satisfying sight as the geth trooper inside was sent flying, sparks arcing from the structure.

“We’ve got Colossi on the ground,” Garrus added. “If we don’t break their formation, we’re going to be in trouble.”

“Got it,” Shepard muttered under her breath. “Tali, fire up the jump jets. We’re taking these bastards out the fun way.” The mako lurched forward as Shepard pressed the jets, the vehicle leaping over a wide chasm of rocky terrain and landing squarely between the two geth Colossi. The massive geth machines towered over them, each of their towering forms nearly twice the height of the mako. “Ready, Tali?” Shepard asked, her voice cool despite the heart-pounding chaos.

“Just say when,” the quarian replied, a note of tension in her voice.

With a grunt, Shepard slammed the mako into reverse and then shot forward, ramming one of the Colossi with all the force of the vehicle’s massive bulk. The geth juggernaut staggered back, momentarily disabled. Tali quickly activated a pulse of disabling tech, and with a roar, the Colossus collapsed to the ground. However, the second Colossus wasn’t so easily knocked off balance. It turned, bringing its massive weapon to bear. Shepard cursed, jerking the mako sideways just as the Colossus fired. The blast missed, but the mako’s hull shuddered anyway.

“Don’t let it get back up!” Liara urged, fear bringing her hand to Shepard’s thigh. With the first Colossus neutralized, she swerved the mako again, aiming for the second. She rammed the beast with another sharp jolt, sending it reeling before quickly reversing again, getting distance to fire. The Colossus roared in anger, but the mako’s front cannon fired with precision, striking the geth in its vulnerable joints. The massive machine fell, its bulky frame collapsing into the dust with a final, metallic screech.

“Good job, Commander,” Garrus said, his voice laced with admiration. “I think we’ve got the geth’s attention now.”

“Stay alert,” Shepard replied, spinning the mako around and heading for the entrance of the facility. “Let’s finish this.” The mako slid to a stop just outside the entrance to the geth base. The steel doors loomed ahead, an ominous, quiet barrier standing between them and whatever the geth had set up inside. The base was different from the others they had cleared—this one had a more industrial, prefab feel to it, all sharp edges and metallic panels. The towering, lifeless walls stared back at them, and Shepard could almost feel the pressure of the geth presence pressing against her as they exited the mako.

“Tali, stay sharp. We’re going to need you on the tech. Liara, keep your biotics at the ready, and Garrus… take out anything that moves.”

The team nodded in silent agreement. Shepard keyed in the code to open the massive steel doors, which slid open with a low, mechanical groan. Beyond, the narrow entry hallway was lit only by the flicker of overhead lights.

“Looks clear,” Tali said softly, her voice laced with caution. “But I don’t trust it.”

“I second that,” she replied, stepping inside first, her weapon raised. She moved fluidly, her boots clicking on the cold floor as the rest of the squad followed. They stepped into the main room of the base. It was eerily quiet—too quiet. Crates were stacked against the walls, forming makeshift cover. A pair of reinforced doors led to what looked like the center of the facility, but she knew better than to assume things were simple.

The geth are never that easy.

The air was thick with anticipation, every footstep echoing off the metal. Shepard’s hand gripped her rifle tightly as she scanned the room.

“I’ve got a security panel over here. I’ll try to hack it, but we’ve got company incoming.” No sooner had the words left Tali’s mouth than the doors behind them slammed shut with a deafening clang.

“Called it,” Shepard muttered under her breath. The sound of mechanical whirring grew louder, accompanied by the distinct echo of feet pounding on metal. 

“Whatever you say, Shepard,” Tali remarked, her laughter strange through the comm channels. 

“Husks,” Liara’s voice was calm but strained. “They’re coming from the back corridors.”

The first of the husks rounded the corner—a grotesque, half-dead soldier, its movements jerky and uncoordinated. The creature shrieked, a terrible noise that vibrated in Shepard’s skull, before charging toward them.

“Take cover!” she barked, and she ducked behind the nearest crate just as the husks surged into the room. The squad opened fire almost in unison. Shepard’s rifle cracked, her shots finding their mark as she dropped one husk, then another. Garrus’ sniper rifle rang out, a sharp crack, and a husk’s skull exploded in a spray of gray matter. Tali fired from behind cover, her tech shots sizzling through the air. But the husks kept coming, each one seemingly more determined than the last.

“More are coming—watch your six!” Garrus shouted as another half-dozen husks poured into the room. One lunged directly for Shepard, and she sidestepped, slamming her boot into its ribcage before firing point-blank, sending it crashing to the floor. The squad was moving fast, each member reacting to the onslaught of creatures without thinking, the rhythm of their teamwork drilled into them from countless missions. But even as the husks fell, the room seemed to grow darker, more oppressive.

“Something’s wrong,” Tali said, her voice tense as she scanned her equipment. Before anyone could respond, the back door slammed open, and a new wave of threats poured into the room. The sharp, mechanical sounds of the geth Destroyers could be heard as they charged in, their hulking frames bearing down on the squad. Shepard’s instincts kicked in immediately. 

“Get to cover!” Shepard shouted, already taking her place behind another crate as the ground shook under the weight of the geth’s march.

“Take out the destroyers first!” Garrus ordered, already taking aim at the massive machines as they advanced.

Tali, still working on the panel, swore under her breath. “I can’t access the security system with them coming at us like this! Hold them off a little longer!”

Shepard squeezed the trigger, sending another destroyer crashing to the ground with a well-placed shot. The others were relentless, pushing forward even as the squad worked to take them down. Liara’s biotics flared, lifting one destroyer off the ground and slamming it into the ceiling before it crumpled to the floor, sparks sizzling from its damaged circuits. A geth juggernaut’s heavy footsteps reverberated throughout the facility, its massive form casting a long shadow over the squad. Its red optics flickered ominously, and its hulking frame moved with chilling precision. Shepard tightened her grip on her rifle and shot a quick look at her team.

“Focus fire on the Juggernaut!” Shepard ordered, her voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the chaos. I hate those things! 

Garrus wasted no time, his sniper rifle booming with precision shots aimed at the juggernaut’s weak points. The massive machine staggered, but it didn’t fall. It was tough, built to endure—but not invincible. Tali ducked into cover, her heart racing as the juggernaut turned its attention toward her position. Shepard could hear the whine of its powerful weapon charging.

“Move, Tali!” Shepard shouted, taking a shot at the juggernaut’s exposed side. “We need to bring it down together!”

Liara’s biotics pulsed with crackling energy as she threw the juggernaut off balance. For a moment, it flailed helplessly in the air, its mechanical joints screeching in protest. Shepard seized the opportunity, circling around, her rifle steady as she blasted into the geth's weakened chassis. Tali managed to hack into its systems, sending out a burst of electrical interference. The juggernaut spasmed, its movements jerky and erratic, leaving an opening that Shepard and Garrus quickly exploited. In a flurry of gunfire, the juggernaut finally crumpled, crashing to the floor with a deafening roar. The ground trembled beneath their feet. 

They all paused, listening to the echoes of the battlefield, catching their breath as the adrenaline started to fade. 

“I think we’re in the clear, Commander,” the asari remarked, moving to stand near her.

“Tali,” Shepard panted, her voice quieter now, eyes scanning the room. “What did you find back there?”

Tali stepped toward the terminal by the back wall, “There’s something… important. A terminal. It’s encrypted, but I think I can get it open.” She approached the terminal and began to work. Her fingers flew over the interface, and Shepard kept a watchful eye on the surrounding area, but it seemed the fight was over. Liara stepped closer to the terminal, her biotic senses alert for any last surprises. 

Tali’s eyes widened as the terminal began to unlock. “I’ve got it. There’s a transmission here, Shepard… it’s a Quarian lament, encoded with a geth signature. It’s meant for the geth homeworlds.”

Shepard’s gut clenched at the thought of this. A Quarian lament? Something deeply personal—and highly significant. “What does it mean? Is it a message?”

Tali turned to face Shepard, her expression tight. “It’s not just a message. It’s data, a recording of something the geth have been keeping. The transmission could lead to understanding their movements, their plans. But there’s something more. I think this recording is a plea, something from the Quarians themselves. It’s tied to our homeworld… to the geth. This could be important, Shepard.”

She nodded slowly, processing the quarian’s words. The thought of the geth manipulating or misusing this data was unsettling. “We’ll take it back to the Normandy. You and Liara can analyze it further.”

Tali didn’t reply immediately, her gaze fixed on the terminal screen. She quickly transferred the data to a secure drive, her movements sharp and efficient. When she finished, she turned back to Shepard. “I need to review this, but it’s crucial. We can’t let it fall into the wrong hands. It’s a key to understanding the geth’s motivations, maybe even stopping them before they do any more damage.”

Just as Tali secured the data, a faint rumble echoed through the facility, and Shepard’s body tightened with the anticipation of more gunfire. “Let’s move. We’re not out of here yet.”

Chapter Text

Shepard’s fingers pressed into the back of her neck, the tension from hours spent hunched over mission reports digging into her muscles. The quiet of the ship felt almost suffocating now, and it made the upcoming mission feel even heavier. Noveria would likely be a critical mission for them, as the Council had heard reports there was geth interest in the corporate research colony. If the geth were there, for all she knew, she was walking into another Zhu’s Hope situation. Vital as it was, it wasn’t solely the mission that occupied her thoughts. Beneath everything, she couldn't get Liara's invitation out of her mind-- it was a simple request to share some time before tomorrow, but it felt more than that. Was she just overthinking?  As she neared the observation deck, she slowed, hand hovering over the door panel. There was a flicker of doubt, but she couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was the way Liara had looked at her earlier, with that trust in her eyes, something Shepard never quite knew how to accept. She partly wondered if Liara was ready for more  below-the-belt experiences, and this was her way of getting her alone. Still, it hadn’t been very long since they’d returned from Feros—it didn’t seem plausible the asari maiden had changed her mind about her readiness in just a few short weeks. She exhaled, shaking it off, and stepped through.

Liara was just where Shepard expected her—standing by the viewport; the stars seemed to shine just a little brighter around her, making everything else fade. Shepard’s gaze drifted to her, drawn to the grace of her posture, how she held herself, her fingers resting lightly on the back of a sofa chair beside her. The door’s quiet hiss behind her made the asari turn, and her smile, warm and welcoming, filled the space between them. “You came,” she smiled, her voice soft with something that felt like relief. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to get away.”

The Commander stepped inside, letting the door slide closed behind her. “Neither was I,” she admitted. 

Liara tilted her head, but didn’t press. “I’m glad you did.” The space between them held—for a moment—something unspoken, thick as static. Shepard crossed the room slowly, her eyes adjusting to the quiet gleam of the stars and the darkened viewport. She stood beside the asari, arms loose at her sides.

“You ever get tired of this view?” she asked, watching the swirl of cold galaxies, distant and unreachable.

“Never,” Liara said. “Though I find I look at it differently, depending on who’s standing next to me.”

That earned a glance. “That so?”

“With you, it feels... closer. Less theoretical,” she smiled again, softer now.

Shepard huffed, not quite a laugh. “That definitely sounds like something a scientist would say on a date.”

“I didn’t say this was a date,” Liara said carefully.

The human looked at her. “Didn’t say it wasn’t.” The air shifted between them. Familiar, but heavier now. Charged.

Then, quietly, the maiden asked: “Would you dance with me?”

“What?” Shepard blinked.

Liara stepped back half a pace, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “I’ve read that in human culture, it’s common to mark moments—important ones—with... rituals. Music. Movement. Connection. I thought it might help us remember this. Even if it’s just for a few minutes.” There was no music. Just the deep silence of space and what she believed was the Normandy’s systems moving, but she attributed it most to some figment of her imagination. 

“You want to remember this?” Shepard asked.

Liara’s eyes didn’t waver. “I already do. But memory doesn’t always last the way we want it to.”

“You do know I’m a terrible dancer?” she asked, reaching for the soft blue hand extended before her. 

“I’m not asking you to perform,” the maiden said gently. “Just to be here. With me.”

“Alright. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Liara took her hand, her fingers warm and sure. They settled into a slow, loose rhythm. Shepard didn’t try to lead, didn’t try to impress. She just let it happen, awkward steps and all.

“You are very tense, Allie,” the asari murmured.

“Occupational hazard.”

“Even now?”

Shepard looked upward to meet her gaze, standing just a few inches shorter than the asari, something unguarded flickering at the edge of her expression. “ Especially now.”

Liara’s hand slid gently to the back of her shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“Good,” the Commander said, the corners of her mouth tugging into something resembling a small and dry smile. “I’m better at silence.” They moved together, slow and steady. Not graceful, but not clumsy either. The kind of closeness that didn’t demand anything. After a while, Shepard leaned in slightly, her forehead almost touching Liara’s. “I keep thinking we won’t get more of these.”

The asari’s voice was a whisper. “So let’s keep this one.” The words slid into Shepard’s chest—quiet and warm, like breath curling into cold lungs. She felt…it was almost like when she still lived on Earth with the Reds. Back then, she wasn’t the commanding officer of an Alliance frigate or the first human Spectre, or chasing down a rogue turian with a mind-controlling vessel capable of total annihilation. She used to get drunk with Nellie and Remi—they’d play games and do lines of hallex together. It was the only thing that made her forget about her family being dead or unwilling subjects of experimental cranial implants. That felt so long ago now—she wasn’t that person anymore. The warmth between them—their stillness, drew on her impulse to step back before she fucked something up, second-guessed herself. 

She let her forehead rest gently against Liara’s, her breath hitching almost like laughter. “I really am bad at this,” she remarked, voice low and a little unsteady, like it had come from somewhere beneath her ribs.

Liara laughed softly, and the sound was so easy , like it belonged here. Her hands slid to the small of Shepard’s back, gentle and sure, pulling her closer without a word. “It’s perfect,” she murmured. “It’s you.” The words caught somewhere in her chest; not because they hurt—but because they didn’t. Her hands gripped slightly tighter at the maiden’s waist, fingertips pressing into fabric that was warm now, familiar. The slow sway of their bodies wasn’t about the dance anymore—hadn’t been for a while, maybe at all. It was just motion for the sake of closeness. For staying.

“I... wish I didn't have to do anything else,” she whispered. “Just this—with you.”

The asari didn’t flinch. She didn’t soften into pity, didn’t rush to reassure. Her expression just held steady, open, a quiet steadiness that made it easier to breathe. “I know,” she whispered. “Just… stay with me a little longer.” Shepard’s eyes closed for a moment. There was something in Liara’s voice—not soothing exactly, but anchoring. The galaxy and its endless demands slipped further into the periphery, blurred by the warmth in her touch and the slow, deliberate closeness of their bodies. Shepard nodded slightly, resting her forehead against Liara’s once more.

“I’ll never leave you,” she whispered—not even meaning to have said it aloud. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t grand, but it felt true all the same. “I promise.”

The movement between them slowed to something quieter than a dance—more like a breath, an agreement. Each shift of weight, each slight adjustment in grip, carried its own rhythm. The soft brush of Liara’s hand against her spine. The way her breath hit Shepard’s neck, light and regular. The comfort of being seen and not retreating from it. The world outside—missions, timelines, Noveria—none of it fit here. Even the stars seemed too far away to reach them. Eventually, Liara pulled back just a little, her hands lingering at Shepard’s arms. Her eyes caught hers, and for a second, she felt like she’d been peeled open—gently, without force, but still. Liara looked at her like she knew . Everything.

“We should rest,” Liara said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Noveria awaits.” The words grounded her again. She sighed, a slow breath that pulled the edges of the moment back into focus.

“Yeah,” she said, voice a little hoarse. “Before, I was talking with Joker—he said we should be there in less than twelve hours.”

“Perhaps you should get some sleep, Allie.”

Shepard smiled—small, crooked. “I need to run down to cargo and check on Tali. Speak with Williams. But…” Her voice dipped as her fingers brushed Liara’s hip, just once. “Maybe I’ll see a certain asari in my quarters later?” There was something almost shy in the way she asked it. A flicker of uncertainty that hadn’t quite left, despite everything.

Liara’s lips curved with knowing warmth. “Maybe you will, Commander.”

***

The airlock doors hissed open with a hydraulic groan, and a rush of cold air curled around Shepard’s legs like smoke. Frost clung to the seams of her armor, whispering against the metal as she stepped forward onto the ramp. Her boots struck the surface with a clipped, hollow rhythm, each footfall softened by the sterile quiet of the docking bay. Beyond the sealed blast doors, the storm still howled—muted now, a ghost pressed against glass—but its breath lingered inside, sharp as a warning.

She adjusted her stance as she reached the bottom of the ramp, hands at her sides but ready. The reception party waiting for her wasn’t exactly brimming with hospitality—a tight cluster of guards stood ahead, rifles cradled but not raised. Their armor was a clean white that caught the overhead lights like ice, and their leader, a human woman with a grim expression, stepped forward with the clipped steps of someone who didn’t appreciate surprises.

“Stand down, Lieutenant,” she said, not looking at her subordinates. Her eyes scanned Shepard’s squad like she was checking off a manifest. “I’m Matsuo, head of Port Hanshan security. You’re Commander Shepard?”

“That’s right.” Her tone was level, unreadable, but her spine straightened just a little more. The way Matsuo’s gaze lingered on her sidearm wasn’t missed. Nor was the faint tension in her voice—something too controlled to be casual. “I’m here on official Citadel business,” Shepard added.

Matsuo’s expression didn’t shift. One of her guards cut in before she could speak again: “Spectres don’t get special treatment here. This isn’t the Citadel. You follow our rules, or you won’t be here long.”

Shepard held her gaze a beat longer, then offered a curt nod. “Noted. I’m not here to cause trouble.” Behind her, Garrus shifted slightly, the faint rustle of armor and a twitch of mandibles betraying his restrained amusement. Ashley pretended to fiddle with the latch on her rifle. Liara said nothing, eyes moving restlessly between the guards, her face neutral but wary. 

“You’ll need to check your weapons,” Matsuo said. Her gaze dropped pointedly to Shepard’s pistol, and her chin lifted slightly, daring her to object.

“We’re on a mission. My crew needs to be able to respond to threats. Disarming us puts everyone at risk.” Her jaw tightened, but her voice stayed calm. 

“Your concern is noted,” Matsuo said, dry and flat. “Our port. Our rules.” A beat passed. Then—

“Stand down, Chief,” a new voice interjected. Smooth, diplomatic, but firm.

A woman stepped into view, her presence immediately disarming the tension like a warm current in cold water. A mauve dress, businesslike poise, but there was a spark in her eyes that made Shepard take her seriously.

“Gianna Parasini,” she said, offering a small, professional nod. “Welcome to Port Hanshan, Commander. Apologies for the frostiness—Chief Matsuo is very thorough.”

“She’s doing her job,” the Commander replied, managing diplomacy even as a flicker of weariness crossed her features. “I’d prefer to speak privately, if that’s possible.”

Parasini gave a slight smile. “Of course. This way.” 

Matsuo muttered something under her breath—nothing Shepard caught clearly—and stepped aside. The team followed Parasini toward the security checkpoint. She didn’t miss how the scanners buzzed a little longer than necessary around their weapons, nor the way Garrus quietly grumbled, “Bureaucracy,” as he stepped away from the terminal.

“Thank you for your discretion,” Shepard said once they were past. “Has anyone unusual come through Noveria recently?”

Parasini considered that, a subtle shrug accompanying her reply. “There was an asari Matriarch a few days ago—Lady Benezia.” The name landed like a crack in ice. Liara stopped short.

“B-Benezia?” Her voice caught mid-breath.

Shepard didn’t think before reaching out instinctively, grounding a steady hand on Liara’s shoulder. “Can I speak with her?”

Parasini shook her head. “She left for Peak 15 days ago. As far as I know, she’s still there.”

“Then that’s where I need to be,” Shepard said, already moving in her mind, fitting pieces into place. “How do I get there?”

“You’ll need clearance from Administrator Anoleis,” Parasini said, her tone gentler now. “His office is upstairs. I can take you—though fair warning, he’s not the most... flexible individual.”

“I appreciate the heads up. Lead the way—this place feels like a maze designed by someone with a grudge.”

Parasini chuckled lightly, but the sound faded as they entered the elevator. The ride was brief, quiet but weighted. Parasini filled the silence with practiced pleasantries, but her tone had shifted—more guarded now, more mechanical the closer they drew to their destination. The office was as warm as a morgue: metal, glass, and silence. Administrator Anoleis barely glanced up from his console, his thin salarian frame folded behind a desk that seemed built to dwarf him.

“What is it?” he asked flatly, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Administrator Anoleis,” Shepard said, stepping forward with her voice low and professional. “I’m Commander Shepard. I need access to Peak 15. Citadel business.”

“You’re not on the Citadel,” he replied, still not looking up. “Noveria is under corporate jurisdiction. Peak 15 is restricted. No clearance, no access.”

Shepard let her arms cross, weight settling onto one hip. “There’s a serious situation there. I’m not here to disrupt your operations—but I’m not leaving this unresolved.”

Anoleis snorted faintly. “Whatever situation exists at Peak 15 is none of the Citadel’s concern. If you want access, acquire the proper authorization. Until then, feel free to enjoy the weather.” 

Shepard didn’t bother replying. She caught the small, almost imperceptible motion from Parasini—a tip of the head, an invitation to step outside. She turned on her heel and followed her out. 

Once the door slid shut behind them, Parasini exhaled. “Sorry. He’s... difficult. But there is another way you can get to Peak 15.”

“I’m listening,” Shepard said.

“There’s a turian—Lorik Qui’in. He used to work under Anoleis. Now he’s got a grudge, and a few favors to cash in. He’s in the hotel lounge. If you’re willing to hear him out, he might be able to help.”

Shepard raised a brow. “And he just hands out favors to Spectres?”

“He’s a businessman. He doesn’t do anything for free—but he wants Anoleis out of the way. That lines up with your interests.”

Shepard nodded slowly. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Good luck, Commander,” Parasini said, her smile returning, this time with a little more ease. “Try not to make too much trouble.”

“No promises,” she replied, smirking faintly as she turned toward the elevator.

In the hotel lounge, overhead speakers played some instrumental loop barely audible above the rustle of conversation and the clink of glass. The lighting was low and purposeful, the furniture utilitarian dressed up just enough to pretend it wasn’t. Shepard scanned the room. There—by the window. A lone turian nursing a drink, angled toward the door as if expecting a problem and weighing its odds. 

Shepard gestured to her squad. “Stay close,” she murmured. “This shouldn’t take long.” 

The Commander approached Qui’in’s table with the same deliberate calm she used in war zones—shoulders square, pace steady, eyes forward. Her boots made soft, dull contact with the floor tiles, nearly swallowed by the hush of the executive lounge. Overhead, recessed lighting cast long reflections on the polished glass surfaces, lending the air a clinical gleam that clashed with the murmur of discreet conversations and clinking glasses.

The turian looked up as she drew close, his mandibles twitching in acknowledgment. His expression was unreadable, his posture composed: one arm resting loosely on the table, the other lifting a drink with careful grace. His suit looked expensive, cut to flatter a body built more for bureaucracy than battlefield—but there was still something coiled behind his stillness, something sharper than the fabric he wore. 

She stopped just short of the table, her arms loose at her sides in a posture meant to suggest openness without concession.

“Lorik Qui’in?” Her voice was clipped, utilitarian. A tone she saved for meetings where trust was optional. 

Qui’in inclined his head, glass pausing at his lips. “That depends on who’s asking.”

“Commander Shepard. Systems Alliance.” She didn’t smile. “I was told you might have information that could help me get to Peak 15.” 

A pause. His gaze sharpened with something between calculation and curiosity, the kind of look that measured a person’s leverage before they even finished speaking. “Ah,” he said, voice low and wry. “The Spectre. You’re certainly not the usual type Anoleis sends skulking after me.” He gestured to the seat across from him, fingers splayed with affected politeness. “Please—sit. Let’s discuss this... predicament of yours.”

She didn’t move right away, and her eyes scanned the table, the exits, the other patrons whose conversations dipped in and out of earshot like tides. Eventually, she sat, her spine straight, her expression flat. “I’m not here on behalf of Anoleis,” she corrected. “There’s a situation at Peak 15. The Citadel sent me to handle it. And from what I hear, you’re my best way in.”

Qui’in chuckled, a soft, dry rasp. “Of course. The noble Spectre, acting in the name of galactic security.” His tone was smooth, but not mocking—just practiced, as though he’d worn out all his genuine enthusiasm years ago. “Still. A refreshing change from the usual parade of corporate climbers. Though I do wonder...” His eyes flicked briefly to the insignia on her chest, then back to her face. “How far are you willing to go for this mission, Commander?”

“Further than most.”

That earned her the faintest twitch at the corners of his mouth. “I believe it. But let’s not dance around it. You want Peak 15. I can help. But not for free.”

“I figured.” She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “Name your price.” 

Qui’in set his glass aside and folded his hands. “Anoleis is sitting on company property that doesn’t belong to him—internal records that could compromise his position, should the right eyes review them. He’s locked them in my office, and conveniently, I’ve been denied access. Get them back for me, and I’ll provide you with the pass.”

Her jaw tightened. “You’re asking me to break into a locked office inside a high-security corporate facility.”

“Only if you’re caught.” His mandibles flared in what passed for a turian grin. “And I have a feeling you’re not the type who gets caught.”

She exhaled through her nose—less a laugh than a surrender to the absurdity of it. “And if I decide to hand over those files to the authorities instead?”

Qui’in didn’t blink. “That’s your prerogative. Anoleis is corrupt. His downfall would be a public service. But you’ll still need me to get through the front door of Peak 15.”

Across the lounge, Liara was still at the bar, her posture composed but her gaze trained on them, subtle and alert. When Shepard’s eyes met hers, the asari tilted her head, expression unreadable—curious, concerned. Shepard looked away. “Fine,” she said, keeping her voice even. “But if this goes sideways, it’s on you.”

Qui’in nodded once, slow and satisfied, and handed over a datapad. “Of course, Commander. I have every confidence in your... discretion.” She stood without another word, slipping the pad into a compartment on her armor. Her team had seen her negotiate with warlords and black marketeers, but there was something uniquely unpleasant about bargaining with a man who smelled like wealth and power and compromise. She strode back toward them.

Garrus straightened when she approached, arms folded and eyes sharp. “Let me guess,” he said, dry as ever. “We’re about to commit a minor felony.”

She gave him a sidelong look. “Only if you get caught, Vakarian.”

Liara fell into step beside her, quiet but not unobservant. “Do you really think Qui’in can be trusted?”

“No,” she answered. “But we don’t have the luxury of better options.” They descended the stairs into the lower lobby and explained the new plan. The open plaza below buzzed with muted conversation. She could feel eyes following them—curious, uncertain, maybe even hostile. Noveria wasn’t a place where people walked with purpose unless they were on someone’s payroll. 

“So,” Garrus drawled as they approached the elevator. “Breaking into corporate offices to steal dirt on an executive. Classic Spectre work.”

“You say that like you’re not enjoying it,” Shepard grunted, the corner of her mouth lifting.

“Oh, I am,” he replied. “I just like to pretend I have standards.”

“Complications keep you sharp.” She pressed the elevator button. “Besides, you’d be bored if things went smooth.”

“I’d settle for moderately illegal,” he said as the doors slid open. “You know, just a touch of criminal mischief. Nothing that might spark an interplanetary incident.” 

They filed in. The elevator sealed with a pneumatic hiss, muting the noise of the lobby. The walls were brushed metal, cold and featureless, their distorted reflections something she didn’t like to examine too closely. She leaned against the rail, arms crossed, posture tight. Liara’s voice broke the silence, wry but uncertain. “I agree with Garrus—sometimes I’m not sure whether I should be taking notes… or taking cover.”

Ashley snorted. “Relax, T’Soni. We only piss off half the people we meet.”

“Pretty sure that’s in the handbook,” Shepard murmured. “Page one, right after ‘make friends, shoot bad guys.’” The elevator hummed beneath their feet, and Liara, for a moment, stared at the floor with unfocused intensity. Her hands were clasped in front of her—fingers twisting slightly, fidgeting in a way that was subtle but telling. Shepard had seen it before: before Feros, before every hard decision. 

Liara stepped a little closer, hoping to get a semi-private word with the Commander. “This doesn’t feel right,” she said quietly. “We came to investigate Peak 15. Not to get caught up in local corruption.”

Shepard let her head rest back against the cool wall. “You’re not wrong, but Noveria doesn’t work the way the Citadel does. Out here, everything’s about leverage and trading favors.”

Liara didn’t look convinced. “But if we undermine the law, aren’t we becoming the very thing we claim to oppose?” 

Shepard turned to face her fully. The hard edge in her voice softened just slightly. “I know what this looks like. I don’t like it either, but we’re not here to save the system—we’re here to stop whatever the hell is happening at Peak 15. If we stick to protocol, we’ll waste days we don’t have.”

“I just don’t want to watch you lose sight of what matters.” Liara’s brows knit. Something in her twisted—tight, immediate. The words struck closer than she expected.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she whispered. “And I’m counting on you to remind me if I ever do.”

Liara’s answering smile was small, but it reached her eyes this time. “I will.”

Garrus cleared his throat in theatrical fashion. “If this gets any more heartfelt, I’m sending for violins.”

Ashley chuckled. “Relax, Garrus. You’ve got enough sass to count as a full string quartet.”

Shepard grinned despite herself. “What did I say about commentary?”

“Keep it clever,” Garrus replied, smug and unbothered. The elevator gave a soft jolt, slowing to a stop. Shepard straightened, her features tightening into something resolute. 

“Alright,” she said. “Time to play burglar.” As the elevator doors parted, the sterile chill of Port Hanshan spilled out to meet them. The air carried the same sharp bite of recycled air, laced with that faint, artificial tang unique to controlled environments—a chemical precision that scraped against the senses. Polished floors stretched ahead like ice, reflecting the muted thuds of their boots in rhythmic succession. The hallway led directly to Qui’in’s office, but it was far from quiet. A trio of security officers clustered near a checkpoint, their casual posture a thin veil for the tension simmering beneath.

Shepard lifted a hand, silently signaling the others to hang back. Her shoulders squared as she stepped forward. Two of the guards were mid-conversation, laughter murmuring low between them—but the woman at the terminal noticed her instantly. She pushed off the console with a flicker of recognition, dark eyes narrowing as her hand dropped instinctively to rest near her sidearm. 

“This area is restricted,” the officer said, voice clipped and authoritative. “What’s your business here?”

The Commander offered a faint, courteous smile—firm, but not yet confrontational. “Commander Shepard, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. I’m here on Citadel business. I need access to Lorik Qui’in’s office.”

The woman’s brow rose. “Funny, I don’t remember getting clearance for that.”

“Do I look like someone who wastes time chasing false leads?” The warmth in Shepard’s tone chilled, her smile vanishing as quickly as it came. “Spectre authority.”

That word settled heavily in the air. The officer glanced toward her colleagues. One of them shifted, boots squeaking softly on the polished tile—but said nothing. A long second passed, thick with calculation. Then, finally, the officer exhaled through her nose, hand drifting away from her holster.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if anyone asks, I never saw you.”

“Smart choice,” Shepard replied, brushing past her without another glance.

Garrus fell into step behind her, mandibles twitching. “Didn’t even need me to do the talking this time.”

“Your charm’s always appreciated,” Shepard murmured, deadpan. Qui’in’s office greeted them like a mausoleum dressed in corporate polish. Everything was sterile, composed—datapads arranged like exhibits, furniture sharp-edged and symmetrical, every surface scrubbed of personality. Even the lighting was clinical, casting dull gray-blue shadows that drained warmth from the space. It definitely appeared like they were hunting for something here—the same thing she was here to retrieve. 

She crossed to the terminal at the room’s center, its soft glow rising to meet her as if sensing her approach. Fingers moved with swift precision, each keystroke deliberate, cutting through encryption like muscle memory. 

Ashley positioned herself by the door, body loose but alert, hand never straying far from her rifle. Her eyes flicked between the hallway and Shepard. “How’s it coming, Skipper?”

“Almost there,” Shepard replied without looking up. Another layer of firewalls peeled back under her touch, but the system was stubborn—slick and overengineered, as if daring her to slip.

Liara stood nearby, hands clasped before her, her posture deceptively calm. Only her eyes gave her away—bright and fixed on the terminal. “Do you think the files will be enough to implicate Anoleis?”

“They’d better,” Shepard muttered. “Or this’ll feel like a bigger waste of time than…” Her lips twitched as she rerouted another access point. “...taking the elevators on the Citadel.”

Liara blinked, tilting her head. “I don’t understand. What is wrong with the elevators?”

Ashley laughed under her breath and leaned a little against the wall. “Nothing—unless you enjoy being stuck in a moving box with chatty tourists, self-important volus, or hanar trying to sell you bioluminescent jelly.”

The asari’s brows drew together. “Bioluminescent jelly?”

Shepard shot her a sideways glance, still working. “You’ve never heard a hanar pitch their religious merchandise while explaining the ‘mystical virtues of soft gel polymers’? It’s like a sermon, a sales pitch, and an anatomy lecture all at once.” 

Ashley dropped into a deadpan hanar impression: “‘ This one humbly recommends the sacred cleansing gel, which nourishes the membranes and purifies with radiant luminescence …’” She paused dramatically, then added with theatrical solemnity: “ ‘This one wishes your skin be as supple as the Enkindlers intended. ’”

Even Garrus let out a low rumble of amusement. “That’s disturbingly accurate.”

The gunnery chief grinned. “Once, I nearly pried open the doors with my rifle just to get out.” 

Shepard chuckled, eyes still on the terminal. “And now I understand how you’re so good at defusing tense situations, Williams. You’ve been forged in hanar fire.” 

Liara, clearly still trying to visualize the scenario, blinked slowly. “That does sound deeply exhausting.”

Ashley shrugged. “If they ever make an audio log of those conversations, I’m suing for emotional distress.” A sudden chime interrupted them. The terminal flashed green, then rolled into rows of decrypted files. Shepard’s smile vanished. Her eyes scanned the screen, expression tightening. There it was: shell accounts, falsified shipments, and the very documentation they needed to pin Anoleis in a corner. 

“Got it,” she said, pulling a data chip from her armor and slotting it in. The download began—agonizingly slow. 

Ashley stepped away from the wall, eyes back on the corridor. Her fingers curled tighter around her rifle. “Let’s hope that guard doesn’t change her mind.”

“Let’s hope we’re gone before she has the chance,” Shepard corrected as the download continued.

Then a sharp sound rang out—heels against tile, purposeful and slow. The Commander looked up. Her breath caught, spine locking into place. Kaira Stirling. She stood like a knife unsheathed, flanked by two armed officers, each of them a wall of silent, armored precision. Her short blond hair gleamed beneath the overhead lights, and her eyes—icy, crystalline—fixed on Shepard like crosshairs.

Every step she took was deliberate. No rush. No uncertainty. She was here for them. And she knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Well—” her voice sliced through the corridor like a scalpel angled just beneath the skin. “Spectre or not, you’ve got some nerve breaking into Qui’in’s office like this. You think you can just waltz around Noveria like you own the place?” 

Shepard folded her arms. The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it crackled. Her boots planted firmly on the polished floor, posture loose but unmistakably braced, like a spring waiting for pressure. She met Stirling’s stare without blinking, her voice flat and cold enough to bite. “I don’t think. I know .” 

Stirling’s mouth twisted at the corner, a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re not as untouchable as you think, Shepard.” She stepped forward, heels clicking like a metronome set to rising tension. “This isn’t the Citadel. Noveria has laws. You’re not above them. Breaking into corporate offices? That’s a felony, even for a Spectre.”

Ashley shifted her weight against the wall, arms crossed and expression unimpressed. “Oh, you mean the laws Anoleis ignores on Tuesdays and rewrites on Wednesdays?” A flicker—barely visible—ran through one of Stirling’s guards. His hand hovered near his holster, just shy of movement. Stirling didn’t take the bait. Her eyes stayed locked on Shepard.

“These crimes are Noveria’s business,” she said tightly, voice cracking through the air like a frozen branch under boot. “Not some Spectre playing dress-up with her alien entourage.”

Garrus let out a slow, dry laugh—nothing warm about it. He stepped forward slightly, his silhouette angling just enough to draw notice. “Corruption that threatens Council interests becomes Council business. You can take that up with the galaxy’s trade departments if you’d like.” 

The air thinned, the way it does right before a gunfight breaks out—no one breathing too deep, no one moving too fast. Stirling didn’t flinch, but her jaw flexed, fingers curling and uncurling at her sides. Ashley remained still, but her thumb had casually found the edge of her rifle’s grip, like muscle memory had moved it there without asking.

“You wanna arrest me?” Shepard asked. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. “Go ahead.” The words sat in the air like a loaded weapon. “Call it in,” she said, not moving a muscle. “Let’s find out how long your job lasts after you explain to your superiors why Qui’in got away while you played chicken with a Spectre.” That did it. For a moment, time balanced on a knife’s edge. Stirling’s eyes narrowed, her focus slipping—not off Shepard, but inward, calculating. Her hand hovered. Not quite a draw, but close enough for every nerve in the room to notice.

Then—movement. Her glance flicked toward her guards. Silent hesitation. A crack in the ice. She exhaled sharply, jaw tight. “This isn’t over.” Her voice sounded different now—still edged, but carrying something resentful, almost personal. She turned, her boots echoing hollowly as she strode away, her guards falling into step like shadows. The silence that followed felt earned.

Inside the elevator, Ashley gave a low whistle, shaking her head as the doors slid shut. “Thought we were two seconds from a brawl.”

“Shepard would’ve dropped her before she blinked,” Garrus said, voice dry as dust. “But Stirling’s not stupid. She doesn’t want to spark a diplomatic incident.” 

Ashley gave a snort of reluctant agreement, then looked over at Shepard. “Still. Kind of impressive. I think that’s the first mission I’ve been on with you where no one actually pulled a trigger.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Shepard muttered.

“ Technically ,” Garrus added, holding up a finger, “Matsuo drew first when we landed. That counts.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “She never shot at us.”

Shepard leaned back against the elevator wall, arms crossed, mouth twitching into the barest ghost of a smile. “Maybe I’ll start calling myself a diplomat. That’ll go over well with the Alliance, and I’m sure I can get an approving nod from the Council.”

Garrus tilted his head, amused. “You make intimidation look like etiquette. That’s a rare gift.”

The elevator slowed. A chime echoed softly, and the doors opened onto Port Hanshan proper.  They were halfway to the stairs when Parasini intercepted them.

“Commander.” Her voice cut clean through the noise—too precise to be casual. Shepard slowed. The others shifted instinctively, forming a loose arc around her. Parasini’s expression had changed. Gone was the clipped, courteous professionalism. Now she moved like someone who’d run out of patience.

“I wasn’t expecting you again,” Shepard said, voice cool. “This a coincidence, or are you following me?”

“Neither,” Parasini replied, eyes darting to the lounge entrance. “We need to talk. Privately.”

Shepard glanced to her squad—Garrus and Ashley stiffened slightly, while Liara gave the subtlest of nods. “I’m listening.”

“Not here,” Parasini said, her tone low, barely above a whisper. “If you want to take Anoleis down, I can help. Meet me in the hotel bar. Five minutes. Come before you speak to Qui’in.”

Shepard studied her, eyes narrowed. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

Parasini didn’t blink. “You’d be amazed what people reveal when they think you’re background noise.”

Shepard held her gaze a moment longer. The silence between them felt like an agreement being tested, not offered. “Five minutes.”

Parasini gave a sharp nod and vanished back into the sea of suits.

Ashley stepped in close. “You trust her?”

“I trust her to have a motive,” Shepard said. “And for now, that’s good enough.” They entered the bar five minutes later. Shepard’s boots slowed as her eyes swept the room. Low lights, discreet tables, and the murmur of deals being made over designer cocktails. Qui’in was still in the corner, exactly where he’d been before. Parasini was in the opposite corner—strategically placed, her back to a wall, a drink untouched in front of her. Her eyes tracked Shepard the moment she entered. The Commander nodded once to her team. They paused, positioning themselves just within reach but far enough to signal this wasn’t their fight.

“Commander,” Parasini greeted, gesturing to the seat across from her.

Shepard slid into it, posture neutral. “Start talking.” 

Parasini leaned in. “I’m with Noveria Internal Affairs. I’ve been working this case for months—watching Anoleis launder corporate influence through half a dozen shell companies. But I can’t take him down alone.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Qui’in,” she said flatly. “He’s the key. But he won’t move unless someone pressures him—and not with threats. He needs to believe it’ll make a difference.”

“And you think I can convince him?”

“You have leverage now. Use it. If he sees a future without Anoleis choking this place to death, he’ll act.”

Shepard leaned back, the chair creaking beneath her. Her gaze flicked across the room to where Qui’in still sat—wary, hunched over a glass like it held answers. Her fingers brushed against her holster absently, the request sinking in. “What happens if I can’t get him to cooperate? I’ve got pressing matters to attend to on Peak 15—I need that garage pass.”

Parasini’s eyes held a flicker of resignation, but her words stayed calm. “I know you, Commander. You’re a Spectre. You have the leverage. He’ll listen to you. Worst case scenario, when we’ve taken down Anoleis, I’ll just give you clearance myself.”

Shepard’s lips pressed into a thin line, the silence between them heavy with the knowledge of what was at stake. For a long moment, she thought only of the mission ahead—meeting Liara’s mother, killing some geth—saving the world. With a sigh, she nodded, her voice steady but not without an edge. “I’ll talk to him. But I make no promises.”

Parasini’s breath seemed to catch in her chest, a fleeting look of relief washing over her face. “Thank you. This could make all the difference, Commander. When he’s agreed, meet me downstairs.” 

The bar hummed with muted energy, its atmosphere a calculated blend of exclusivity and relaxation. Shepard stepped forward, the dim lighting pooling across the floor in hazy patches. Her boots echoed faintly against the polished tiles, the sound swallowed by the soft murmur of conversations and the occasional clink of glassware. Clusters of patrons occupied the space—humans and aliens alike, their postures radiating quiet confidence. Corporate deals and veiled negotiations played out in low, clipped tones, the lifeblood of Port Hanshan’s cold efficiency. Shepard’s gaze swept across the room with practiced precision, cataloging faces, exits, and the faintly shimmering shields of concealed weapons on the backs of security personnel. 

Lorik Qui’in sat in the far corner, his booth bathed in a subtle glow from the holoscreen embedded in the table. His polished carapace reflected the light in faint highlights, each plate gleaming like carefully maintained armor. His mandibles twitched as he sipped from a sleek glass, his posture both relaxed and deliberate—a predator choosing to lounge. Shepard cut through the space with an unhurried stride, her presence commanding without being overt. Conversations didn’t quite falter, but there was a subtle shift in the air as more than one pair of eyes tracked her movement. She didn’t acknowledge the attention; her focus was fixed on Qui’in. Garrus, Liara, and Ashley followed a few paces behind, maintaining their distance as Shepard approached. Liara’s wide eyes took in the room with quiet curiosity, while Ashley’s watchful stance hinted at her readiness to spring into action at a moment’s notice. 

Qui’in’s mandibles flared slightly as Shepard reached the edge of the booth. He looked up, his luminous eyes narrowing briefly in recognition. A slow, deliberate smile spread across his features—polite, professional, but with an undercurrent of wry amusement.

“Commander Shepard,” he greeted, his voice carrying a subtle rasp that spoke of years spent navigating the treacherous waters of corporate intrigue. He gestured toward the opposite seat, his movements precise and controlled. “I presume you’ve gathered the information I requested? Please, sit.”

Shepard slid into the seat with a fluid motion, resting her forearms on the table as she leaned forward slightly, her expression cool but attentive. “Let’s talk,” she said, her tone measured but firm.

Behind her, Ashley and Liara took up positions nearby, blending into the edges of the room. Shepard’s back was straight, and her posture was a quiet reminder that even if she was seated, she was in control. Qui’in studied her for a moment, then leaned back, his glass swirling faintly in his hand as the conversation began. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Noveria Internal Affairs approached me; they want you to testify against Anoleis. You can help take him down—rid Noveria of him for good,” she explained, her voice even but firm, the kind that left no room for negotiation.

“So now you have something I want and you want to blackmail me into testifying?” Qui’in argued, his mandibles flaring angrily. 

“That wasn’t my intention, but you have a chance to make Noveria a better place; think of Noveria, Qui’in—do what’s best for everyone.” 

The turian didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking to the side, avoiding her eyes for a moment. His fingers drummed the table lightly before he let out a small sigh. “Testify? Against Anoleis?” The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable. “And what exactly would that get me, Commander? A bullet in the back?”

Shepard’s eyes narrowed. “They can offer you protection. It’ll get you out from under his thumb. You’ve been letting him run things here, haven’t you? His little empire. And where has that gotten you? You’re trapped, Qui’in. You and everyone else on this station.”

He leaned back in his chair, looking up at her as if trying to gauge just how serious she was. “I don’t have the luxury of making enemies, Shepard. Anoleis has powerful friends. He’ll make sure I never get a chance to do anything but bend to his will. Do you think I don’t know that?”

“I don’t care who his friends are,” Shepard shot back, her voice hard. “You’re letting fear keep you in line, and it’s not getting you anything. Anoleis has already got his claws in you—if you don’t speak up now, you’re just as guilty as he is. You know that, don’t you?”

There was a flicker of something in Qui’in’s eyes. Maybe it was guilt, maybe doubt. He was trying to convince himself it wasn’t worth the risk. “You don’t understand,” Qui’in muttered, the words barely a whisper. “He’ll ruin me, Commander. My career. My life. If I testify, he won’t stop until I’m dust. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

“I’ve dealt with enough people like him to know what he’s capable of,” she retorted, her voice cutting through the space like a blade. “And I’ve seen what happens when you let someone like Anoleis call the shots for too long. You lose yourself. Your integrity. Your future. He’ll crush you, and you’ll never even see it coming.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but Shepard didn’t give him the chance. She was already closing the distance between them, her tone dropping to something more serious, something that brooked no argument.

“You’re already a target. You’ve already made the choice to let him control you. But this”—Shepard held up the evidence, her voice hardening—“this is your way out. You can take down the bastard, or you can keep playing his game until it burns you. Your call.”

She could see the internal struggle written all over his face. He was torn, no doubt weighing the consequences. Still, she knew he had to make a choice. She wouldn’t let him sit on the fence any longer.

“Do the right thing,” Shepard said, her voice softer now but no less intense. “You want to keep going the way you have? Fine. But don’t pretend that you’re not part of the problem. If you stay silent, you’ll only make it worse for everyone.”

There was a long silence, a beat where the only sound in the room was the low hum of the station’s systems. Then, Qui’in let out a long, slow breath.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’ve been avoiding this for too long. I can’t just sit back and watch him tear everything apart. I’ll testify. But I’ll need protection, Shepard. I can’t do this alone.”

She gave him a sharp nod. “You’ll have it. Anoleis won’t get to you, but you’d better be ready to follow through.”

“I’ll do it,” he said quietly. “You can have your people reach out to me.” Shepard gave him a firm nod and made her way toward the office she’d first met Parasini.

All this for a Goddamn garage pass. Fucking corporate scumbags.  The door to the hotel bar slid open as Shepard and her team left, their boots clicking sharply on the floor. Parasini was standing before her desk, and she looked up as Shepard approached, her expression immediately shifting to one of curiosity.

“He’ll do it,” Shepard said, cutting straight to the point. Her arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the bar. “Qui’in will testify.”

Parasini’s eyes softened with relief, though her gaze remained calculating, professional. “I knew you could do it,” she said, giving Shepard a faint but appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

Shepard nodded, but her stance remained guarded. “Don’t thank me yet. He’ll need protection. Anoleis isn’t going to take this lying down.”

Parasini’s expression hardened. “I’ll make sure of it,” she replied. “As for Anoleis... it’s time for him to face the consequences.”

Shepard met Parasini’s gaze for a moment. She could see the determination there, the kind of resolve that said this wouldn’t just be some quiet paper-pushing. Parasini was going to take action, and Shepard had no doubt she’d follow through—she seemed like that kind of woman.

“You’re going after him now?” Shepard asked, though she already knew the answer.

Parasini gave a sharp nod, “Yes. With Qui’in’s testimony, I can get him arrested, and the board won’t be able to protect him anymore.”

Shepard started to turn toward the door, but then paused, glancing back at Parasini. “Good luck,” she said, her tone serious but tinged with a hint of something like respect.

Parasini gave a brief nod, the edges of her mouth curling slightly as she looked to Shepard with quiet gratitude. “Thanks, Commander. I’ll take care of it, but before you go—I promised you a pass.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow, but Parasini was already sliding a small data pad across the bar toward her. Shepard took it with a brisk motion, scanning the screen. A garage pass to Peak 15—just what she needed to continue the mission.

Parasini’s gaze was steady. “With this, you’ll be able to get to the garage and head straight for Peak 15. Don’t get caught up in any more of the bureaucracy around here. You’ve done your part, Commander.”

Shepard pocketed the pass, her gaze lingering on Parasini for a moment. “Appreciate it.”

Parasini’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Once this is all over, we’ll have that drink I owe you, Commander. You’ve earned it.” 

Shepard gave a faint nod, a ghost of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll hold you to that.”

***

The garage doors sealed behind her with a heavy thud, cutting off the stale interior air. Cold bit at Shepard’s cheeks the second she stepped into the open—sharp and dry, with a wind that dragged loose ice crystals across the concrete like needles. The mako waited ahead, crouched low against the snowdrifts like a dormant animal, its hull slick with frost and the turret already angled forward, expectant.

Garrus stood beside the hatch, his breath fogging around his mandibles. He gave a silent nod. Liara was already inside, profile silhouetted against the storm-blurred windshield, her gaze fixed on the swirling white chaos beyond. No time to linger. Shepard pulled herself into the driver’s seat, the metal frame cold even through her gloves. The cabin lights buzzed dimly to life as she strapped in. 

“Ready to roll?” she asked, not turning.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” the asari answered, her voice distant, distracted. Garrus clapped the mako’s flank with a metallic thunk and climbed into position.

Ashley’s voice came through from the gunner’s nest. “Whenever you’re ready, Skipper.”

Shepard twisted the ignition. The mako growled awake beneath her, vibrating through the soles of her boots. Snow gusted hard across the viewport as she eased it forward, tires grinding into the frozen terrain. 

The ground was jagged and uneven, ice layering rock in unpredictable swells. The mako jolted hard over a ridge. She kept one hand on the controls, the other steadying the wheel against the wind’s push. The windshield wipers scraped back and forth in a steady rhythm, smearing snowmelt into long arcs. 

Garrus scanned the horizon through the scope. “We’re not going to have an easy time of it, are we?”

She gave a faint, humorless huff, “Since when has it ever been easy?” 

Visibility dropped as they climbed. Snow came in waves, heavy enough that it seemed to devour the world ahead, and then—through the static of weather, something sharper: a thin whine. Not wind. An energy weapon. Then the distinct, thrum of geth. Mechanical, layered, and wrong. They crested a rise and the enemies appeared like glitches in the snow—outlined in blue-white light, perched among the rocks.

“Here we go,” Shepard muttered, and slammed her boot down. The mako lunged forward. Turret fire lit the sky in hard flashes. Liara braced herself with both hands as the vehicle bucked under the recoil. The Commander locked her jaw, fingers tight on the controls. The first cannon burst struck a geth straight through its midsection—machinery and limbs scattered in a dark burst against the white. Lasers sliced toward them, skimming armor and cracking against reinforced plating. Garrus barked orders from above; Ashley’s turret thundered in reply.

“Shepard—two dropships incoming!” Liara shouted, her voice tight. 

She didn’t answer—just veered the mako into a hard skid and reoriented. Ice cracked under the wheels as she pointed them directly toward the descending ships. The first never made it to ground. A precise shot tore through its side, sending the hull spinning. Wreckage slammed into the ridge in a spray of flame and shrapnel. The second hit dirt harder, dropping a half-squad of geth who advanced without hesitation, their steps synchronized and fast. 

Ashley was already working, her aim unflinching. The geth scattered under fire but kept coming.

“Pushing forward!” Shepard snappe as she crushed the accelerator. The mako barreled straight into the thick of them, snow and debris flaring around the wheels as it struck home. The cannon fired again, severing one clean through. But they didn’t stop.

Shepard’s shoulders were tense, her spine curled slightly as she adjusted grip. The mako rumbled with effort as another wave of firepower tore through the enemy line. It wasn’t clean, but it was done. For a moment, only wind.

“That’s the last of them for now,” Garrus exhaled. 

Shepard blinked against the sweat trickling into one eye, even in the frigid air. “Don’t get comfortable.”

Liara, still gripping her seat, gave a faint murmur, “As fond as I am of you, Shepard, I’m unsure how anyone can get comfortable in the mako with you behind the wheel.”

She allowed herself a faint smirk and glanced over. Their eyes met—just for a moment—but it lingered longer than the wind did. They pressed forward in silence. The storm had thickened again, visibility reduced to little more than a few meters of ice-blurred rock. Still, she steered carefully through a tight pass, the tires barely holding grip. It seemed several minutes had past since the last skirmish, and the asari beside her had quieted. Her posture had changed—no longer braced for battle, but not relaxed either. The mako rumbled beneath them, its tires crunching over snow-packed rock, suspension groaning as it absorbed the uneven terrain. Inside, the cabin was tight and dimly lit, filled with the static of comms chatter and the rhythmic thump of the wheels against the frozen ground. Shepard kept one hand steady on the controls, eyes forward—but Liara’s silence pulled at her like gravity. 

Beside her, the asari sat with her arms folded tightly across her chest, fingers fidgeting against the sleeve of her suit in a restless, repetitive pattern. Her eyes weren’t on the terrain or the readouts. They were far away.

“You good?” Shepard asked, low enough that it wouldn’t carry through the cabin. Just for her. Liara didn’t look at her. For a beat too long, she didn’t answer at all.

“I keep thinking about her,” she said finally. Her voice was soft, almost fragile in the tight, vibrating cabin. “Mother.” Shepard’s grip tightened fractionally on the controls. She didn’t interrupt. “I know what Shiala said—that Benezia’s will is being overridden. That Sovereign has broken her. But…” Liara exhaled, slowly. “I keep wondering how much of her is still in there. And how much chose this path willingly.” 

The human glanced over, briefly; the asari’s profile was unreadable. Composed, almost, but her posture betrayed her—pulled inward, guarded. “You’re not wrong to wonder,” she started, uncertain where her words were going. “But wondering won’t change what’s coming.”

“I know that.” Liara’s voice was sharper now, not defensive—just strained. “I’m not naïve, Shepard, but she’s not just a name in a file to me…she taught me how to read star charts before I could walk. She wore yellow and planted flowers…she sang when she thought I was asleep.” She paused. When she spoke again, it was quieter. “She wasn’t always what I wanted…but she tried .” 

Shepard let that sit for a moment, the silence between them stretching thin, but not uncomfortable. To be honest, she’d forgotten a bit what that was like—to know a mother’s love, even when it hurt more than helped. She tried to think of her own mother, but she couldn’t even fit her face in the frames of her mind. She winced.  “I don’t think she stopped trying,” the Commander said at last. “I think she lost the ability to decide what she was trying for.”

Liara didn’t reply immediately. Her eyes flicked toward Shepard—just once—and then back to the window, as though watching the snowstorm might offer some kind of answer. “You think I am  holding on to something that isn’t there,” she asked, though it was more of a statement, matter of fact. 

“No.” She shook her head, voice firm. “I think you’re trying to find a line between who she was and what’s using her now, and I think that’s a fucking hard line to draw.”

A breath, then another. Liara’s fingers had stopped twitching.

“I want to believe she didn’t mean for this,” she said.

“She probably didn’t,” she tried to assuage. “But intention doesn’t always matter as much as we want it to.”

Liara turned then, fully, her expression more open now—searching, uncertain, and just slightly raw. “Would you tell me if you thought I was making a mistake?”

“In a heartbeat,” she answered. “But this isn’t a mistake. It’s grief. It’s part of what makes us who we are—what separates us from geth and Reapers.”

Outside, the snow thickened. The mako’s tires fought for traction as they climbed a shallow incline.  Liara didn’t speak. She stared at the snow-laced glass as if it could offer answers. Then, almost too quiet to catch, she asked, “You… you trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said immediately. “Of course I do.” Liara gave a short nod, lips pressed tight—but her shoulders eased. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. Just real.

They hit another stretch of snowdrifts. The mako rode lower now as they approached Peak 15, its silhouette emerging from the haze like a relic exhumed from the ice. Shepard slowed the vehicle to a crawl. The facility’s outer doors opened with a reluctant groan.

“We’re here,” she said. Outside, the wind picked up again. The team disembarked into the gale. Ice crunched under their boots as they made their way inside, weapons drawn, eyes scanning.

The interior was eerily quiet. Steel walls gleamed dully under flickering emergency lights. Machinery purred in the background—a mechanical exhale, weak and unsettling. Shepard led them in, every step echoing slightly too long against the tile. 

Liara’s voice came from just behind her. “It feels abandoned.”

“It isn’t,” Shepard said, wiping at the frost clinging to her visor. “Stay sharp.” 

The first door groaned open with a reluctant hiss. Somewhere deep in the station, power was still cycling. Lights buzzed, some half-dead, casting thin beams down empty corridors. It felt like walking into something that hadn’t breathed in years. “Eyes open,” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder. Garrus nodded from the rear, rifle raised. Ashley scanned ahead, jaw tight. Liara paused as they crossed into the next corridor, one hand brushing the wall like she could sense something through it.

The hallway stretched ahead, straight and quiet, and somewhere in the silence, Shepard thought she could hear the subtle, unplaceable rhythm of something watching.

Liara broke the silence first, her voice quiet but taut with something unspoken. “This place… it’s unsettling. I feel like I’ve walked into the middle of something.” 

Her tone carried a charge atypical of mere observation, like she was picking up on something that wasn’t visible, something more ancestral than analytical. Shepard glanced over. There was weight to the words—heavier than the sterile, frost-bitten hallways around them—but she couldn’t quite get a read on what Liara meant. 

Before she could ask, Ashley cut in, boots echoing against the tile. “Could be. Doesn’t matter right now. We’re here for answers.” 

Liara nodded, but her gaze stayed fixed on the corridor ahead, brow creased in thought. Shepard caught the look in her eyes—a distance there, a tension—but the moment wasn’t right to press. Not here. Not with their weapons drawn and breath fogging in the cold. She filed it away and kept moving. They pushed deeper into the complex, boots scuffing against frost-rimed tile. The light overhead stuttered and blinked, casting brief, jarring shadows that felt like movement just out of frame. Every hallway seemed designed to feel claustrophobic—clean lines gone sterile, as if the architecture itself had been scrubbed of intention. 

At the first security checkpoint, Shepard tried the controls. The panel refused to cooperate—dead, or locked down from somewhere else. She swore under her breath and leaned in hard, shoulder first. The door groaned, then gave with a reluctant mechanical click. “Good thing I’m not one for following rules,” she muttered as she stepped through.

The control room on the other side was dim and dust-layered, a smear of blue light bleeding across the consoles. Discarded files curled on the floor, and the stale air smelled faintly of coolant and decay—like time had paused here mid-sentence. 

She stepped forward carefully, eyes scanning the monitors. “Shit. It’s like someone just walked out in the middle of a thought.”

“And never came back,” Liara added, her voice low, reverent almost. She moved toward a terminal, fingers brushing the surface before pointing to the encrypted files flickering across the display. “This... this isn’t standard protocol. Whatever they were doing here, they weren’t meant to be doing it.”

Ashley snorted softly. “Par for the course.” 

Shepard didn’t respond right away. Her stomach had started that slow twist she trusted more than any readout. “We need to know what they were hiding. Let’s check the main hall.”

Liara gave a sharp nod. “I’m with you.” They moved on, the silence growing heavier around them. Their footsteps rang louder now, hollow against the steel and tile. At the next junction, Shepard paused, squinting ahead. A few desks sat overturned in a security alcove—papers fluttering gently in some unseen current. Flashlights danced over abandoned gear. Helmets. Clips. A dropped datapad with a cracked screen still blinking. 

The stillness wasn’t calm—it was waiting.

Shepard lifted a hand, signaling caution. The others fell in line. Ashley’s jaw was set. Garrus’s weapon was already half-raised. Then—

“Got company,” Garrus murmured, his voice tight. His mandibles clicked once, reflexively. Shepard moved with instinct, rifle up, breath tight. The corridor ahead lit up with hostile signatures, and the silence shattered into combat. She fired. Three controlled bursts—tight grouping. A geth platform collapsed against the wall with a hiss of hydraulics. Sparks flared across its frame like dying stars.

To her left, Liara surged forward, hands glowing, her biotics swelling with a rising pulse of blue. A wave of kinetic energy cracked outward, catching a geth mid-step and slamming it against the ceiling. It hit the floor in pieces.  “Shepard!” she called out, voice clear but edged with urgency and fear.

“I see it,” Shepard snapped, already tracking the next target. She dropped to one knee, sighting clean. Her rounds tore through another geth chestplate. It convulsed once, then collapsed with a screech of metal on tile.

Shepard glanced at Liara. Her biotics still shimmered around her in a soft, deadly corona. Even in the chaos, there was a calm in her movements—measured, composed. Precise. There was elegance in it, a kind of martial grace that made even destruction seem intentional. Dangerous. And beautiful. Shepard shook the thought loose. There was no time for that now.

“They’re really rolling out the red carpet,” the turian muttered, ducking behind a torn barricade as a sniper shot zipped past his visor. He returned fire—one clean, calculated blast. The geth crumpled from its perch with a mechanical shriek.

Ashley slipped through cover points like she was born for it, dropping another unit with a burst of fire. “Not exactly a welcoming committee,” she said grimly, eyes sharp.

“Focus,” Shepard snapped. “Keep moving. We’re almost through.”

Liara fell in beside her, her expression pale but resolute. “Do you think this was all they had?” The corridor beyond the skirmish was too quiet. Not retreat— absence. Her instincts screamed again.

Garrus voiced it first. “This isn’t a fallback. This is something else.” 

“Great,” Ashley muttered. “Because what we needed was more unknowns.” 

Shepard slowed, “Hold position.” The door ahead hissed open, revealing a corridor swallowed in half-light. Panels flickered overhead, creating shadows that didn’t quite match the shapes that cast them. The smell hit them next—thick, sharp, rancid.

Ashley winced. “What the hell is that smell?”

Shepard’s nose wrinkled. “Rot. Ammonia. Something... wrong.”

Liara hesitated. Her gaze darted down the hall. “It’s biological,” she said softly. “But not like anything I’ve studied. It’s wrong .” 

Garrus stepped forward, inspecting the walls with narrowed eyes. “I thought this place was primarily automated. What could be alive down here?”

They kept moving, weapons up. Every footstep was deliberate now. Every creak of their armor sounded like it echoed for miles. The shadows along the walls shifted again— no, not shadows. Movement. Barely perceptible. A scrape of something on metal. Then a sound came: soft, repetitive clicking, like bones tapping glass.

“Commander…” Ashley’s voice had flattened, professional, but Shepard heard the edge beneath it. “That’s not machinery.”

“No,” she agreed. “It’s not.” At the end of the corridor, green fluid oozed across the floor in a sticky, uneven trail. It shimmered under the flickering light. Another door loomed ahead—sealed. Silent.

The corridor seemed to breathe around them, shadows flexing with each flicker of dying light. “Stack up,” she ordered. Her heart pounded in her chest, though her voice remained calm. Whatever was on the other side, they were about to find out.

Behind the door, there was a screeching sound, something that made the hairs on the back of Shepard’s neck stand on end. “What the hell is going on here?” she muttered under her breath.

“What is with us and green guts—I mean…I think that’s what this is, T’Soni, you should—” Ashley started, oblivious to the hiss of the door opening ahead. Her words were cut short by a strangled sound from Shepard—a gasp choked with panic that was far from the commanding presence they were used to.

“Oh, hell no— fuck this shit—” Shepard blurted, her voice higher than usual, as she opened fire without hesitation. Her shots pinged wildly off the corridor walls before finally finding the grotesque creature that skittered into view. It was massive, a twisted nightmare of legs and exoskeleton. Gleaming, soulless eyes clustered across its head as its mandibles clicked with predatory intent. The way it moved—fast and chaotic, dragging its bulk forward on spindly legs—made her skin crawl. A lifetime of combat instincts couldn’t stop her stomach from twisting into knots at the sight, she fired at it until her weapon overheated.

“Commander?” Garrus called out, already raising his rifle. His tone was calm, but the tilt of his head screamed curiosity. “You okay?”

“Do I look okay?!” she snapped, not taking her eyes off the creature. Her rifle spat another round, the shots glancing off its armor-like shell. “Why is it always bugs? Couldn’t it just be geth? Why not krogan? Why this?! ”