#that stupid little mission on aya where he tells me to meet him at the bar and then tells me to scan the merchant's kiosk and

[guccimedusa]

okay i dont hate liam but talking to him is EXHAUSTING and it makes me feel like i walked into the middle of a conversation every time i talk to him because i dont know half the shit he's talking about or where he's going with his train of thought and it confuses me which in turn pisses me off

i know this motherfucker has untreated adhd

[starlightaxolotl]

Stormfront Chapter One

words: 2.9K

warnings: none really, one swear word, implied alcohol being consumed by underage people but not shown.

I finally bring the long awaited first chapter of Stormfront, my Ninjago Next Gen AU fic. 

One: Not Without Risk

Zane walked out of the hide out and down the street, drawing the hood of the plain blue hoodie over his head. He knew he was being followed. If he made it to the prop apartment, he'd be clear. With his connections offline still, he had no signal to upload the information he had gathered on this impromptu meeting, having been lucky to even have been in the building when the meeting was called. For convenience, they allowed him to sit in before he left. They hadn't wanted to hold him up, but insisted he listened.

It had given him confirmation of his biggest theory: Harumi was building a network, one that spanned the entire continent of Ninjago, and one of her contacts had found something she was looking for. Something that would be in the city in the next two weeks.

Zane's hands itched at the thought. If she had already gathered contacts in every corner of the continent, who was to say this wasn't some sort of play—a ruse to throw him off. They could easily know he was infiltrating but choosing not to apprehend him…

But why?

Zane's mind and heart were racing at equal speeds. It was a lot to take in.

They knew where everyone lived. It was pinned out on a map of the city and surrounding suburbs, and they couldn't do anything about it. If they moved, they'd just be found again, and there was no evidence to suggest they wouldn't also reveal they knew what Zane was doing, breaking in and slipping among their ranks sporadically under another new fake name each time.

He crossed the street, glancing over his shoulder. In the alleyway behind him, a figure sat on a motorbike, ready to go at a moment's notice. Their visor was too dark for him to make out any details before he turned his head back to focus on the sidewalk in front of him. Distantly, he heard the engine rev before fading, driving away.

He had been followed. He was likely still being followed if he had to guess. He didn't want to be right this time.

It was taking a chance, but he needed to do it. He internally switched on every communication signal. As soon as he connected to the network, he uploaded the information to the coded file, encrypting it as he did. He called in to Pixal.

It didn't even ring once before she answered. "Are you safe? This call is early. You are not at the safe apartment yet." Zane could hear the worry in her voice, the strain of trying to stay calm. After over twenty years together, it wasn't shocking that he knew her this well.

"I am on my way home now, honey. I think we need to have a family gathering soon. Work is getting busy." His words, even out loud and inconspicuous to any passing ears, were coded.

I am on my way to the safe house. I think I am being followed. We need to gather the others. I have information. It is urgent.

--------------------

Gigi Walker liked to think that as first alternate for the debate team that meant she was incredibly skilled at last minute arguments and persuasion. She had, after all, talked her way into first alternate from third alternate.

Which, of course, is why she found herself standing between her father and the front door of their apartment, arms crossed. "Come on, I just want to go on patrol once with Uncle Kai-I really don't think I'm asking for all that much! Enver's been on patrol!"

Jay raised an eyebrow at his daughter, grabbing his phone from the charger. "Enver is two years older than you, and not my kid. Kai's house, Kai's rules. My house-which you live in last I checked, by the way-my rules. This isn't up for debate Gigabyte, Your mom and I both said you're not going on patrol until you're older when you and Grant turned ten and started training-which you already started earlier than we wanted, if you remember!" He crossed his arms as well.

Jay walked towards the dresser next to the door, opening a drawer to grab his keys. "And Kai is starting patrol later tonight than normal, and you have school in the morning. Which, if I remember right, you've been almost late every day this week because you've been oversleeping!" He reached out to touch his daughter's shoulder. He had a sad smile on his face. "Stop trying to grow up so fast, trust me on this one. You're gonna miss this once you become a full time ninja-when you're nineteen at the earliest." He pulled his hand away from his stunned daughter, moving past her towards the door.

Gigi's mouth dropped open and she twirled on the spot, grabbing her dad's arm. "Nineteen? Last week your only condition was I had to be an adult!"

A small snicker came from behind. "Don't make him push it to thirty." Down the hallway, holding a laundry basket, was an auburn teen, smiling wryly at his twin sister. "And next to uncle Kai, no one holds a grudge like dad."

"You left your uncle Lloyd out of this, he holds a grudge worse than any of us and you know it. Remember when you accidentally broke his nose, kid?"

Grant groaned, head dipping back dramatically. "He still won't let me live it down or feel good about the fact it was the first time I landed a hit on him in a spar!"

Gigi giggled, and Jay looked back at her. "I've gotta get going-I hope I'm not making a mistake by leaving you and your brother here to do your homework-it's not too late for me to take you to Lloyd's so Aya can watch you two."

With a huff, Grant lifted the laundry basket. "I've got chores to keep me busy, plus Gigi and I still have to study for precalculus tonight. Big test tomorrow, and if I don't keep her on track it's not getting done before you and mom are home."

Jay smiled and nodded, pointing a finger at Gigi. "Doors locked, no friends over, got it?"

"Got it." She sighed, watching as her dad left before turning to look at her brother, skipping down the hall past him. "You've got me covered for the evening then?"

Grant shook his head, and sighed. "This is a terrible idea, Gigi."

"If this was a terrible idea, then they'd have hidden the files harder than that."

--------------------

Lloyd looked at Zane, who looked just as pristine as usual, though his clothes suggested otherwise. He seemed scuffed up and anxious. "So, we're all here. Rip the bandage off, what did you learn this time?"

Zane looked around the secure room and the familiar faces around him. His team, his family, everyone actively working on this mission. Except for Enver, though he was going to be working on it soon, Zane supposed. "I do not have much, but something is arriving in the next two weeks-something big. Something they've been looking for."

The air in the room was still, stiff. Zane continued on. "She didn't say what it was over the phone, but Lex, the woman who has been training me for guard detail-she vouched for me personally, saying that they'd be stupid to waste my firearm skills on meaningless turf battles-said that this item is integral to their plan, and that things will fall into place once it's in Harumi's hands."

Lloyd made a face at the mention of their greatest enemy.

Harumi had spent the better part of the last two decades underground, but in the last few years signs had come back that she wasn't done trying to destroy Ninjago by starting with them. Her last big move had been...traumatic to their team at best. Lloyd looked away, hand moving to his side. Even through his clothes, he knew the size and shape of the scar that was there.

It had been luck that he lived at all.

"I also have gained confirmation of Harumi's code name being the Spider, not the princess. This means that there is an individual being called the princess that is not Harumi. Logically, I would assume this to be some sort of child of hers, or someone she is appointing as heir of the cause for unknown reasons, just in case."

--------------------

Gigi pulled her hood down as she walked into the party, grinning under the black lights which picked up the swirls of white makeup she had drawn on her face for the event.

The room was hot, packed wall to wall with people who swarmed around the makeshift stage in the abandoned warehouse. Maybe it wasn't as abandoned as she previously believed though, knowing now that these parties across the warehouse district were tied as recruitment events for the Oni's Curse as they called themselves now, rebranding from the Sons of Garmadon they originally were. It showed a few shifts. The movement no longer hinged on Garmadon as their leader, which...arguably might be worse for Ninjago in some ways. Gigi had only ever heard stories, but it sounded like Harumi could be even worse on her own. It even-

Someone slammed into Gigi's back and she shouted, barely heard over the music in the warehouse. A hand grabbed her wrist, steadying her before she could faceplant into the small gap in the flooring.

"Careful!" A girl yelled, muffled by the music and the mask she wore. Gigi could tell she was smiling behind it though. "Get's a little hectic here, ya know?" She started dancing, still holding onto Gigi's wrist. Gigi started to dance with her. "First time?"

The song started to wind down and Gigi nodded, reaching into her pocket to put her ear protection in. "Yeah, didn't know these were so popular!" She looked around, taking it all in. "Especially on a school night!"

The girl laughed. "That's half the fun-who cares if we have school tomorrow, tonight we live!" She tipped her head back and laughed harder. After a moment she looked back at Gigi. "What's your name, twinkle toes?" She asked with a nod at Gigi's shining shoes. She hadn't expected the black lights to make the glitter so radiant-it was just glitter!

Gigi smiled, holding out her hand. "Gigi!"

The girl took hers, giving a loose shake. "Everyone calls me Ruka around here." The girl-Ruka-looked around, pushing her dark bangs out of her face. "Let's get something to drink before some idiot spikes everything." She looked at Gigi, her dark eyes bright in the party lights. "You down to hang, first timer?"

"Uh..." Gigi faltered. She needed to be alert for the mission-if she found some kind of proof maybe she could get some intel about the initiation process that they didn't already know about. Sticking with someone who knew the place was a good idea. "Sure. I could go for a pop can right now."

Ruka laughed again, grabbing Gigi's hand to pull her through the crowd. "Pop can, you really are a newbie aren't you?"

Gigi shrugged, sticking close to her newfound guide. "Parents aren't usually out at night together, it's kinda new to be able to slip out of the house unnoticed." Gigi could feel the beat of the music in her bones as they passed a set of speakers, rocking her body at its very core. Grant would hate it here.

She so owed him for the cover up.

--------------------

Before she knew it, Ruka was pushing an unopened can of soda into her hand and pulling her once again around the makeshift dance floor. Gigi thought she heard her say something about a quieter place to hang around at in the party, but she wasn't sure. Even with ear protection in, her ears were ringing, and she was sure she'd feel unsteady from the sounds for hours after leaving the party.

"You were right," Gigi said as she leaned against the railing, popping the can of soda open. "It is quieter back here." She took a sip of the soda as she watched the people dancing below. Ruka leaned against the railing next to her, and Gigi smiled at her. "How did you get involved in coming to these parties?"

"Long story, but basically...my cousins." Ruka pulled off her mask, putting her hand through the elastics to keep it on herself. "They like the party scene, I...can tolerate it with the right people." She winked and as the strobe lighting passed over her face, Gigi could have sworn her eyes were red. Like fire red, but the next second they were back in the dark. "What about you, first timer?"

Gigi chewed on her lip, looking down at the party below. "I heard there's a little more than just a party going on, probably just a rumor."

"What, like drugs?" Ruka sounded irritated. "This isn't the place for that, Gigi. They're pretty strict about drugs."

That caught her attention. Gigi turned again. "What? No, that's not what I mean."

A loud voice cut through across the music. "Hey, hey, Rukaaaa!" Gigi looked left at where it came from. A girl with a high, neon streaked ponytail was sauntering over. Her combat boots made the metal catwalk clang loudly with each stomping step. The teen seemed cut from stone, all angles and neon paint, like a walking piece of graffiti. She eyed Gigi as Gigi did the same. "Who is this poppet?" Her face was intricately painted, streaks of white crossing over her lips in an upwards curve, and bright pink smeared around her eyes.

"Raz, this is Data. Data, Raz. My cousin I was telling you about." Ruka's voice was tight. It confused Gigi why she was calling her Data when she clearly remembered her name was Gigi just moments ago. "We were just talking about why we came out here tonight, told her you were big on the party scene."

Raz threw an arm around Gigi, pulling her close. "Data huh? Alias? Or do your parents really hate you that much?"

Gigi gave an awkward laugh. "Nickname." The two looked nothing alike. Then again, maybe they were cousins the same way she and Lark were cousins, cousins because their parents were so close they were practically family, but with no resemblance. "Pretty awesome party!" Gigi took a sip of her soda. Something about Raz made her uneasy.

Raz grinned wide, eyeing the soda. "Surprised no punch, Data. You and Ruka seem like punch girls-well, I know Ruka is."

"Her parents would notice if she accidentally got spiked punch. Said her brother is covering for her." Gigi looked at Ruka, who was undoing her buns-how had she not noticed they were purple before now? Ruka combed through her hair, pulling it into a ponytail. "And it's her first time here, I'm showing her the ropes. How things run, stuff like that."

Raz nodded, her grin still present. "Well then, I'll leave you to it." She squeezed Gigi's shoulder, and through her jacket Gigi could feel her sharp nails. "Don't let her give you too much hell, Data."

Gigi gave another awkward laugh, nodding before taking a sip of her soda. Raz slunk off, sauntering across the crosswalk towards a group of equally painted individuals. Gigi wrapped both hands around the can, and listened to the music for a minute before speaking. "Your cousin is...a lot."

"Tell me about it."

--------------------

Grant was practically pacing the floor when he heard a knock at his window. His parents were on the way home and as he pulled open the curtain, sure enough his sister was on the fire escape outside. He unlocked his window, pulling her in. "Go get changed, if they see you-why do you smell like smoke? Were you smoking? Oh man you were smoking-if mom gets a whiff of you we're both going to be grounded so badly-"

"Relax! It's from the train stop. Some ass wouldn't stop smoking and I couldn't get away from them. I'm gonna go shower, cover for me with mom and dad until I'm done?" Gigi shut the window behind herself, and sat down on the ledge to take her boots off. "I made a friend tonight, she's just so...she's amazing, Grant, she really really is."

"Okay, that's great. Does she know anything about the OC?"

Gigi faltered. "I don't think so. I think her cousin does though, so I'm gonna have to go back a few times to get some more intel-and you're right, you would absolutely hate it there. It's so loud and you can feel the music constantly and-"

Grant pulled his now shoeless sister off his floor, shepherding her towards the door. "You. Shower. Now. We can talk about it later!"

[xxleondraxx]

Evfra De Tershaav (not so salty?)

(Spoilers for some plot points)

Ok. So since a friend and I are wanting to write some Evfra fluff/ smutt, I decided I needed to go back to the game proper and get a feel on his personality.

He isn’t what I thought he was going to be.

Going into planning for this fic, I expected Evfra to be super salty just... all the time. He was made of salt in my head. And this was probably because I hadn’t actually paid that much attention to him past his introduction the first time you meet him.

But after you save the Moshae, he softens up considerably. So I did more digging. I went through his repeatable dialog several times just listening to the sound of his voice and watching his face, since the angaran facial animations are not actually that bad.

It seemed like Evfra was very... matter of fact. His tone was a bit aloof, cold or bored and he didn’t emote much. There just wasn’t a lot of emotion to his words. Occasionally his voice would get a little lighter with certain topics, but for the most part he sounded like he was just reciting a recipe.

This wasn’t quite the Evfra I’d built in my head. Where was the salt? I admit I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to him, so how much had I missed?

I started loading saves. Listening to his ambient dialog, listening to the tone of his voice, doing plot point specific dialog with him, and also finding out after the Moshae was returned that Evfra had given Ryder permission to buy weapons, against the quartermaster’s wishes, and was even letting Cora record a few angaran training exercises.

That doesn’t sound salty.

Talking to Jaal after the first vidcom with Evfra he says that Ryder has earned Evfra’s trust, to which Ryder can respond, “Yeah, but I still don’t think he likes me.” Jaal assures her that that’s just his way. So Evfra trusts that you mean what you say because your actions have spoken for you, he just doesn’t like you.

So I dug into the codex to see what it had to say about him. What it said was very enlightening.

To keep it a little shorter than reciting the whole thing, the Resistance 10 years ago wasn’t able to keep Evfra’s family safe from the Kett so he stepped up to lead. His single minded dedication to the cause rose it into a unified force and he proved what he and his Resistance could do when they raided a kett labor camp, saved hundreds of imprisoned angara, and killed an entire battalion of kett reinforcements.

The codex also says that according to Jaal, Evfra is feared by those under him and respected by those above, but he remains an isolated individual. By design he lets nobody in close to him. He knows that everyone in the resistance is expendable and understands too well the pain that comes with losing the ones close to him.

And the tapestry reveals itself.

Evfra isn’t salty. Well, a little, but not much. Mostly he is extremely analytical. He talks very matter of factly because this keeps him distant and cold toward others. This keeps them from getting too close and keeps him from getting attached to anybody. He strives to inspire either fear or respect in everyone he meets.

Evfra doesn’t want to put himself through the pain of losing anybody he cares about ever again. The fear and respect he instills in others and the distance he keeps between them and himself is his way of protecting himself while remaining the figurehead the Resistance needs to stay organized.

Being the man of fear and respect he is, Evfra respects anybody that can stand up to him without flinching. Such as the governor. But with Evfra, he seems to largely stop at respect. He can have a conversation with someone he respects, but he keeps his tone aloof and relatively uninterested to avoid becoming invested in others. He also doesn’t talk about himself much outside his duties; another mechanism to keep people at arm’s length.

Even the Governor of Aya admits that she has no idea how to get on Evfra’s ‘good side’ and she is probably the one person on Aya that interacts with him the most. She is, after all, the governor of the place the Resistance calls home and the two of them clearly butt heads over policy with her stating that Evfra believes secrecy and isolation are the key to keeping their people safe.

To further prove his lack of salt and disapproval, after you save the Moshae if you go downstairs in the resistance HQ and talk to the quartermaster she says that Evfra ok’d you to buy weapons against her wishes. And you might even hear Cora say that Evfra is letting her record a few angaran training exercises. If he really was salty, and really did approve of these aliens so much, why would he let them buy guns and record their training.

Well the simple answer is he doesn’t like them, but he respects them.

When you first meet Evfra, he isn’t even as salty or as disapproving as I remember him. You walk in on him saying, “Kadara be damned, I won’t lose Voeld.” His voice sounds angry and determined. It shows more emotion than he seems to in most situations. Keep in mind, also, that Voeld is the angaran world that Evfra is from. It holds a special place to him. He already lost his family to the kett because the resistance couldn’t help. Now, with himself at the reigns, he’ll be damned if he watches his whole planet die.

When Ryder asks about the vault, she doesn’t have to squeeze the information out of him. He freely tells her about the vault and that it is sealed. He then sighs and says that they cannot help. His tone shows his sadness at this. Having been in a situation where he and his family needed help but none could be provided in time, he empathizes with her. I’d even go as far to say as he’s upset to feel powerless to help when he has based the entire Resistance on helping where before no help could be found.

In his own way he then tries to dissuade Ryder from pursuing the vault and his tone turns hostile. Perhaps trying to instill fear in her like he does with those around him, because if she fears him, she’ll listen. He doesn’t believe that Ryder can save the Moshae. With his knack for keeping people at a distance, he has likely already resigned himself to her loss. The Moshae was just another casualty of war.

When Jaal speaks about trusting Ryder you can see some actual emotion on Evfra’s face. His face starts to twitch a bit around the nose, like he’s getting irritated. When Jaal stops talking he tells Jaal talks too much. Possibly because he doesn’t want Jaal’s words to reignite any spark of hope in him that the Moshae can be saved.

Despite everything, he is quick to let Jaal go with Ryder and simply warns him to be ready to strike first if Ryder tries to kill him and then walks away. He keeps such a distance between himself and those he works with that it seems in that moment he has already accepted that Jaal is going to die and has chalked him up as just another soon-to-be casualty. Or is at least preparing himself for that to happen.

Being the man he is, Evfra seems to prefer professional or logical answers over emotional and casual ones. Often it seems you get more emotion out of him when using logical/professional responses. Such as him saying “The more I learn about the kett, the more I want to hurt them,” when given a certain logical answer, his tone giving you a flash of something other than disinterest and stoicism.

And after you save the Moshae, for a single sentence you can even hear what sounds like awe in his voice when he says, “You saved the Moshae.”

Hell, you can even get Evfra to outright thank you on more than one occasion if you chose the right options. And he doesn’t sound bitter about thanking you. Mostly he just uses that same, dry tone.

Another interesting nibblet I found that suggests that Evfra is not as salty and disapproving as he seems comes in an email.

Evfra will email you after you do the ancient AI mission on Voeld. If you took the AI and let it stay with SAM he informs you that the Governor of Aya was so angry she was going to shut down the embassy. However, Evfra, of all people, manages to convince her to keep it open. He then ends the email with, “Please try not to be so stupid next time.” Doesn’t sound like a guy that disapproves of the aliens as much as he seems to on the surface.

Also, I don’t believe that Evfra is coming from a place of angst, as is common with Bioware characters. Evfra’s insistance on having no close personal ties comes from a place of duty. He’s in charge of the entire resistance. Every day he sends his people to fight and die. He’s a leader and a tactician. He knows casualties are unavoidable. He also knows that what he’s doing is too important for him to be bogged down with emotion.

Because should a friend die, his judgement could be compromised by grief. Not only can he not afford to have his mind clouded by such things, but he just chooses to remove the risk of ever feeling that kind of grief ever again.

[smartalker]

Magpie Bridge [5/10 - Samael]

ENTITLED: Magpie Bridge FANDOM: Mass Effect Andromeda - Reyes/Ryder RATING: M LENGTH: 50k via 10 chapters GENRE: Romance/Sci-Fi/Drama/Humor, in that order SUMMARY: With the Kett subdued and Andromeda’s terraforming system running at full power, Kadara Port swiftly establishes itself as the trade capital of the galaxy. The city’s unique combination of affluence, corruption, and growing power inevitably earns the ire of both the Nexus, and Aya. Under tremendous pressure to disavow a known criminal’s legitimacy, Ryder once again returns to Kadara hoping to broker peace, but the Charlatan wants something very different from her… ALT SUMMARY: Two people fall in love, galaxy breaks. 

Ryder returned from her tryst to confront worst-case walk of shame material.

"Hey sister," Scott said.

"Fuck. FUCK!" Ryder whirled away from her twin, but the Tempest's halls were unhelpfully void of any distractions or potential shields. She turned back to Scott, teeth set. "Fuck," she whispered to herself, for good measure.

"Nice hickey."

She couldn't just keep swearing. Ryder cleared her throat, bracing herself for some old-school twin throw down. She had this. There had been a time (once) when she'd been able to beat her brother's ass into submission. Trying to sound like Keema, Ryder asked, "And just why are you concerning yourself with my hickeys, again?"

Scott dropped some serious stank eye. "God you're annoying. Now that you're finally back from your boy's opium den or whatever he's running—"

"Opium den," Ryder repeated, and laughed shrilly. She tried edging towards the Med-Bay. Maybe there was some lightly bruised body part Lexi urgently needed to examine.

Scott, with freakish speed and probably a dose of telepathy, inserted himself into the middle of her escape route. "The Nexus sent me. Tann's bugging out, says if you don't get someone dragged out and locked up he's going to start a trade embargo or something."

Shit. But also, she totally called that bluff. Like Tann had the balls. Except: Addison was also on the Nexus and Ryder wasn't sure she wanted to deal with that phone call.

She groaned. "You know, finding freaky doped up murder cults isn't as easy as it looks on television. Tell them I need more time! We're making headway but it's not exactly like we're in a position where we can go around interviewing known felons because, oops, everyone on this stupid planet was birthed in the, like, the undead Alcatraz of Hell!"

Scott was doing the thing where he started to look uncomfortably similar to their father. Ryder scrunched her nose, her stomach cramping. She hadn't wanted to fight. She could see the reluctance in Scott's face, the guilt that echoed her own. She could still remember his excitement, the first time they'd hunted outlaws on Eos together. Her brother, who'd known her father a thousand times better than she ever had, he'd said, "Dad would have been proud of you."

Somehow, she didn't feel like the sentiment had survived.

"Sara," Scott insisted, voice slowing and lowering. "Really. Are you okay?"

Ryder squirmed. "Fine."

"What happened to your face?"

Her hand twitched up to cover her injuries before she could stop herself. Ryder grimaced. "Okay. I'm sub-fine. But you can tell the Nexus I've got it, it's under control."

Scott shook his head. "Tell them yourself. I'm staying here. You need me."

Ryder went still as her mind raced through the possibilities, the plausible reasons for dismissing Scott, the pros and cons of having him around. Her brother. The one person who remembered what she looked like plastered after eight margaritas, the one person who knew about her cornrow phase, the guy who'd held back her hair when null-gravity training had made her sicker than the plague.

"Okay," she heard herself saying. "No problem. You can get a bunk in my quarters. We'll figure something out that's more permanent later."

Scott, still wearing their father's face, relaxed. He smiled at her, his face shining. "I thought you'd say no," he admitted. "It's going to get better, Sara. You'll see. We'll look out for each other."

Ryder made herself smile back. A forgotten, queasy feeling pushed against her—as unwelcome and unwarranted and nameless as it had been back when, as children, Scott had suddenly grown stronger than her. "I should wash up," she said, instead of everything else.

To begin with, she really did have to wash up. Ryder spent long minutes in the shower, her forehead pressed against the warming tile. "If you have any suggestions, now would be a good time." She mumbled. SAM kept quiet. It figured. Ryder rubbed the warm water over her legs, between her thighs. She was newly bruised, purple memories knocked across her legs. Lexi would say that was a sign of a low iron count.

His hand on her throat, how the pressure increased with a surgeon's precision, how warm her head became the moment she knew she couldn't breathe—

Ryder punched the shower's switch, cutting the water. She'd start with the problems she could solve. "SAM, scan for that Lithium deposit. Nexus satellites only, please."

She dressed as SAM let himself into the satellite's server, feeling pretty sincerely excited at the prospect of returning to her own bed. A few deposits pinged nearby, and she had the coordinates sent to Suvi for further analysis. One night off. Pathfinder was officially off the clock.

Ryder burrowed as deeply as possible into her bed, missing the heavy quilt she'd owned a lifetime ago. The ship hummed gently around her. Now and then a passing crew member's footsteps wandered past. Ryder flipped over. She flipped over again. She should have spent the night with him.

And right on cue, her omni-tool buzzed in a new message. Probably Suvi. Probably Scott. Definitely business related and therefore requiring her immediate attention.

Ryder wiggled from her cocoon, groping around. His letters became lasers, beams in her eyes. She read them over, and over, and over again.

I wish you'd stayed.

In the morning, Ryder gave her orders.

Through a note.

"Really?" Cora hissed. Her hiss was caught by the transmitter, drawn out as a spit of static. "Really. Again."

"No." Ryder said, in her best Pathfinder voice. "I know what you're thinking, and I want you to know, I have simply delegated responsibilities. I thought about calling a meeting, but you all seemed to be sleeping so nicely. Notes are cool. Vintage."

Cora stepped back from the conflict. She let go. She was too disciplined, too proud to whine. A fact that Ryder knew and fully intended to leverage for as long as possible. "Fine." Cora breathed out. "Why am I stuck with your brother while you get to blow things up?"

"You also might get to blow things up," Ryder pointed out. "I trust your judgment around explosives. Not Liam's. But you get me. Anyway, you're the only person I can trust on a bar-recon mission. Everyone else would just get drunk."

Cora seemed to be deeply struggling with something. Finally, she eked out. "First: I don't like the idea of you going somewhere without back-up. But I'm tired of fighting that point. The second thing is, I don't get along with Scott. No offense. But please keep that in mind in the future."

Ryder assumed a mask of benevolent patience. The Nomad, which she had clipping along at over a hundred-fifty kilometers an hour, ricocheted its way down a steep valley. The shaking and crashing were not the best sound effects for serenity. "Cora. No one gets along with Scott. He's like dad. Why do you think I picked you?"

"I'm hanging up," Cora announced, and cut the call. Ryder checked her map. Still fifty kilometers to go. Maybe by then Cora and Scott would be making out. It was possible. There was ample sexual frustration to go round. Now seemed like as good a time as any to stop thinking about her brother kissing people she knew.

Now Liam was calling. Ryder let him through, "What's up?"

"Pathfinder," Liam whispered, "Just because you put Jaal and I on the same team as Vetra, don't think we're happy about things."

"You ain't gotta lie." Ryder drawled. Jaal forced his way into the picture, essentially just seizing and maneuvering Liam by the wrist.

"We are concerned for your safety," Jaal said gravely. "Everyone else has split off with at least one partner to investigate their lithium site. And yet, we have formed a party of three while you operate alone. While I appreciate your consideration for our personal feelings, your security is more important."

"Yeah," Vetra added, from somewhere off-camera. "I'm sure I couldn't possibly imagine how this came to be. The subtle machinations of a Pathfinder. A mind that operates beyond the barriers of convention, species, and basic combat protocols."

Jaal and Liam were now eyeing each other, probably for some hint as to how they might decipher Code: Vetra. Ryder growled as she tore the Nomad through an innocent shrubbery.

"I'm not alone, I have SAM. Besides, this is just a little recon work. If I get a hit, I'll call you in," she lied breezily. "Surely I can handle that much." She could see Liam's face folding itself into a frown, his mouth opening to protest further. Ryder cut him off with a quick, "Sorry, call from Drack!" and switched the line. Twenty kilometers out. Drack's perpetually grim visage filled her screen.

"Are you going to yell at me?" Ryder asked, by way of greeting. Drack, who had incorrectly angled his camera to video his left shoulder, snorted as he made some adjustments.

"No. We Krogan have a long tradition of taking off for a long walk in the desert when the kids start bitching too much. It helps them appreciate you more when you feel like coming back." Drack paused thoughtfully. "Doesn't work as well on the wives."

Ryder suspected many Krogan owed surviving their adolescence thanks to this practice. "Is my brother there?" she whispered. "He's not going to like, bust out from behind you or anything, is he? Did you and Peebee already leave?"

"He isn't here. He was loud. I'm too old for loud. Sent him and Cora off a while back." Drack paused, and the camera began to shake wildly. "Sorry Ryder, hard to cut through this casserole. And I'm not having the sausage one." He took an enormous bite, and chewed thoughtfully. "You doing okay out there? Seen the scans."

"Yeah. Fine." Ryder shrugged. "Just, you know. I think I'm about to go ape shit on a den of drug lords. Should be fun."

Drack grunted approvingly. "If you're going to run away from your brother, at least make it count." Drack paused, then added. "No offense, but he's more strung out than a Turian cadet. I like you better."

Ryder was suddenly a little misty eyed. She blinked rapidly. "Thanks, um. But I'm not running away from my brother," Ryder laughed. She kept laughing. It was hard to stop laughing. "No way. Definitely not."

"Look kid," Drack sighed. "I got no reason to be busting your ass over what you do. Hell, I killed one of my brothers." He paused, then added, "Asshole. Still, it upset my mother. I feel bad about it. The point is, take your space if you need it."

Ryder had already been pretty busy dealing with her affection for the old Krogan. His continued understanding wasn't making it any easier. "Drack. Thanks."

"Whatever. We both know I'm not the one who's stuck playing host," Drack grunted. "I'm hoping Cora's identity feels threatened enough to ice him. Anyway, don't get shot anywhere important. Let me know if you need some backup and I'll meet you out there."

He hung up on her without further niceties, and Ryder spent the rest of her drive in relative silence, contemplating the many merits of her squad mates. She eventually shook herself from her sentimental haze. No time for that. She was less than a kilometer back from the center of her own Lithium deposit – one of three that SAM had picked out, each less than an hour's drive from the Port itself. Ryder had chosen this one because of the punishingly high mountain-face the lithium deposit was embedded into—in her experience, the preferred terrain of peoples trying to remain hidden.

Jaal, Liam and Vetra would hopefully be enjoying the spectacularly scenic waterfall she had sent them to by now.

Pathfinder, we will need to continue further exploration by foot.

She climbed out. "See anything? Smoke signals? Tire marks?"

Overlaying geological surveys with our present map indicates that there is an underground river beginning at the top of this mountain. The river is known to branch in several directions, with its waters emerging above ground at several sites near Kadara Port. Proposal: this river would serve as an excellent natural vehicle for transporting illegal goods, with the additional advantage of having no energy signature.

Ryder considered this. "I have to climb the mountain."

Analysis suggests—

"You're such a bastard." Ryder complained. In truth, the Nomad had nearly taken her to the top already. But the remaining meters up were almost a complete vertical, an obstacle that even her jump jets would likely have her bouncing off of.

It was a good thing no one was around to witness this.

Reyes called her halfway up. Ryder declined a video feed. "Hey."

"What are you doing? Why are you panting like that?"

"I'm—" Ryder desperately clung to what felt like about three blades of grass, both feet kicking over what she felt comfortable describing as a chasm. "—jogging."

"Huh." He moved on. "Listen. I want to do something different. Let's have dinner?"

"What!" Ryder screamed, now throwing herself into a desperate free fall. She collided roughly with the cliff face, and scrambled to find purchase.

"What?" Reyes echoed. He was definitely alarmed. "Turn on your camera."

"Dinner sounds nice," Ryder squeaked. She heaved herself onto the narrow ledge, gasping wetly. This was stupid. She should have taken the waterfall. "Are we going to get a pizza before or after your political enemies literally eat us?"

There was a pause of silence from Reyes. "Did you just spit?"

She definitely had. Adrenaline made her mouth wet. It was just a thing. "No. What time's dinner?"

"I'm not sure, probably as soon as I find out where you are and what you're doing."

Ryder had a pretty strong suspicion he was pulling up a screen that advertised her as a tiny, blinking GPS marker at that very moment. She wondered how exactly he was tracking her. Something on her suit? Could people ingest trackers? She wouldn't put it past him. "What's wrong, can't stay away from me?" She hunched, jets ready, preparing to fling herself into an absurd vertical leap.

Reyes laughed. "I can't, and I don't want to."

Ryder was pretty sure she had never jumped so high. Arms shaking, she hauled herself up inch by painful inch, her struggle made more difficult by trying to muffle her own ragged breathing. "I'm hanging up. Team's checking out those Lithium deposits. I'll have more for you soon." She managed to kick one leg up, hooking her heel over the cliff's edge, then rolled inelegantly forward. Finally. Finally. Dazed with exertion, Ryder let herself simply lie there, gasping.

"Be careful," he said. She was too tired to really listen to him. "I don't want to lose you," he added, and ended the call.

Ryder kept lying there, her muscles reduced to yogurt, as the seconds and minutes ticked past. Finally, finally, she pushed herself up, grinning. He liked her. Did he like her? No, that was stupid. Stupid Ryder.

Upon standing, the most obvious thing of note was probably the landing pad. Ryder stared at it, seething. Those cheaters. The likely well-air conditioned cheaters. Who were also, by the way, nefarious drug chemists and child murderers. Their base, now that she was finally on top of the stupid mountain, was only a short distance away from the landing pad, and clearly visible from her position.

Ryder zipped towards a nearby rock outcropping for some cover, getting ready to radio Peebee and Drack for backup, when a sudden thought made her pause. Because—she hadn't gotten to try out those combat matrices, after all.

She bit her lip, finger literally hovering over the call button. They could be here within an hour. But the base was right there, and—and! She would be able to tell, right away, if taking out the drug ring was enough to change Reyes' future. Somehow, she doubted her crew would be all that thrilled to watch her have another seizure-vision.

They also probably wouldn't be that excited to know that she'd died because she'd gone into a fight without backup.

"Fine," Ryder bargained, either to herself or SAM or Reyes' hypothetical tracker chip. "If there's less than five, I take them on. Five and up, I call in my Krogan."

The universe heard.

Ryder darted between the wind-smoothed rocks, ears pricked, eyes narrowed and fixed on the drug base's windows. She inched nearer, discovering and tucking herself into a choice spot for visibility, for target sighting. Methodically, she began setting up her sniper's rifle, hands moving without thought. She'd done this a thousand, ten thousand times. "Okay," Ryder coached herself. "Step one. We reinstall our psychic combat thing. Step two, we don't have a seizure. Step three, we take out this base. Step four, we get our seer on. SAM, you are on seizure duty. Don't make me replace you with a dog."

SAM immediately began prattling on about how 'the combat matrices were dangerous' and 'her current plan of action seemed extremely ill-advised.' Ryder wanted to roll her eyes except she was trying to be more mature. She settled for some rapid blinking.

Stop that.

"If you don't install them, I'm probably going to get shot," Ryder pointed out. "And die. Also, you do as I say. So do it. Now." Yes, much better. Strong Pathfinder moves.

SAM began doing his uncomfortable mind-rearranging thing. Her omni-tool flashed, and Ryder tapped in her user permissions. Five minutes to reinstall. Faster than she'd expected. Maybe SAM had left a few back doors open for himself. "So walk me through this, how does it work and when should I haul ass to clear the area? Are headaches the only way for me to realize we're about to go under?"

Now that I am more familiar with system diagnostics, I should be able to monitor synchronization rates and give you ample warning before we overload. An attack such as the one you suffered before should be easy to avoid, so long as we are able to distance ourselves from stressors in time. I can uninstall the program if need be. I would advise that all adversaries be eliminated prior to the uninstall.

"Can we film this? I mean, for the documentary. Because I think I'm going to kick some ass." Ryder trilled, and then actually slapped a hand over her own mouth. She was starting to sound like Liam. Or, just, insane.

Program docked.

Ryder checked her guns, then lay flat on the sun-warmed rock, dragging herself forward with her elbows. She mounted the sniper rifle, checking the base's windows through her scope. At least four people inside, two Salarians that wore heavy gas masks, a tweaked out Turian, and a human woman with bold lipstick. Four targets. Just under quota. Ryder zoomed in. "Launch," she ordered.

And then the world dropped out from under her, her ears became speakers that angled inward. She felt her heart beating as she never had before, felt each bone and muscle of her body, that fantastic machine. The woman's lipstick shone with a light—an unnatural light, a purple light, UV? Ryder adjusted the scope. Perfect clarity. Perfect purpose. She didn't see things anymore, so much as she saw the space around them, the narrowed and swelling spaces.

She shot.

The bullet made an satisfying, circular hole through window's glass. Through the Turian's skull, into the woman's thigh, where at last the missile lodged in bone. The Turian went down and the Salarians were already ducked for cover, the woman with the bleeding thigh and the red mouth had drawn her weapon, and—the lights went out. They'd cut power, made it harder for her to pick them out from the darkness, at least at a distance.

Ryder stood.

She pulled up her shields, and simply walked towards the front door. She didn't need to run. They couldn't get away from her. Her legs, in all their power and strength, carried her forward.

"Get the fucking bomb," one of the Salarians was shouting. "Get the fucking bomb!"

The door blew outwards, slamming flat against Ryder's shields, an impromptu ballistic powerful enough to make her stagger, then the woman with the lipstick was there and swinging what looked like a sharpened bone for Ryder's face. Almost dreamily, Ryder pulled her head out of the way, noticing the bone-blade's carvings, the well-smoothed place on its handle that could only have come from years of wear.

The woman's beautiful mouth was opening. She had very light, almost colorless eyes. Ryder's ears rattled with the sound of her own breath, her life.

"Bye," Ryder offered. She reached out and grabbed the woman's wrist. Her thumb dug into a nerve, and the woman's hand flew open, so that the bone-knife went flying away. One of the Salarians was coming out—and that was a Krogan, shit—but later, first—

She shot over the woman's shoulder, catching the Salarian's soft, wet flesh with a spray of buckshot. The Krogan was maneuvering what looked like a small canon, swinging it around to face her, his armor and his body like a wall—indifferent even as she shot him in the face. No time—Ryder kicked the woman's knee, catching the edge of her kneecap and smashing it, and they dropped together so Ryder could lift what remained of the base's door—a heavy thing, at least thirty pounds of warped steel, and even that buckled violently beneath whatever the Krogan was packing. She could hear his weapon charging, the high whine of it—another blast from that thing would end it, would rip through the steel door she hid behind or break whatever body part she used to support it.

"SAM, drones!" Ryder hissed. The woman was screaming, clutching her head. Ryder lobbed a flash grenade and sprinted—no time no time—her eyes closed, her nose stinging with ozone. Two of her fingers were badly jammed, numb and stiff and uncooperative. She dropped the combat drones behind her, anything that could buy her some time, fumbling to swap out shotgun for pistol—she needed precision, not force—

Ryder ducked around the building's corner, hearing her drone detonate, the Krogan's furious roar. She peeked out, snapping off her pistol's safety and aiming—breathe, breathe, breathe—her brother had always been better shot and always, her dad saying the same thing: "You're all over the place, you need to focus, you need to let go of everything else, you need to be empty."

And they hadn't understood, her army friends or her teachers, why she spent so much time at the firing range. Because she was a good shot, she was steady and practiced and not everyone can have perfect eyesight, a little blurriness wasn't the end of the world, her natural endurance would have been wasted on a sharp-shooter anyway, she didn't have to be a sniper—

Flash grenade hadn't worked, hadn't blinded him, the Krogan saw her, he was aiming, he was—

But she wasn't the same person anymore.

Ryder shot. A single, clean crack of a noise. It was almost beautiful.

The Krogan was dead, though still standing, still rocking forward, his body struggling to understand the death of its brain. Ryder stepped. One foot forward, then the other. She expected to feel something, elation or nerves or, just, anything. The cannon slipped from the Krogan's grip, banging loudly on a rock as it fell. The woman with the lipstick was still alive, but sobbing. Ryder bent to pick up the bone-blade and the Krogan finally crumbled, as the woman too surrendered to unconsciousness.

Ryder stepped over the dead Salarian and squinted through the dark lab, fumbling at the walls for lights. Her head was starting to ache, even as the air just to her left rippled, and Ryder dodged—throwing herself deeper into the darkness as the living Salarian tried to bum-rush her. "Cut the shit," she hissed, swinging the bone knife out, and cutting, and there—at last—were the lights.

The other Salarian's hands pressed over his chest's gash, gasping. He panicked as the lights came on, fumbling with the lab's tables for a weapon. He snatched and threw blindly—pencils, vials, half a sandwich, a Bunsen burner—Ryder moved forward, listening to the raspy, frantic gasp of his breath. "Stop," she said quietly. "Sit down."

He froze, still quivering, large eyes darting sideways, up—not a fighter, not even a real scientist, she could see the burn marks and the ink stains on his sleeves. Imperfect, a cook rather than a chemist. His long, thin fingers flattened protectively over the cut she'd given him. "Pathfinder," he managed to squeak out. "I don't want to die."

"Then sit. I need to scan."

"The computer's locked. I'll let you in," the Salarian babbled. "It has everything. All our trials. I didn't think the Nexus would get involved, it's not like we're that important—"

Ryder's hands clenched. Her temples were throbbing, insistent. Empty. She had to be empty. "It's a problem when you start tearing kids into itty bitty pieces. Who knew?"

"We—what? We didn't. I swear, we didn't. Is this about those murders?" He was still babbling as she steered him bodily towards the computer, watched the long, spindly fingers strike the keyboard. She could feel SAM sync up, drain the data, screens and lights flashing wildly, painfully. Ryder closed her eyes, wincing.

"Yeah," she rasped. Not much longer. "Yeah, it's about the murders."

"It wasn't us," the Salarian yelped. "My god. I don't know anything about that. But if you're here—then someone must have been on the drug. PX-92230. I don't know, I didn't even handle the selling. I was quality control."

"How can you be quality control if the product is still evolving?"

The Salarian blinked. "What? It's not." His attention swung away from her, as was often the case with Salarians. He prodded the flesh near his wound, seeming terribly young, almost childlike. "PX-92230 is a mood modifier, a…an antidote. When people begin coming out of stasis, many of them require extensive psychological care. For whatever reason, the centuries of suspended life activity leaves them with an intense, chronic depression. They can treat you for it on the Nexus, but it takes time, and many of us left the Initiative before we could complete treatment."

Ryder could only stare at him, her ears ringing. Leave. She had to leave. "It's not…it's not a party drug?"

"What? No!" The Salarian had nearly yelled in outrage, but now coughed, wincing. "I'll admit we're a knock-off brand, but the effects are the same as what the doctor ordered. We help people. Pathfinder, you can see for yourself. You have our records."

Her hands had started to shake. Ryder hesitated. He could be lying. Or she was missing something, she should—she should burn it, she should burn the whole place to the ground, they'd shot at her—

She stared down at the Salarian, her gut twisting. She hated killing Salarians. They were always so young.

Pathfinder, we need to force uninstall your combat matrices or else risk overload.

"No," Ryder ordered. She turned, and broke into a staggering run. Leave the Salarian. Leave the busted lab. Leave the woman in lipstick, the dead Krogan. They weren't innocent, she told herself. They weren't murdered. "SAM, leave the matrices. Upload all data to the Tempest, have Suvi c-cross reference with the Nexus." She shook her head. Had she just stuttered? Shit.

She kept running, her eyes slitting, something comforting about the even pound of her feet against the ground, the air rushing past her. She threw on her jets, bouncing down the mountain side faster than she should have, faster than she could really control or stop. Her matrices were still running, still nudging her away from a jammed ankle, a smashed spine. She crash-landed against the Nomad, rolling awkwardly into the driver's seat. She slumped forward into the steering wheel, her body still remembering, her body and her vehicle's smart sensors driving her a full fifteen kilometers forward to safety, to desolation.

Ryder fumbled at the car door, rolling out, dropping painfully to her knees. She huddled down. Head: officially zero inches from the ground. Shields: fully functional. Sharp objects: at a safe distance. Armor: very secured.

She focused on Reyes. It was harder to fully picture him than she would have initially guessed. Her mind felt like a camera struggling to focus, so that by the time she'd finished recalling the timbre and roll of his voice, the way he dragged some letters or skipped others or had a way of changing questions into implications—she'd lost herself, given up too much room, so now the mouth that spoke the words she could so perfectly recall became opaque, and overly soft.

It was easier to remember flashes of him than the full picture—the slight squint, his wide shoulders, how he never seemed to face her completely. Despite herself, this incompleteness disturbed her.

Pathfinder, our synchronization levels are rising.

"I know," Ryder mumbled.

Why are you doing this?

The question she definitely did not want to answer.

Children torn to pieces, faces grown from moss, the sick feeling she was learning to associate with plants and wine and debauchery, a sort of sick paranoia, the way he looked at her, his face destroyed by bullets, Keema Dohrgun sitting high upon her throne, the lies, the—

Her head was ringing, and tinny, her ears full of metal. Ryder grit her teeth. She opened herself to fear. Fear of fire, fear of starless space, a void that could overtake people, a void that lived in everyone. Fear: Reyes, too far and too close. Fear: the ground beneath her fingers—a tremor? Footsteps! No.

P-Pathfinder you are approaching critical synchronization levels—

"Let it run," Ryder gritted out. Her face was bloated, bursting. Had she really endured this before? Had she hidden this, from Liam and Jaal? Was she insane? Something scratched away at her peripheral vision, an intrusion, an ill-fated visitor.

Ryder opened her eyes, her body vibrating, her heat pushing out in waves to feel the vast room around her. The Collective's Base. And Keema, sitting on her throne, up above her. Ryder stared up at the other woman, watching her pour, watching her drink. The wine became beautiful, molten ruby as it swallowed the light. It stained the Angara's lips, which were spreading, and smiling, and there was a taste at the back of Ryder's mouth, something thick and bitter—tannins from an old red, the exposure of some dead, crushed vegetable. Plants. Keema wasn't looking at her.

There was something else, too, a kind of roar, a thing that hugged the room's windows. The pressure that is felt upon being stalked by some great predator.

Ryder turned slightly, following Keema's gaze, and there was Reyes—one hand smoothing back his hair, one reaching behind his back, looking for something hidden. He moved so slowly, like a man that had been poured from a honey jar. Her mouth sweetened, just seeing him. She knew, too late, his saunter.

Reyes, his mouth curving up, the space in his eyes opening to allow room for expression, for romance—then vacant, dead, his body collapsing in a slow arc back from her, and laughter—ugly, laughter like a gunshot, like the silence that enters when life has left.

Traitor, Ryder wanted to say, and she turned away from Reyes, his silence. She looked back up to Keema, and the Angara's seat atop power, but Keema's hands were empty. The glass she'd once held was now shattered, and the Angara's rich, complicated smile now deepened, cut like a diamond. She held no weapon. She held no malice.

She was looking into the shadows, the shadows just past Ryder's shoulder. And Ryder realized that she'd been wrong, that Reyes had been shot from behind, he'd never been harmed by Keema at all but now his murderer was just behind her, and the windows, the thing beyond the windows was swelling—

And Ryder turned and she stopped and she saw the gun, the lies, the face of the killer. The room's windows burst inward as a great tide rushed in, drowning them.

And then, she saw nothing, she saw the sound of white noise.

A man's feet, his legs. The man, stooping to lift her, and without meaning to, she began to cry. "You came," she said, and then nothing else.

The thing under her head was alive.

Military training kept Ryder still as she awoke. The thing under her head shifted. Thighs? A familiar smell. Someone's voice, she didn't know them, they were talking about their route up the Corsica valley, a blockage in supply lines…smugglers? Ryder sniffed again.

"You're awake," Reyes' voice spoke. Ryder opened her eyes. He was looking down at her, closing out of whatever he'd been reading on his omni-tool. A lazy swing from an old fan twirled overhead. They were towards the back of an old cargo area, mostly empty, while at least two pilots chatted on the bridge.

"Hi," Ryder managed to whisper.

"Good morning," Reyes replied. Ryder sat up gingerly, wincing in anticipation. She didn't hurt as much as she'd expected. He'd found her somehow (she still suspected a chip) and brought her on one of the Collective's ships, something small and slower than most people would guess. Her armor was lying in a neat pile on the floor near her.

"You're pretty good at finding me. Insert romantic platitude here." Ryder glanced at him hopefully, poking carefully around at her old injuries. Nothing seemed disturbed. Reyes glared.

"You were bleeding from your eyeballs when I found you, you know," he said.

"Ew." Ryder immediately rubbed at her face. No blood. Her eyes stung. "I mean, hardcore, but super gross."

Reyes raised an eyebrow. "So? You've obviously had another seizure, I can only assume either something went wrong with your AI and I should be taking you to a surgeon—or you did it on purpose and I should take you to a psychiatrist."

"It's helpful that Lexi is both," Ryder acknowledged. Reyes was still glaring at her. She shifted her gaze, swallowing. It would be easier to spend time with him if she didn't have to keep up the evasive maneuvers.

"So? Am I still dead in your visions?"

Ryder stared determinedly at the ceiling. "You don't have to sound so flippant about it."

Something flashed across his face. "Yes, then. Obviously. I've heard about your prediction matrix thing from one of your crew. So, what did you see? Who killed me?"

Ryder hesitated. She chewed the inside of her cheek and regarded him, wondering how long it would take for her to learn the trick to lying well. A lock of hair had broken free from the others, and swung now across his brow. Ryder reached up. She smoothed it back in place. She wanted to put everything back, just the way she found it.

"It was you," she admitted. "You did it."

It had been him—walking out of the shadows, old swagger, an echoed memory of the day he'd revealed himself as Charlatan, a pistol in his hand—shiny, silver and antique. A pistol her father had owned, a memento from some family member. It hadn't made it to Andromeda. It was a pistol that could never kill him, only her own idea, her perception of what a pistol should look like. Ryder frowned.

Reyes snorted. "Oh. Well. That makes security pretty easy."

"No—" she began to protest, throat closing. "You don't understand. I don't think it's literal."

But he was rising, brushing himself off. Dismissing her fear. "I've never been the suicidal type." He fixed her with a hard look. "Can you say the same?"

Ryder stumbled to her feet, chasing after him. The cargo ship was unsteady, veering through tight canyons with old, hashed up tech. She had been spoiled by the Tempest. She needed to keep one hand on the wall—or maybe that was her own vertigo? "Reyes, wait!" she insisted. "I was wrong about the drug ring—"

"I know," he interrupted. Why wouldn't he look at her? She stared fixedly at the hard tendons of his neck, where the muscle met his hairline. Right there. She wanted to kiss him right there. But Reyes was still business, still talking. "Your crew's been in touch. Those records you found check out. That base you found was run by criminals, but they're hardly cultists. Your science officers seem to think that the drugs were purchased from the base you found and then modified by the cultists somehow. We've been cross-referencing the buyers while you recovered."

Ryder froze.

Reyes, still angrily striding away from her, took several paces before turning. "What?"

She'd killed them. Not innocent. Deserving murder?

Ryder licked her lips, her heart suddenly pounding. "What about the bodies?"

"The bodies?" Reyes echoed. He frowned at her. "What bodies?"

"The chemists. The people at the base. I killed—three of them, maybe four." Stop. Stop. Stop. Ryder took a breath. Even Addison would tell her, these things happened. People made mistakes, even Pathfinders. Let it go and move on. "I just—I just thought, maybe—" she trailed off, clamping her mouth shut. She thought what? That an exception should be made; that acknowledged criminals should be extracted from a lawless land just so they could be buried somewhere else? For what, her own childish sense of guilt? Ryder swallowed. "Nothing. Sorry."

She wanted to put her armor on. With that determination, Ryder turned to leave him. She'd ask the pilots to drop her at their earliest convenience. She'd radio Gil, ask for an extraction—

Reyes caught her wrist. "Hey," he said, more gently than she'd expected. Ryder held perfectly still, focused on making not one single noise. She felt, before he spoke, the slight shift of his grip, a loosening. "I want to surprise you," he said. "Have you played the game where you close your eyes, and someone leads you to a present?"

Ryder sniffed. It was either sniffing or irreversible water damage at this point, and she really didn't want to cry. "What kind of present?"

"A good one," he promised.

She rubbed her face with her sleeve. There were a lot of things she wanted to say, but nothing seemed ready to come out. Instead she closed her eyes, and let him take her hands. She followed him, lurching with the ship, but somehow never stumbling into walls or tripping. After some time had passed and they'd made probably a shorter journey than she would have guessed, he helped her sit. Ryder spread her hands across the cool, flat surface in front of her. "Are we in the kitchen?"

"Yes."

"Are you feeding me?"

"Close."

With her eyes still closed, Ryder laid her face against the countertop. It was cool, soothing against a face that felt so swollen, so damp. She'd absorbed her tears back into herself. She didn't want to think about this anymore. "I can't really cook," she told him. "I guess most people can't anymore. But my dad liked it. That surprises people. When he died I—there was this one thing he would make me on my birthdays. I mean, mine and Scott's. I don't know why he kept making it, it was this…I think it might have been Chinese, this kinda dumpling soup thing. Scott really liked it but I never finished mine. When he died I, um, I had another birthday and I kind of wanted to keep the tradition going. I wanted to make it again, but I couldn't. I don't know what it's called."

The chair across from her scraped back, and Ryder startled upright, her eyes flying open. Reyes froze, his arm outstretched. He'd been just about to press a mug of something brown into her hands. Ryder blushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to look."

"It's fine," he shrugged her off. She drew the mug to her chest, sniffing. Something with booze. Something with fire, and chocolate. Reyes caught her eye and smiled. "What my father made me. So I'd shut up and sleep."

Ryder started to laugh, and then quickly stopped herself. She sounded awful, like someone about to have a nervous breakdown. "Thanks," she rasped, and took a quick sip. And then a big one. She hadn't realized she'd been freezing.

"Let's stop splitting up," Reyes said. She looked up at him, still clutching her mug. He shrugged. "I mean it. Let's just stop. You're here, I'm here. You can't order me away like you can with everyone else, so at least someone will be around to watch you rampage." He shrugged again, now with an odd, dismissive gesture. "I don't want to fight anymore. You'll do what you want."

She looked down into her mug. "I'd like that."

"Okay."

"My brother probably won't." Ryder muttered, more to herself.

Reyes leaned across the table, face intent. "So what? You're the Pathfinder, not him. I know you want to help people, but you've gotta stop taking their shit. You've earned your title. You've done so much—too much. In fact, I think you should step back. Let people figure things out on their own for once, or at least stop doing everything by yourself."

She finished her spiked hot chocolate. There wasn't anything else left for her to hide behind. "I know, Reyes," she admitted, her voice shrinking. "I know. I get it. I'm tried of it too. But I just…can't. I can't let go yet. I just don't want something bad to happen. I don't want to fail."

"You won't. You can't. You've already succeeded. Look at what you've done."

"I don't want to be—just, you know, some girl with the famous dad who fucked everything up. You know, I—I didn't really want to come to Andromeda. I guess not that much was happening for me in the Milky Way. I was just, you know, normal. I'd just finished school, my military training. I wasn't really sure what I wanted to do next but I—I had friends and, like, a favorite bar. I had things. I wanted adventure but I didn't—I mean, Andromeda's so…so far. There's adventure and then there's…I don't know. I didn't want to leave everything behind. But my dad did. For him, he took off the past like it was nothing, like a…like a shrug." Ryder stopped. She felt uncomfortable, the way he was looking at her. He wasn't smiling. She'd spent so much time wishing he'd take her seriously, only to discover how much harder it became when he actually did. She started speaking to her toes.

"I found out later that there was…some shit going down. Some war I didn't know about. But he didn't tell me. He didn't tell me any of that. He told my brother and me that he'd signed up as Pathfinder for the Andromeda Initiative, and Scott said he'd go, like no hesitation. Plus, mom had just died, so, I—what the hell was I supposed to do? I had to go. I would have followed them anywhere."

Reyes nodded. She could just see the bottom of his chin, the edge of his sympathy. "When I got in the cryo pod, I thought maybe I'd never wake up," she admitted. "I guess lots of people did. Some of them were right. Even then, I followed them."

"I'd say it worked out okay," Reyes said. Her shoulder twitched, rather than shrugged.

"Yeah. I guess." Her dad was dead. Ryder swallowed. "I can't really remember it, honestly. Before. Do you ever feel that way? We haven't even been in Andromeda that long but sometimes…sometimes I wonder if the person I was before just disappeared when I became the Pathfinder. I know that sounds dramatic. Sorry. I didn't mean to be such a bummer."

She couldn't look at him. She'd felt less exposed with his head between her thighs, and she could feel him now as he watched her, the weight of his gaze, the way he saw everything. She wanted to evaporate.

His hand curled around hers, pulling. She let herself hide against him, let him pull her upright. He twirled her slowly around, and when she was at last brave enough to face him, the look on his face was almost gentle.

"Do you remember the first time we did this?" he asked. She rested her cheek on his shoulder as they drifted, now hardly moving. She felt heavy, her body handing loosely from its spine as she swayed with him, puppet-like. Back and forth and back, hypnotic, the swing that was used to put babies to sleep.

"Of course I remember," Ryder murmured. "Why did you think I could forget?"

He held her back, her hip. Not enough. "You're a busy woman. I would never be so arrogant."

"Shut up," Ryder grumbled. They held each other, still gently moving, and she breathed carefully, trying to pull out the smell of his neck. "I thought you were kind of corny." She admitted. "It made me let my guard down. But then I wondered if maybe that was the point, if it was a feint."

"Why, because I did the things you wanted?"

Ryder narrowed her eyes. "Exactly."

Reyes laughed. There was a longer pause than Ryder expected, one full of his indecision. Finally, he said, "It's true. I was corny. I wanted to try being different."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," he sighed. He pulled her hair tie, dragged it loose. He considered her, for so long she began to blush. "Maybe I should say this makes you look softer. But you know, it doesn't. You're still the same." He brushed a few strands behind her ear. She hadn't known they could feel so sensitive, so nervous. She had thought that she'd feel differently about him once they'd had sex, but that wasn't true. She still didn't know him at all.

"You're always talking about being different. About changing," Ryder noted. She asked, knowing he wouldn't tell her, "Why?"

Sometimes, his eyes looked green. They did now. His head bent, and he kissed her. She would never get used to him. She kissed him back, trying to soak her way inside. She could feel herself coming up short, tripping over some hidden wire. She couldn't tell who or what was responsible anymore, who was to blame, she could only keep trying to force her way through.

"It's because I hate the idea of destiny," he whispered in her ear. "Because if that's true, then what's the fucking point? Why are we even alive? My life was supposed to be something very different. You, too. We became different people, when we came to Andromeda. Nothing was certain. Everything could be chosen. And I want you to choose me, a person you should never have met. Choose me anyway."

Her world, in that second, became they point of a dreidel. The universe could only spin around them, and he was right there at her center, unmoving. Ryder swallowed, her lips parting, because even as her head became perfectly empty, even as something unnamed shook within her, she knew that she had to—she had to say something—

His hand covered her mouth, catching the little noise she had started to make. Reyes was looking down at her, with an unyielding intensity. "Or don't. But stop trying to see the future. Stop believing that there's only one outcome. It'll be okay. And more than that, I don't want to see you hurt like that again. Trust me. We'll find a way. Trust me."

He didn't lower his hand. His palm was warm, a little chapped. He wouldn't let go until she nodded. She didn't want him to let go at all.

She nodded.