Notice: This is part of the update meant here to fold chapters from the sequel into a single story here.

I wish there was a way to go about this discreetly and then write a note at the beginning of the next new chapter for you to read, but regrettably, there is not. Please excuse the brazenness.

Skepsis system — Sigurd's Cradle cluster

The asari pilot and navigator noted their current course, made a slight correction, and informed: "Commander Javik, we are now approaching Keimowitz."

"Good." The prothean looked across the bridge of his brand new ship. Officially, the Vow of Reprisal did not exist. A salarian dalatrass had been among the first to back his initiative to reforge the Compact after the battle of the Citadel, her auspices enabling him to set up a clandestine shipyard in the utmost secrecy where this frigate had been assembled. And secrecy served this ship in good stead, because it was arcane in design, and arguably magical in its capabilities. It boasted unique particle beam-based weaponry, the latest in active and passive stealth, and the most advanced shielding system ever to be installed on a ship: an exquisite triple-layered design that elegantly fused mass effect-based deflectors, hardlight screens and particle barriers into a defense with an answer for literally every contingency.

Each and every one of the crews he had handpicked, interviewed, investigated — and, most importantly, thoroughly probed without their knowledge by means of psychometry. He knew them better than they knew themselves. Some of them had secret allegiances but he had nevertheless selected them, knowing he could use said affairs as tools or cudgels if the need arose.

Orbak, the former batarian External Forces operative, stood next to him. "If you'll excuse me," he asked curtly, "what is it that we hope to find here?"

"We do not know." Javik crossed his arms. "All that survived the Reapers were the logs of some prospective sites. What the Inusannon were doing here is what we come to ascertain."

The frigate circled slowly around the planet. As the sensor suite mapped its surface, icons popped up on the hologram projected in the center of the CIC.

"No settlements, but several robotic mining outposts," was the report of the salarian intelligence officer. "Nobody lives here. Heavy gravity and extreme cold militate against that."

The prothean nodded curtly. "That will play in our favor." The file open in the datapad on his hands was in the incomprehensible prothean cipher, and even if he was sure no one could read a word of that, he had taken extra precautions and further encoded it for the utmost security.

And secure it had to be. There was some truth in the dossiers he had given to the Spectres. Many of the locations detailed there were genuine — if not the most promising ones. Data on the sites likely to yield useful findings he had kept to himself, and it was that data he was reading as he studied the hologram, looking for clues into the place his fellow protheans had found…

Without warning he turned around and walked towards the elevator. "I am going planetside. Nihaya, stay in orbit but out of sight. Do not let anything come within sensor range. Orbak, you are coming with me. Mornela and Tanaka, get suited up and ready to go."

Nos Astra — Illium

"Yes, I know her," the turian behind the counter nodded. "What's she gotten herself into this time?"

Shilyna T'Perro was laconic. "She's dead."

The turian bartender took a step backwards, clearly stung by the news. He then held a hand to his face. "I told her she would end up like that, but she wouldn't listen."

"We heard she was a regular here. What can you tell me about her?"

They had already ascertained the identity of Liara's attacker: she had been one Paenea Sullus, a spacer hailing from the fringes of Hierarchy territory. Now they were trying to retrace her steps and figure out who had contracted her out for the attempt on T'Soni.

It seemed that she had been dear to the bartender of this seedy pub near Grove Alley —the unofficial neutral ground for mercenaries in Nos Astra—, as the man was visibly grief-stricken. "Paenea… she was lively, that much I can tell you. Got herself kicked out of the Blue Suns after beating a superior to pulp, then did random gigs for Eclipse. Shady stuff. She also tried to break into the Hallex trade, but didn't grow into much of a player… got herself a small list of select clients, though. Word was that she was reliable." He shook his head. "As long as the pay was good, she was up for it. Too much of a risk taker… I guess that finally caught up with her. Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"What happened to her?"

A scowl. "She went after the wrong mark."

The bartender gawked at her. "She took a contract job on someone?" A snort, then he shook his head again. "Never heard of her doing that, but I'm not surprised."

T'Perro nodded absentmindedly, hating this whole mess. Owing to her simultaneous status of Justicar and Spectre, she had agreed to remain on Illium and investigate what had become of T'Soni, who had vanished as if the earth had opened up and swallowed her, while the rest of the Compact inspected Minamo and Ferris Fields in search of clues that could help them figure out what had happened to the colonists.

But it was grunt work. Her training and discipline held her irritation in check, but only so far, and every five to ten minutes she had to remind herself that this was important. But it was not enough to shake off the thoughts that nagged her, hovering at the edge of her conscious mind: much, much bigger things were happening somewhere else while she played detective here.

Especially where Javik was concerned. The prothean had not taken part on the trip to the former human colonies, curtly announcing instead that he had matters to look into before departing.

"Anyone you can think of who could tell me more about her?"

The bartender gestured with his head at the patrons. Many of them observed the exchange discreetly but warily. "You should ask around. She had business with some of the people here, but insofar as I know, it was just that, business."

A grunt. "Thanks for your time."

An hour or so later, she left the bar with a weary and baleful look etched on her face. Her dull red Justicar outfit, with its distinctive tiara and low neckline, communicated loudly and clearly that this asari meant business and that she had all the power and authority she needed to beat the crap out of someone with their own spine if they tried to fuck her over —and right now she was in foul enough a mood to hope someone gave her a reason—, but unfortunately it did not guarantee getting good intel. Sullus indeed had had business dealings with seven of the people there — smuggling mostly, always dangerous goods. All leads to pursue, but rather poor ones at that if her gut, honed by centuries of experience, was correct, unless there was an unexpected—

"Justicar T'Perro."

—twist of fate.

She turned around and saw Tela Vasir.

"You." Shilyna regarded her former colleague angrily, but Vasir's face did not change in the slightest. "What do you want?"

"I'm looking into the same matter that concerns you."

The Spectre clenched her fists. "Stay the hell away from this. I don't need a traitor snooping around."

Vasir ignored that, and started tapping her omni-tool instead. "I got some details you don't have. I can share them with you, but first I was asked to pass on a message to you."

T'Perro did not bother to conceal the hatred in her glare before opening the note the fallen Spectre had sent her.

She read it, frowned, then read it again. Sombra had tapped into part of the Shadow Broker's network and gathered enough facts to ascertain that the mysterious information dealer not only had not been responsible for putting the contract out on T'Soni, but was also investigating the incident.

She wondered why Sombra had bothered to send Vasir in person to communicate this, but immediately reasoned that no precaution was too much when the Shadow Broker was involved.

A reluctant nod. "Fine." She took a look around, wary of any potential eavesdroppers, then she grabbed Vasir by the arm. "Not here."

A minute later they were on one of the busy skylanes of Nos Astra. Neither asari spoke a word. In part it was out of precaution —leaving a vehicle unattended for just a minute was enough for anyone to bug it—, but mostly it boiled down simply to antipathy. The rough T'Perro, alive for almost eleven and a half centuries, knew the vagaries of life as both Justicar and Spectre inside out. Rarely situations were clear-cut, and the five thousand sutras of the Code, while apparently thorough and inflexible to the layman, could not predict everything, and a Justicar was expected to use good judgment to find her way.

Still, as a Spectre, that had translated into being one of the harshest and most unforgiving members ever to be invested. Hence her hatred of Vasir — with her betrayal, she had soiled not just her name, but also her office and her race.

The fallen Spectre, of course, was aware of this all, and took it stoically.

At the main Nos Astra starport, T'Perro parked her hovercar next to an annex closed to the general public. A pair of turian guards, very alert, regarded them thoroughly, but did not stop them as they walked into the building. Once inside, the Justicar led her into a small office that clearly was an interrogation room of some kind, and secured the door behind her.

"This is as secure as it's going to get in this city. Now spit it."

Vasir acquiesced. So far, everything had unfolded as Sombra had told her it would. "The Shadow Broker had an agent inside T'Soni's flat."

T'Perro's eyes narrowed. "The receptionist."

"Her name is Nyxeris. It was she who let Sullus in. Then she walked out, hopped into her car, drove herself to the nearest transit station and took a ship off planet."

Again a nod, but a troubled one now. "That she was an agent for the Broker is news." Then she frowned. "Why's that bastard 'investigating' this then? It was his goon that set this up."

Vasir leaned against a wall, her eyes not veering off Shilyna's. "My handler didn't say," she admitted, "but maybe it's because someone used Nyxeris pretending to be him. Consider it an 'educated guess.'"

A groan. "So he can't keep tabs on his assets. Some information broker." T'Perro then dwelt on this for a few moments, thinking. That bitch is in for a nasty surprise when she reports to the Broker and finds out she's been had.

Vasir read her thoughts. "If I'm allowed another educated guess—" that got her an annoyed glare from T'Perro but little else "—probably the Broker is looking into this because Nyxeris has already reported in."

"Probably." The Spectre kept her icy glare on Vasir. "So, unless you have clues on this bitch's whereabouts… or any ideas on who manipulated her…"

"A loose end." A few further tappings on Vasir's omni-tool sent T'Perro another message, this time with an enclosed file. She opened it, scanned it—

Rana Thanoptis…

"Goddess." The ancient Spectre let out a long, angry sigh. "A loose end indeed… But why? And how did she suborn an agent of the Broker? Last time I read about her she was an egghead that had spent her life in a lab." Her glare grew even colder. "And why the generosity? Your 'handler' doesn't do freebies."

Vasir sat on one of the cheap chairs. "No, she doesn't. She thinks I'm going to need muscle and she knows you're looking into this too."

Business. A dry nod. That was something she could manage better than following breadcrumbs.

But, Vasir, needing muscle? Shilyna frowned. "What's it that you're going to need help with? You're no pushover."

Blackburn-Lawson residence — Anhur

"Hello, Oriana," her guardian welcomed her home as she opened the door. "I recall you were going to have the work you've done so far on your thesis reviewed today. How did it go?"

Inwardly, the tall brunette rolled her eyes. Here we go again.

"Professor Welz pointed out a few things that need improvement. He said it's a normal milestone to encounter those issues and they're a sign of good progress."

"That's not good." Selina Blackburn stared at Oriana. "Settling for anything less than perfect results is a waste of your potential."

Oriana returned the stare with her own irate glare. "He didn't say there was something wrong. And I don't deserve that comment for just a small suggestion. I've been getting perfect results on all my tests and assessments for years."

"And that's what's expected from you. You have the talents and the smarts it takes."

A tiny bit of frustration escaped Oriana's tight self-control. "It's easy to say it."

Selina was unmoved. "I understand you feel you have it hard. But think of all the people that don't have the advantages you got. Your job is to graduate with the best score. Mine is to see that you have everything that can help you with that. That's why I manage your car, your security detail, your wardrobe."

"And as I'm privileged I should be grateful and strive to make the best out of it."

"Yes, you should." Her guardian ignored the sarcasm. A spark of warmth lit her violet eyes. "A day will come when you will look back and ponder what could have happened if you had gone astray."

Oriana Lawson was not swayed. "A day could also come when you do the same and wonder where did you go astray." With resounding steps she walked into the house and towards the stairs, denying Selina the chance to issue a rebuttal. She was tired — not because of the demands her intense routine placed on her. It was the constant oversight on her tutor's part.

Another Lawson sat alone in the darkened living room of the flat she had selected as her vantage point, observing how the scene unfolded from two hundred meters away. All lights were turned off and the window blinds fully open, making her impossible to spot from the outside. Her acute eyes followed both women intently on her binoculars until the front door closed.

It was the same with me, Miranda thought quietly. There had been a few differences, of course. Instead of a woman, her own guardian had been a man, as thoroughly professional and distant as his other duties as head of her security detail had demanded. Instead of a house, she had had a whole floor to herself, if one in a similarly upscale neighborhood.

But the trappings of an invisible gilded cage had been apparent to her all the same. Oriana rated her own security detail as well, and the operatives were smart, alert and observant — but however skilled their efforts at blending with their surroundings, they could not fool her. Not even those boasting active camouflage. That rendered them near-invisible to the human eye, but not to her eyes.

She did not need to consciously make a count and so get distracted from her meticulous observation. Back in the day, Miranda's own detail had consisted of twenty-five agents, about half of which she had known personally, and the remainder she had eventually learned to tell apart from other people — passersby, cops, teachers, fellow students even. Chafing from the stringent environment in which she was growing up, as a teenager she had begun fantasizing with escaping from them all, and as she matured those vague what-ifs had blossomed into a full-fledged plan, parts of which she had carefully and successfully put to test —always causing her minders to frantically look around for her—, but she had never set the whole plan in motion.

Now she would. It would require a few adjustments to accommodate for the place and the target. Of course, a point of contention was whether her sister would be cooperative — but what she had overheard sounded promising. Quite likely, given her body language and voice tone, Oriana had also entertained the same kind of speculations Miranda had once dabbled into.

Her sister's own busy schedule was the real problem. She did not have any more lectures to attend at the New Thebes University, but still she spent a lot of time there working on her thesis on environmental engineering. Then there were many extracurricular activities, ranging from the public to the very private. Oriana, like Miranda herself, had been bred as a vehicle for the realization of their father's wishes, and she had to be absolutely perfect at everything — whether she was a cultural ambassador to Citadel citizens considering to move into Alliance space, an advanced practitioner of the Akban and Systema combat styles, a very, very secret biotics student under an asari master or an incipient supermodel, she had to be second to none.

The door to her flat opened. The soft footsteps told her who it was without her having to turn around.

There was no announcement on part of the newcomer either, just a tablet computer that suddenly appeared out of nowhere on top of the night stand by the window. Miranda took it and started scanning it. "Give me the specifics."

Her visitor uncloaked. It was a drell, somberly dressed in dark tones. "The security detail is thorough," he began. "The commander in charge is very expert." His voice took on a mechanical cadence. "Two guards openly in view. Half a dozen agents posing as fellow students: four male, two female. Two more as instructors, professors D'Amico and Welz. A dozen more distributed on the metro station underneath college grounds, disguised as shopkeepers, operators or policemen. Three sharpshooter teams detailed on the roofs of nearby buildings, overlapping lines of sight and fields of fire. Surveillance drones in support, sweeping through college grounds three times a day at random."

Lawson acknowledged him with a nod. So far, this Thane Krios was living up to his reputation. Sombra's advice on the matter had been sound indeed.

The drell looked out the window. "I could assist if I had the details of what you're planning."

"Other than that I intend to extract her, there is no plan yet," Miranda replied as she read his report in detail. He was good. He had identified more blind spots in the security arrayed around Oriana, all the while evading detection himself.

Thane had already surmised this. He did not waste his breath pointing out that quick exfiltration was not a possibility here. He suggested instead: "If your target is cooperative, I would plan for a getaway through the subway station."

"I've considered it myself." It was a given that the opposition would be watching the metro station closely. Keeping track of someone there, given the amount of traffic passing through it, would be no easy task.

But the most thorough plan could be totally derailed if she had misread her sister and she turned out not to be cooperative.

I have to find out first…

The drell read her thoughts. "You're considering to contact the subject."

Krios' tone was the detached and clinical one she had come to expect from him, except for an almost imperceptible shade of disapproval anyone else would have missed. "I don't like it either, but I must know if she will agree to the extraction."

"Then send me in to do it. Your face is known to your opponents."

But how will she react if a drell comes out of the blue and speaks to her? Unlike the Council races, the drell were relatively obscure. They were few in number, and had no worlds or colonies to call their own. Such an episode would trigger both caution and curiosity in Miranda were it to happen to her, but using her own experiences to measure the likely responses of her sister's was a bad call in any case.

And it went without saying that if anyone saw her face in Anhur, Oriana would vanish.

"We'll do it your way," she agreed reluctantly at last. "I'll run mission control."

Krios nodded his acquiescence. "When?"

Miranda did not answer immediately. Over the last ten days they had built a painstakingly detailed schedule of the activities of everyone involved — Oriana, her guardian, the security detail around them.

And other notable people in her sister's life.

Unlike her elder sister, Oriana had a few choice friends.

The late Shepard's words returned to question her resolve. The colonel had piercingly asked what would happen if she had just a normal life and she was just a normal girl. While it had turned out not to be entirely spot on, it was not entirely off the mark either. Oriana had affections, relations. Those would weigh on her sister's conscience at the time of choosing whether to go or to stay, if it came to that.

Plus, it implied renouncing her ties to Cerberus. Following the battle for the Citadel she had used those to disappear, but returning to the fold had not been easy. She had seen things during her stint on Starwatch that had given new strength to an increasingly assertive conscience.

Going ahead with her plans now would not be a declaration of war, but close enough.

She breathed in and out deeply without putting down the binoculars. It had almost been a year since she had discovered the secrets behind her own creation. She had then committed herself then to the cause of setting any siblings she could have free — and of exacting revenge on her father by tearing apart his egomaniacal eugenics program.

Cerberus was not going to stop her from realizing her plans.

"Tomorrow."

Freeport 74

Lacroix opened the message that had just arrived on her desktop terminal. It was short, concise and to the point.

She read it slowly, word by word, trying to divine the intent behind the sender.

Then she stood up and walked into the living room of their flat. There, Tracer knelt on a yoga mat, nude as she usually was. She had just finished her exercise routine and perspiration covered her, her breathing agitated. Her eyes followed the three golden spheres that Zenyatta had sent her via Shimada Hiroshi, son to Hanzo and nephew to her late friend and fellow legend Genji.

"Liara T'Soni has been abducted," Amélie said without preamble.

Lena did not answer at first. Since Hiroshi had visited them, she had dedicated many hours to meditation and thought, an intense physical training regime helping her yank her mind out of the abyss of despondency where she had wallowed after the battle of the Citadel, and putting it in a more disciplined state that had allowed the healing to finally begin.

Hours upon hours she had dwelt upon Zenyatta's words, back in the day of her last enjoyable social visit before Sovereign's attack upon Elysium.

Do not be so strong, Lena.

Then there had been the harsh admonishment on part of the late Shepard.

You want to keep your soul? Open it up to others. Let us help you shoulder your pain. The moment you start pushing people away, you'll have lost.

That Shepard had sacrificed her life to defeat Sovereign and Reaper had brightly burned at first, but then it had become something worse.

Except for surrendering herself to Amélie's care, she had done exactly what Shepard had warned her not to do.

It could hardly be called a dalliance, much less a relationship. It could not even be said that something had 'blossomed' between her and her erstwhile nemesis. Amélie had been butchered into a caricature of a person, and having to tend to someone as broken as her —albeit in a different way— had allowed a real person to start growing again in her.

She did not even regard her as Widowmaker anymore. That sinister moniker was not yet a thing of the past — Lacroix had learned to deal with that trauma by purposefully cultivating what psychologists had once described as dissociative identity disorder. Widowmaker was the assassin, the ruthlessly precise sniper to whom anything on the other side of a scope was either a target or not a target. Amélie Lacroix was the human, the girl, the ballet dancer, the grieving widow, the lover.

As the human had fought the murderess tooth and nail for Amélie's soul, Lena had seen how Lacroix grew a reserve of moral courage. And she had been humbled by it.

Pain was to Amélie a reminder of her humanity, a welcome sign of still having a soul. She was not afraid of it.

Lena was.

She feared what would happen if Lacroix, too, vanished.

It was a very difficult balancing act, what she had to do. Open up too much, and she risked turning people into emotional crutches. Open up too little, and what was left of herself would be lost to despondency and emptiness.

Which could end up being her fate anyway if her crutches met untimely ends.

There was no logical way around it.

Then, she had eventually discovered, she had to appeal to other tools.

She had to trust things would turn out well, even if she did not see how.

She had to have faith.

To the beyond cynic she had become, that was an almost insurmountable undertaking.

What is faith? Zenyatta had once asked her rhetorically.

It is not, as many claim, belief in deities. Or mythical figures. Or prophets. Or gurus.

To have faith, Lena, you have to surrender yourself to the forces beyond your grasp.

You must accept that there are things you cannot control.

You must stop worrying about the 'how'. 'How' will 'it' happen. 'How' can 'I' help make 'it' happen. That must become irrelevant to you.

You have to trust the Universe will see about the 'how' and take care of the 'it' on its own.

That is what faith is. No more. No less.

For a while now those thoughts had danced on her mind.

Maybe it was now time for the dance to continue without her to watch over it.

"Illium?"

Amélie spotted a spark in Tracer's eyes. She nodded.

Slowly Lena stood up. She did not feel any weights tumbling off her shoulders. Not yet.

Maybe that would come when she was not looking.

"We should look into it."

Author's note: as usual, my proofreaders, brokenLifeCycle and kyro2001 deserve kudos for putting up with me. Thanks a lot, guys!