This world was the ultimate jungle paradise. Thick trees rolled high over the mountaintops and swept into low valleys where deep, blue lakes spotted the scenery. The skies were a warm, rich blue that was partially cloudy; which would sometimes block the sun's rays every so often for soft moments of crisp, refreshing coolness. And the sounds of the jungle and its inhabitants echoed and bounced off the canopies, making an orchestra of pleasant, natural music.

It was peaceful.

But Tali wasn't feeling any of it.

Only the soles of her boots were exposed from the underbrush as she lay cooped up underneath the ship, working with the ship's electrical wires. Or trying to, at least.

She couldn't seem to make heads or tails of it, and it was difficult to say whether it was because the ship had atrocious cable management, or if it was because she was having a momentary lapse in her engineering skills due to her thoughts running like a rampant krogan, never staying in one place for more than a mere second.

As commonly known as 'The Normandy's Best Engineer,' she likely would've picked the former to spare her pride. But as perhaps the most selfless creature on board and therefore did not care for such things, she had to admit that it was most likely the latter.

Still, the former made for a much easier conversation with herself as she tried to unplug one of the cables, where some bosh'tet decided to make the plug as large as the space it went into, making it near impossible to tug out of its socket.

I shouldn't complain about the people who built a cutting-edge frigate, but to whoever put this here…what were you thinking?! How did you manage to plug this thing in the first place? Damned Cerberus!

The reminder of the human terrorist organization sent her mind rushing furiously, following an imperiled train of thought that included their monstrous involvement in the war back in known space, and how they included secret monitoring devices on the Normandy back when they were fighting the Collectors. And linking it to the topic of secrets in general—she now realized there might be a third reason for her underlying frustration.

Perhaps it stemmed from her observation that nobody seemed willing to talk to her. Not in that they were giving her some sort of silent treatment, but in the way that they would keep deflecting her questions, even simple ones. It was strange, nobody seemed to want to hold a conversation, and those who did kept it brief and kept their gazes averted. She wore a mask, it shouldn't be that hard to look at her. Hell, even Garrus of all people was acting a little strange.

How come nobody is happy that the war is over?

For the most part, she assumed that getting stranded on an unknown world would put a dampener on their success, but she didn't expect the rest of the crew to be taking it this hard. Just give it a couple of days, maybe a week or two, and she could get this ship functioning well enough to get off the ground and they can start heading home. All this led her to question if there was something else they weren't telling her.

Are we further from known space than we expected? Why…why did we jump to FTL in the first place?

It obviously was due to the strange energy, like an electromagnetic pulse, ripping through the ship's electrical systems. That much was as visible as the dirt on her suit. But something was off, there had to be something else, something that she needed a change of perspective on.

What is it? she thought with a frustrated sneeze.

Annoyed, she gave up on trying to surgically remove the plug and immediately went for a weighty, sharp rock nearby. Banging noises resounded as she whacked at the space just above the plug, hoping that it would put a large enough dent in the plastic to remove it. It was a considerable risk, so she still held some amount of precise restraint to avoid breaking anything important.

Though, at this moment, she would very much like to just start hitting something wildly without consequence.

The plastic suddenly snapped and gave way, beckoning a sigh of relief from her as it allowed her to pull the plug from its socket with zero resistance. However, to her dismay, she did not find the source of the problem. The socket was still screwed in and blocking access to the electrical systems, causing her to follow up her sigh of relief with an immediate low growl of irritation.

She's been trying to figure out how to get this system back online for the past day; and with each obstacle encountered, she missed EDI more and more. Having the A.I. around would make things so much easier so she didn't have to scramble in the dirt to manually find the problems herself.

The corners of her mouth twisted in embarrassment as she thought of how spoiled that sounded. Actually, now that she was thinking about it, she was beginning to recognize just how much her attitude had changed in the previous years. Back on the first Normandy, before EDI, she would do this same thing, and feel excited. Engineering was her passion—is her passion. Solving problems with the ship was the little thing that she enjoyed, and now she's catching herself despising it.

I…I've grown soft, she thought, ashamed of herself.

Despite her collection of sour thoughts, she found herself growing more appreciative of EDI once again. Joker was still shaken by the event, more than what she expected of him. But then again, when she thought back to what she saw of EDI's body, slumped over like that in the cockpit, she understood completely. Like back on Rannoch, with that metal chassis still laying forward in the sand—

No…she wouldn't think of that. She would understand Joker in a…different way. She understood him because…she too, was also missing someone she loved. Shepard was so far away. But at least for her, that massive seizing heartache in her chest was manageable, at least for the time being.

She missed him.

Keelah, terribly…

Don't worry Joker, EDI's only offline. I'll get her fixed up once I'm done with this.

With renewed strength, Tali returned her focus back to her rather difficult and very stress-inducing work. A cough erupted from her, followed closely by a stabbing headache. That renewed strength did not last very long.

Without averting her gaze, she held her hand out backward, fingers begging for something.

"Hey, Ken, can you hand me the small screwdriver in the large pocket on the right side of my tool bag, please?"

The response came in the form of a single, loud metallic knock and a ruffle of scorched, crunchy leaves.

"Aye, sure thing, Tali. Though I suggest you go easy on the ol' girl. We don't need 'er more broken than she already is, don'tcha think?" he said over the clinking of tools.

Tali received another stab of a headache, causing her to grit her teeth and snarl, "I'm sure I know perfectly well what I'm doing, thank you."

"Oi!" Ken exclaimed. "Who soiled your breakfast?"

"Ken, for the love of the Ancestors, if you don't hand me the stupid wrench—"

"Screwdriver."

"—Screwdriver! Then I won't hesitate to go grab my shotgun!"

"Why do you have to go and threaten everyone with a shotgun?"

"Because I'm sick! And I'm sick and tired of idiots messing with everything! I'm—" she cut herself off to caress the forefront of her mask as another stabbing headache caused her mind to boil. She let out a sniffle.

She hated that she didn't take Doctor Chakwas's advice to rest, she hated being stranded on an unknown planet, she hated that no one would give her answers, and she absolutely hated not being near Shepard.

She also hated the fact that it was up to her to fix it, and each of those problems had varying levels of priority that confused her as to which one to fix first. All she knew is that the crew needed her to get the ship fixed so that they all wouldn't die on this jungle planet, and that meant working, even if she wasn't at a hundred percent physically or mentally.

Good thing Doctor Chakwas isn't out here to scold me…or Garrus.

"Okay, jeez…is this the screwdriver you wanted?"

Tali turned to see Kenneth completely covered from head to toe in grease, with his darker red hair now messy and caked with black. Despite her sore outburst, she found herself having to stifle a giggle. She even found even more comedic in the way he contrasted with the pristine silver screwdriver in his hand—which she extended her reach for when she confirmed it to be the one she needed.

"Yeah, give it here."

The screwdriver flew through the air and landed neatly and perfectly in her hand. She noted her partner's skill and immediately got back to work on unscrewing the socket. Kenneth too returned to his work in a more quiet manner, leaving Tali with another emotional whiplash of gnawing guilt.

I shouldn't have gotten angry at him like that.

She looked for ways to break the silence as minutes and screws began to fill her pockets. The outlet, now loosened, plopped onto her chest and she immediately found the problem. Inside the latest hole in the ship was a small oval-shaped object covered in silver metal plates. It was hooked up to some wires and angrily blinking red.

Capacitor lockup.

"So, how are you and Gabby doing?" Tali asked awkwardly as she unfolded the metal plates to the capacitor. Her fingers snaked inside and met a tiny latch. With a firm tug, something snapped into place.

"Ah, yes," Kenneth grunted over a loud knock. "We're actually doing rather swell, but we're still yet to see how our ship sails."

Tali responded with a casual sound of acknowledgment as she removed her fingers from the capacitor. The metal plates automatically folded back over, and the little object stretched itself into a more rectangular shape. The constant blinking red light was soon replaced with a steady, solid green.

System online.

The silence that ensued felt awkward as the conversation died before it could start. Not knowing how to continue, she returned her focus to the capacitor and began readjusting its place in the socket, then worked on screwing the outlet back in.

"Er, look, Tali…I'm sorry for pushing your buttons," Kenneth piped up, saving them both from the uncomforting quiet.

Tali replugged the cord back into the outlet and twisted in her spot in the underbrush, looking for the metal shell panel of the ship that she had removed earlier.

"Ken, if anyone should be apologizing, it's me. I shouldn't have snapped at you," she replied as she hefted the metal shell and fitted it over the exposed inner workings of the Normandy. She watched it slowly sink into the rest of the Normandy's hull.

"I know…But it was my fault for antagonizing you in the first place. I know you're having a bit of a hard time right now."

Confused, Tali tugged herself out from underneath the ship. She stood up and looked over to her engineering partner, who was similarly sprawled on his back and hidden by the tall grass.

"A hard time with what?" she asked, a hidden eyebrow perked in curiosity.

It seemed that it was Kenneth's turn to be confused as he craned his neck and poked his head through the plant growth, a visible eyebrow raised of his own.

"Er…you know…um…you know?" he said slowly, reluctantly.

Tali shook her head.

"About…about uh…the Citadel…blowing up?"

Wait, what?

"Why would—?"

Why would I have a hard time with the Citadel "blowing up?"

Her body went numb. She didn't quite know how to take the news. Of course, it was easy to link the Citadel Crucible with the massive EMP blast. She had been wondering how the rest of the fleet fared after Shepard fired it.

No, don't…John did what he had to do, to end the reapers. We'll talk about it when we get back—

—but the Citadel blew up.

Her mind was blank but the thoughts were at her doorstep, waiting. She could see them. It made her headache worse and her fever ran cold. The mix of both anger and fear seeped into her crawling skin, but she couldn't feel herself. She felt…disconnected.

Why would the Citadel getting destroyed be the reason why nobody was talking to me?

Her mind was now out of her body, seized by an uncertain rage. She couldn't feel herself move, but she felt the power to carry herself from one side of the galaxy to the other without breaking a single drop of sweat. Although she wasn't actively commanding her feet to move, she saw her point of view get carried up the pile of boulders to the Normandy's airlock. Her arms numbly reached forward and opened the doors.

"Ay? Tali? Where are you going?"

Why wouldn't anyone tell me what had happened?!

All the thoughts in her head asked that same angry question over and over, sometimes with words changed or rearranged. She could've asked Kenneth those questions, but she found herself wanting to hear the answers from a certain pilot, or turian, much more.

She registered the tug of air reverberating through her suit as the airlock closed behind her. Her legs moved forward, unfeeling, like mechanical machines they carried her to the bridge. It would seem that luck had favored her today as she found both the pilot and the turian in the cockpit. She couldn't see the pilot, but the turian was hunched over his seat, and she could hear the both of them whispering.

The sound of her boots entering caused them to promptly stop. The turian raised his head and the pilot swiveled in his seat. They looked over at her, and their eyes widened at the sight of their quarian visitor. Almost innately, her legs extended to take an aggressive stance, making it very clear that she was not at all happy.

The turian and the human were reluctant to speak, casting the room with a few moments of a haunting, anticipating silence. They exchanged glances, sharing unreadable expressions, then looked back at her.

The turian then grunted. He would be the first to speak.

"Tali, uh, we actually just wanted to speak with you."

She didn't know what she expected from her response. She even surprised herself as the sickness, the stress, and the fear came to expose themselves in her voice. She was hurt, and it caused her to break.

"Yeah?! Well?! You have me now!" her voice cracked. "But you bosh'tets are first going to answer me!"

Joker and Garrus echoed her surprise as fear plastered onto their faces. She felt disconnected, and shocked, as her words were fuelled and controlled by her emotions. She never cursed lightly, and never at her friends. But she did not dare to let herself care about that now. She needed those answers, even if she was afraid those answers were going to break her worse than she could imagine. She could already feel the core of her stomach begin to twist and turn in rageful protest.

She needed to know. She did. So she let her questions drop from behind her shaky teeth.

"Where are we?" she croaked. "Why did we jump to FTL? What happened? Nobody wants to tell me anything and I have Kenneth outside just now telling me that the Citadel got destroyed!"

The volume of her words raised as she continued to speak them. Fearful sobs threatened to grip her as her sense of disconnect began to wane as she waited for her answers. Instead, all she heard was the two of them uncomfortably groaning, infuriating her to no end.

She hated the waiting.

"What happened?" she asked again more forcefully. Still, the two of them kept silent, exchanging cautious glances.

"WHAT…HAPPENED?!"

Her words were followed by a coughing fit. The cockpit began to swim slightly in her vision and her lungs started to ache. Through the moment of haze, she saw Garrus clear his throat and raise a hand to her shoulder.

"Tali—"

"No, don't do that," she quaked. Her voice fell hard and she shrugged off his hand.

To say she was pissed off was an understatement. Her first finger twitched and she could already imagine their faces paling as they looked back at her from the other side of a barrel. Of course, she would never actually shoot her friends, but how cathartic it would be to see them squirm and cower a little, just to teach them a lesson.

But then she thought about that anger again with Kenneth, and that fleeting, millisecond thought suddenly made her feel somehow sicker. The pain had outweighed her anger, and that anger turned more bitter.

"What…happened?" she whispered, lacing her words with a venom that promised a chilling wrath if she had to ask again.

Garrus cleared his throat once more, trying to regain a hold of himself.

"Well—well, uh," he stammered, refusing to meet the quarian's hidden, furious eyes. "Um…Spirits, how do I—damn it."

Garrus blinked rapidly, and by a quick trick of the light, Tali thought she caught his eyes being more reflective than usual.

"The reason why we jumped faster-than-light was because the Crucible had fired some sort of damned EMP from hell."

Both Tali and Garrus were surprised as Joker's voice rang true and nonchalantly. The two looked at him, his fists near strangling the armrests of his seat as he stared steely up at them. The rest of his body shook.

"I tried to run away from it. It caught us. I failed. That's why…EDI is gone. That's why we are marooned on an unknown planet in uncharted space and are probably going to die slowly. So if you're going to blame anyone, blame me because I couldn't outrun a giant orange ball that tore apart the Citadel."

Tali's eyes slammed shut and her heart beat faster. Her hand impulsively shot to the front of her mask, just in the place in front of her mouth. She had only seen Joker blame himself like this once before a few years ago. After the first Normandy.

Her mouth was foreign to her as it spoke through the empty space between her chin and the mix of rugged metal and rubber and electronics that was the lower half of her helmet.

"How come nobody one wanted to tell me about this?"

Her eyes opened slowly, her hand still over her mask. All of them were showing discomfort. Joker with the sweat that was starting to pool on his forehead, and Garrus's uncharacteristic lack of words.

To substitute the turian's unwillingness to answer via verbal communication, he instead turned to the copilot's seat and reached down to grab something. What he retrieved was something long and covered in dark fabric, fitting squarely into one of his hands. He brought it up slowly, and with his other hand, he tapped underneath the elbow of Tali's arm, inviting her to let go of her mask.

She followed, and both her arms met at her sides with hands extended outwards. Garrus planted the object into both, then tucked it into her grasp. The turian made a somber grunt.

"Because of this."

Tali looked down numbly at the thing in her hands.

"Let's give her the cockpit, Joker," Garrus said, to which the pilot agreed quickly. Tali listened as the turian helped the human out of his seat, and before leaving, she felt his three-digit grip on her shoulder. She didn't respond.

"Meet us on the crew deck in an hour."

Garrus's heavy footsteps then started to fade, but she could tell that Joker was still with her.

"I…I am sorry, Tali. I—"

He made a defeated sigh, and then it was his turn for his hobbling footsteps to fade.

The whole time she stared hard at the mystery object still in her hands. She had an idea as to what it was, but she didn't want to pursue the thought. She wanted to know, and here was her answer. And yet, she could only find herself thumbing the fabric while the corner of her mouth quivered.

What was there for her to do, but to unwrap the black tendrils from her gift.

She didn't know how long she had been staring at it. She felt that she had aged years by the time she even mustered the will to dig her thumb under the fabric, where all she could feel through the digits of her gloves was a flat object with a slight hexagonal texture. Even the simple action alone took her by surprise and made her feel winded. She wanted to stop. But she couldn't.

With a deep, shaky, and determined breath, she used her next finger to pinch the object, and her other hand tugged at the fabric slowly, like burial flags that humans had for the caskets of their dead.

Her breath hitched as the fabric fell away and her darkest fear came to light in the form of a long blue plate, with white lettering stretching across it.

COMMANDER SHEPARD

Her heart had plummeted to her stomach and her mind refused to think. Her eyes stared, hypnotized. The nameplate suddenly gained weight in her hands, feeling heavy as a headstone. It caused her legs to collapse from underneath her and she dropped onto her knees, hard.

She bit through the pain. Her eyes were more focused on rescanning the nameplate over and over, assuming that she must be misreading things. But no matter how carefully she followed them, the alien letters stayed the same.

Her tired eyes drifted upwards from the nameplate. The emotional seams were starting to tear and she needed them to stay together. She attempted to stand but the weight was too much, her back fell against the wall and she slid back down, nameplate to her chest. She felt tingly with numbness. Her body made an involuntary tearless sob and a sickly cough. The seams were ripping faster, so she hugged her legs to keep herself together. Her thoughts only allowed so little.

My bondmate—dead.

The words were separated in her mind for her sake so that she wouldn't cry, even though the back of her eyes burned in agony for relief and her parched, stony heart begged for its thirst to be quenched. Even her body was making demands through whimpers. Still, she did not cry as she sat there on the floor, rocking slightly as she looked for any other source of comfort. Her fingers clawed at her suit looking for warmth, but nothing sufficed.

All she could do was repeat no to herself over and over, doing mental somersaults until she felt nothing but emptiness and fatigue.

She didn't know how long she had been in the cockpit. Stealing a glance at the clock in her HUD told her that it hadn't been any longer than twenty minutes since Garrus and Joker had left the room.

Her stomach growled unceremoniously.

Maybe food will help, she thought dryly.

Glad to have her mind diverted to a separate task, she slowly collected herself off the floor and headed briskly for the elevator, cursing the thudding of her boots as it followed along as echoes throughout the bridge. She didn't bother looking up to see if anyone was glancing at her, but she knew—or it could just be paranoia—that there were at least a few stares burning holes into the back of her hood. Upon entering the elevator, she hastily and absentmindedly jabbed the button for the crew deck, where the ship's mess hall and kitchen were located.

As well as the Memorial Wall, which was right in front of the doors.

And when those doors opened, Tali felt the crash of metal and heat lick her skin. Her suit sagged with blood and with it, another blow to her self-composure. She physically recoiled with her back hitting the rear of the elevator and her face shooting down to the floor. That same, shiny texture of steel, now cleaned of any evidence from that day, stared back up at her.

Everywhere I look—

She refused to bring her head up and instead hugged to the side as she left the elevator, slipping to the kitchen once she felt the Memorial Wall was out of view.

Trying not to think about anything but her raging stomach, she ripped open the cabinet for the small stash of dextro-based foods that she and Garrus would share, where it was mostly boxes and packages of snacks for Garrus and a small heap of nutrient paste tubes for her. Her hands dashed around the tubes, looking for anything that she could immediately dig into.

Somewhere underneath the pile of tubes, she had excavated one with the label of, 'Pofikref.' It was something similar to what the humans called, 'crackers,' or, 'cookies,' depending on which part of Earth they hailed from.

Earth. Earth, Earth, Earth. Oh, Ancestors—!

Luckily for her, nobody was on the deck at the moment to watch her take a stool and tear the tube from its packaging in another tumultuous thunderstorm of pure emotional agony. Once free, she forcefully shoved the tube under her visor and began sucking on the dry, tasteless paste as if it was the only food she had seen in ages.

It took a while to finish due to its boring texture, which gave her much-needed time to try and again hold herself together. After one tube was gone, she immediately grabbed another and began feasting on that one as well. She wanted to forget—

While still eating, she angled an arm flat on the countertop and used it as a headrest. Her knuckles bounced up and down on the nameplate, entrancing her mindless attention. It wasn't long since the weight of her head was cutting off blood circulation in her arm that her fingers started feeling fuzzy, which then lost her focus as something tall caught her eye from across the kitchen.

There was a hidden bottle of turian brandy in the cabinet. She could use it to wash down the dryness in her mouth—and to forget the day.

She lifted her head and shuffled in her seat with the intention to go grab the bottle, but stopped herself. Partly because she was experiencing the pain of feeling shooting back into her hand, and mostly because she was remembering that she had promised herself that she would take it easy on the alcohol after the party in the apartment on the Citadel. Shepard was fully supportive and even took the challenge with her.

She cursed and instead got up to slam the cabinet shut, opting for a water tube, which was immediately sucked dry and placed in a green bin. Thoroughly unsatisfied, her elbow ended up as a holster for more tubes as she returned to her seat. One by one the tubes were drained, and sickness and exhaustion started to take hold. Her helmeted head again found its spot on the countertop, and she rested her eyes.

It was only a little later when she heard the congregation of shuffling boots on metal coming from near the elevator. She raised her groggy eyes to the clock in her HUD and found that it was about that time for her to meet Garrus and Joker on the other side of the deck. She cursed her stomach for bringing her here, trapping her.

She swallowed hard and fought for some composure. The nameplate was found still stuck in her hand, her fingers clutched to it as if it was life itself. In a sad, philosophical kind of way, it sort of was for her. And now everything was as empty as the tubes on the countertop. She sniffed and pushed herself off her stool, finding her footing while her eyes were still glued to the nameplate.

Her steps were slow, wary. Numb, and empty.

The presence of more than just Garrus and Joker was felt when she neared the Memorial Wall. She was surprised to also find Liara, Kaiden, Javik, and James there, too. Their eyes all dragged to her, understanding. She felt a strange feeling of both unbearable heat and freezing cold burying underneath her suit and penetrating her bones. This wasn't a simple meeting. It was a goodbye. And everyone knew.

Her throat closed up with frustration. Everyone was deathly silent, choking the air with all of their collective misery.

Why did they decide on this now?!

She looked down at the nameplate again as she found her spot in the middle of the group. They had lost their Commander, but she was losing—she was losing a lot.

Many moments passed with no words spoken. There was no need. Definitive footsteps sounded and Tali looked up surprised to see Joker approaching the Wall, with a nameplate similar to hers in his hand. His arms reached up to the very top on the right side, finally breaking the silence with a few inaudible words. He returned to his spot and patted his pocket, revealing that the plate belonged to EDI. Tali noted two things, the first being in how mourning her death seemed rather premature, and the second being the irony in how well Joker was handling loss compared to her.

EDI's not exactly, "gone?" Just…inactive.

Garrus took Joker's place now and he too walked up to the wall with a nameplate in his hands, inciting bitter curiosity from Tali as she did not know any other casualties. A series of faces ran through her head until Garrus moved to the center of the wall, placing the plate directly in between the two sides of names. He turned. And revealed yet another gut punch to Tali.

ADM DAVID ANDERSON

She didn't know how much more she could take. Anderson knew Shepard far longer than she did, and she could see the inseparable bond the two men had, like family. Like a father to his son. She respected the man highly for that reason alone. And now he's gone, too.

How many more?

She glanced at each of the participants, silently daring them to start producing more nameplates from behind their backs. After all, if she was going to suffer this much already, why not just go all out? Why not just send everything to break her? Why not make everything and everyone she fought for become pointless?

No names were produced, just eyes. All of them looked at her, waiting. She fought the urge to wring her hands.

Again the nameplate in her hands grew heavier in weight, and Shepard's name gleamed in the lowlight for her to study. How funny it is, to win a fight and yet still lose what you were fighting for. To keep living, but losing the reason to do so.

I should've stayed.

The Memorial Wall looked bigger than she remembered as it beckoned her forward, greedily seeking the forbidden gift she carried. The elusive Savior of the Galaxy was once again reclaimed.

She looked down at her hands again, and instead of a name, she saw a face. Blue eyes accompanied by short-buzzed hair and a plethora of scars. Black armor with long red and white stripes. Real skin contact with the body underneath that armor. A legend that will echo throughout the galaxy for all of eternity.

And love.

She looked up at the Memorial Wall again and realized what it meant. That all of it would be gone permanently and made definite if her hands raised that plate. She would no longer have a home.

And then the emotions pooled.

"I can't," she whispered as tears finally broke through and flowed freely from her eyes.

The nameplate slipped through her fingers and she backed up through the elevator door, brushing off stares while she hastily jabbed the button for Deck 1, Shepard's private quarters. The doors closed and she found herself slumping down on the wall. She cried softly, and couldn't wipe the tears away.

Damn this mask.

The sounds of her gasps and sobs echoed off the elevator walls, merging with its steady thrums as it lifted her upward. She hadn't been to the cabin since before the siege for Earth, and now it seemed to be her only source of comfort.

Upon arrival, she attempted to steady her feet but instead hobbled her way to the quarter's doors. The familiar hisses of decontamination sounded from behind them, a recent installation, and she was once again reminded of the great lengths Shepard went to keep her safe—far enough to make his own room a clean room.

She stormed inside, enraged with turmoil and sorrow. The doors shut behind her, and she was compelled to rip off her purple visor. Cool air gleaned over her wet face and struggled through her congested nose.

The visor taunted her from her grip, a reminder that never left her view—that she was weak. That she was fragile. That the world was something to admire but never to touch—never to participate in.

There was a part of her rage that was feigned as she threw her hand forward. It was meant as a simple animated gesture to demonstrate her grief to herself. Nevertheless, the visor had slipped from her grip and flew against the wall. And like it, her heart shattered at the sound of multiple large, sharp pieces colliding with the floor in a crescendo.

A sob wracked her throat as she realized that she very well had just trapped herself in the room. Ashamed and broken, she delicately pulled back her hood and removed her helmet, surrendering to defeat. She was tired.

Her bondmate's bed was horrifically empty as she stuffed herself under its sheets. The fabric of the pillow caressed her face as she cried, mixing the smell of him with her salty tears. A casket for the living.

Why? Ancestors why? Why did he need to go? We could've done so much more. We could have had so much time. And if not, why wasn't it me? Keelah, why wasn't it me?!

The last seam had ripped, and she fully succumbed to the grief that wracked her.