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Moiety
Chapter Twenty Eight: No Atlas
Hackett stands in the rain, his tightly buttoned-up Alliance pea-coat bleeding the color of his grief. The water runs cold and chill down his back, marking a line that curls with age and exhaustion. His shoulders cannot carry the weight any more – he is no Atlas, never has been – and when the first wad of emotion wedges itself tight in his throat he barely remembers to breathe.
She was the best of them. Too young and too bold and too brilliant for this world.
His eyes trace the name Shepard on the grey stone, even as they blur with tears.