The shuttle deposits them on Pragia, and Hope and the Clone settle in an abandoned food processing plant. Centuries have passed since anyone used the vats, blades, presses, or packaging machines for food. All of the mercenary gangs who have used it since know better. On Pragia, nothing grows that won't poison or devour its inhabitants. Hope has supplies shipped to them instead.

In the intervening days, the Clone does as she's told-she doesn't have the energy to argue. She spends her time researching Commander Shepard, watching news interviews, doing her best to imitate her speech and mannerisms. With each passing interview the Commander looks more and more exhausted, though now there's a glimmer in her eyes that the Clone hasn't seen before. It isn't fair. Why does Shepard get to be happy after all that she's done? Sure, she saved the galaxy twice over, but she also killed an entire system of batarians for six months of extra time. A shitty bargain-that.

When her eyes blur and her throat runs ragged from all the talking, the Clone sets her datapad aside and pulls out the journal Dreya gave her. She's terrified of forgetting the woman she lo-liked, so she draws her repeatedly, or at least she attempts to. The lines keep blurring when her eyes fill with tears. Sometimes her hands shake; sometimes her whole body does. Other times the pencil is too heavy to wield, but the Clone has to keep trying. Her own memory can't be trusted anymore. Too often she forgets that Dreya died. Instead of remembering the explosion, her mind will think of the future-plans of running off to Sanctuary with Dreya, starting a new life, creating art and making a home together. Then the Clone will remember warmth already fading from Dreya's arms, the stillness of her face, the heart no longer beating, and she'll break down all over again. Hope must find her pathetic-hell, she knows she's being pathetic, so she doesn't argue when Hope plops down next to her.

Hope sits there a long time. Maybe she's waiting for the Clone to compose herself (not likely to happen any time soon.) More likely, Hope's gathering ammunition to argue her case (not necessary, but she doesn't realize that.) She opens her mouth, then closes it, before laying a hand on the Clone's knee. Not too long ago, such a gesture would have thrilled her, but her body is numb, and so is her soul-if she even has one. Taking a breath, Hope makes eye contact. "I've hired a mercenary gang called Cat 6."

"Dishonorably discharged servicemen?" It doesn't sound promising.

Nodding, Hope squeezes the Clone's knee. "They're ruthless. Will do anything for the person writing their paycheck." She traces a circle on her kneecap. "I need you to be that person."

If the Clone doesn't know what she is, how can she pretend to be something she's not? "I can't."

"They need to think you're in charge. When we take down Shepard, they need to be following your orders."

"What's the point?"

Hope's eyes narrow. "Point?"

"What's the point of taking out Shepard? We just go on and take on the Reapers ourselves? Do you realize how stupid that sounds?"

Pinching her forehead, Hope sighs. "Shepard is the strongest individual in this galaxy. If you can take her out, you can take on anyone."

The Clone snorts. "That's probably what the Collectors thought. And look what happened to them."

"What's gotten into you?"

"Dreya's dead, Hope." And there they are, again. Tears already reforming in her already aching eyes. It seems to be all she's capable of, these days. "If I can't save one fucking Asari, how in hell am I supposed to save a galaxy?"

Hope's jaw tightens. The Clone flinches, remembering vividly the last time it did that. Seeing her reaction, Hope softens. She closes her eyes, and nods as if counting to three. Her voice comes out softly. "I tried to protect you from this."

"From what?"

"From this." Hope reaches for the journal, and the Clone jerks it back.

"Don't you dare."

Hope holds up her hands, as if she's surrendering. "You feel broken inside, don't you?"

The Clone looks away instead of answering.

"Mmhm." Brushing her fingers across the Clone's cheek, Hope pulls her gaze back. "We call that heartbreak."

"So what?" She means to say it with more bite, but the words come without teeth.

Hope taps her cheek. "They can only break your heart if they have it to begin with."

Ice forms in the Clone's stomach and spreads to the rest of her body. "What are you saying?"

"Don't give them your heart." Hope squeezes her chin.

The Clone starts to pull away. "Hope-"

Hope interrupts her. "-I'm not saying you can't sleep with them. We all have needs. It would be distracting not to."

She should say something, argue, protest, walk away, but her brain catches on the word "we" and sticks there. Did Hope mean anything by that? The Clone's heart races in spite of herself.

"Take your heart and lock it away, and no one, and no thing can ever hurt you again." Hope squeezes her shoulder. "Alright?"

Swallowing hard, her voice thick, the Clone answers, "Alright."