They brought them food. The scent of the neutral paste wafted through the small space, a bland, artificial smell that did nothing to stimulate his appetite. Garrus reluctantly ingested the substance, knowing he needed to maintain his strength. He put a ration pack in front of the human, the way he had done before. She didn't even look at it. The turian knew something was wrong. Was she sick?
His mandibles twitched with concern as he watched the female, small form curled into itself, gaze unfocused and distant. The spark of defiance that had burned in her eyes was dimmed, replaced by a haunted, hollow look that made his chest tighten with worry.
She was giving up.
He had seen it before, in his years as a slaver hunter. The vacant eyes, the docile behavior, how victims seemed to disconnect from reality. It was a defense mechanism, a way for the mind to cope with trauma. But knowing that didn't make it any easier to witness.
They took her away once again this morning and brought her back an hour later. This time Theia accompanied them. As they let Garrus pull her into the crate like the last time, the slaver gave the turian a strange knowing smile.
"You should be proud of our girl," she mused looking very pleased. "It's getting easier for her."
Garrus knew what she meant. He was well aware of the insidious techniques asari like this slaver employed. They would use meldings to delve deep into their victim's mind, pulling forth traumatic memories and experiences. By immersing the person in a vivid, artificially intensified recreation of their past, the asari could manipulate their biotic power, channeling it towards whatever target they desired. Pain and fear were the best triggers; every slaver knew that.
That's what Theia was doing to his human. Making her go to terrible places, lose control and cause death and devastation without even realizing what was happening and whom she was hurting. He knew the more they would do it to her, the easier she would slip into that biotic trance.
He wondered what the end goal was. Were they conditioning her to become their perfect weapon, a biotic warhead? Or were they simply deriving pleasure from her suffering, forcing to fight other slaves just for the fun of it?
He couldn't tell. Either way, the thought of her being used like that, her incredible power twisted and corrupted for the slavers' gain, made Garrus feel physically ill. He knew the devastation a trained biotic could cause—the image of her unleashing that power without control or awareness, was terrifying.
They were for sure using some kind of psych drugs to facilitate the mind control. He could tell just by looking at the female. She was getting worse.
Her skin had taken on a sickly pallor, and there was a slight tremor in her hands that hadn't been there before. Her eyes, when they did focus, seemed to have trouble tracking movement. All signs pointed to some kind of chemical influence, and Garrus found himself wishing he knew more about human physiology. If he could just figure out what they were giving her, maybe he could find a way to... What? What could he do?
As they were sitting in their crate, he was cautiously testing the air around her. Her scent worried him. She was folded into that strange pose with her knees close to her chest, arms hugging them, face buried deep within her posture. An almost invisible shudder coursed through her frame.
She didn't touch her food.
The sight of her unopened ration pack made his heart sink. He knew how important it was to keep up their strength, especially hers. Without proper nutrition, the human's body would have an even harder time fighting off the effects of whatever drugs they were pumping into her system.
"You need to eat," he said softly.
His voice made her shiver as if it surprised her. She looked up at him, the skin around her eyes red, then down at the ration pack.
"You can have it if you want," she answered quietly.
But he wouldn't give up, "You need your strength. Maybe just a little?"
His eyes looked genuinely concerned. He was asking her to try. She looked down at the ration again. Her belly tightened into a knot at the sight of it.
"I can't. It makes my stomach hurt."
Her voice came so weak, almost pleading. He didn't push it further. Garrus took her portion and stashed it next to the medi-gel in the far corner of the crate.
This was highly concerning, her not eating. He knew it was a bad sign for any species.
She hid her face back in her chest. So he just sat there, listening to the human's heartbeat and breathing.
Minutes passed like that, when suddenly he heard her make a gasping sound, then another one. This worried him even more. Was she in pain? The gasps turned into sobs. They came out muffled, she tried to suppress them so he wouldn't hear. Garrus could hear them just fine.
He moved in closer before he knew it, drawn in by instinct. She was definitely hurting. But there were no wounds, he examined her thoroughly when they brought her back, sniffed her everywhere. She wasn't bleeding—he was certain of it. That didn't mean, however, that she wasn't in pain. It could have been any sort of injury, an internal one, for example. Humans were fragile, they broke and bruised so easily.
Stupid turian! Of course she was hurt. Whatever they'd been doing to her body had clearly left her in pain, even if she tried to hide it. He knew she wouldn't admit it to him. Garrus could see the female was putting on a brave face, didn't complain at all. Stayed calm, like him, for him.
He reached for her arm. The touch was light, mindful of his talons and her fragile human skin. He could feel the heat radiating off her; she was far warmer than before. Was it normal?
She lifted her head and looked at him again. And there they were. Tiny crystals of water running down her cheeks, dropping on her chest. He saw them before, she was dripping water from her eyes when she was hurt, when they attacked her. Was human crying a sign of pain? Or something else?
Spirits, the way she looked at him at that moment… What was wrong with her? He didn't understand the expression.
It was the most perplexing thing about humans—their faces and the multitude of changes they could undergo in less than a minute. They were too expressive, had too many muscles and moving parts, could even change color.
Turian facial plating, on the contrary, was rigid, just like the rest of their bodies. Sure, there were moving parts, but they were not as flexible. That is why their kind evolved to rely heavily on subvocal sounds—dozens of rumbling, clicking, trilling noises from deep within their chests with hundreds of rhythms and melodies to them—that were largely imperceptible by other species' inferior hearing and sounded like barely audible, indiscernible hums and buzzes.
Turians' main means of communication among themselves was rendered completely useless when they joined the inter-galactic community, forcing their species to learn a broader range of gestures and rely more on spoken word. That felt unnatural even to this day.
Something about the female made it even more challenging. He was listening intently to the sound of subvocals she didn't have. The absence of that distinct hum left him adrift, struggling to interpret her every move. Is this how it feels to stumble in the dark?
Garrus felt that now-familiar urge stirring within him. It was primal, intense—a need to protect. Before meeting her, he'd never experienced anything like it, certainly not towards a human. Yet as he watched her water fall, something inside him shifted.
He found himself reaching for her, movements slow, deliberate, giving her every opportunity to pull away. She didn't. Her eyes darted to his, heart racing, but she didn't recoil when he wrapped his arms around her, drew her into his lap, and settled her against his chest.
She was shaking; somehow, he knew she was aching all over. The human was too warm, almost hot. Her eyes met his, still glistening with water. There was a dimension to their depths he couldn't quite grasp.
The sudden closeness he initiated caught Garrus off guard. He was acutely aware of every point of contact between them—the softness of her skin against his plates, the warmth of her breath against his chest, the slight tremor that ran through her body. He adjusted his position carefully, trying to provide maximum comfort without hurting her with his sharp edges.
She made a sigh. This felt good, even though she knew it was wrong. His eyes were looking at her with kindness. She craved it, needed it more than he ever knew. At that moment, in that place, it made all the difference. She realized it probably didn't mean that much to him, but it meant everything to her. So she took what he was offering with gratitude—his comfort, his presence—and gave the same in return.
He didn't fully understand what was happening or why he was doing this. All he knew was that she had kept him warm when he needed it, and now he wanted to do the same for her. What perplexed him even more was the fact that she allowed it. She must be too tired and too weak, he reasoned. That's all it was. Her body tensed slightly at his initial touch, but then eased into the embrace. She became even softer than before; he didn't know it was possible.
He kept acting purely on instinct and began to rumble. His subharmonics settled into a steady, soothing purr, a sound as natural to him as breathing. It was an involuntary response, one deeply ingrained in turian biology—a way to comfort and reassure. Though she couldn't hear or understand his tune the way another turian would, he was certain she would feel the soft vibrations resonating through his chest and into her body where they touched.
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, a flicker of inquisitiveness passing over her features. The sensation was alien to her, unlike anything she had ever experienced. She didn't know what it meant, couldn't decipher the complex layers of emotion and intent woven into the frequencies. Garrus didn't explain, didn't try to put it into words—he wasn't sure it was possible.
Like the purring of a cat, she thought, but deeper, more pronounced and grumbly. Curious, she placed her hand on his chest, feeling the vibrations coursing through her. Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek next to her palm, pressing into the source of the sound. It took her some time to adjust to the alien rumbling but she soon found herself relaxing into it completely. The rhythmic thrumming enveloped her, soothing her nerves and offering an unexpected reprieve. It felt nice and strangely reassuring.
She looked like she enjoyed it, Garrus thought. He rested his head on top of hers and put his arms around her, taloned fingers deep into her silky mane.
He sensed some of his own tension begin to ease. The simple act of providing comfort, of being able to do something to help, even in this small way, lifted a weight from his shoulders. For the first time since their capture, Garrus felt a strange sense of peace wash over him.
As the human was dozing off, he used this quiet moment to plan and strategize. He ran through every scrap of information he had about their captors, their routines, the possible layout of the facility as far as he had been able to observe. It wasn't much, but it was a start. If an opportunity for escape presented itself, he wanted to be ready.
And now, as he held the female in his arms and felt her tremors, he knew she wouldn't be much help. Not in her current state. She was growing weaker. He had to consider the possibility she might not be able to do anything at all when it was time to make their move. Shit, he really counted on her biotics. Now he had to adjust.
As sleep began to claim him, Garrus thought about the most vibrant violet he had ever seen.
As morning came, so did they. The rhythmic thud of heavy boots echoed through the corridors, growing louder with each passing second. She woke up to the sound of their steps, terrified. Her heart raced, pounding against her ribcage. She couldn't bear them taking her away again. The mere thought sent shivers down her spine and made her body tremble uncontrollably.
She was too exhausted, aching in places she didn't know could ache. However, the physical pain was nothing compared to the mental anguish that consumed her. They would make her go to that terrible place, she knew that. The place of endless suffering—hers and those they made her hurt.
She felt the turian's arm moving her away from them protectively. She clung to him, fingers digging into his plates. He tightened his hold around her instinctively, low dark rumbles vibrated through his body as his predator eyes watched them approach.
"Are we interrupting something?" Balak barked with his croaking batarian laughter, his four eyes gleaming with malicious amusement.
The sound of his voice sent a fresh wave of terror through her. She pressed herself closer to the turian, as if trying to disappear into him. His mandibles flared slightly, a low growl intensified. It was a primal sound, a warning to the intruders.
Balak was followed by his krogan guard, his yellow reptile eyes scanning the cage with focus before stopping on the human.
Garrus moved closer to the bars, covering her from them the way he had always done, knowing full well what would follow. His body tensed, ready for whatever punishment they might inflict.
To his astonishment, the batarian looked straight at him and commanded, "Out."
The turian blinked, his mandibles clicking in surprise. They came for him. He looked back at the female, perplexed. She was as confused as he was, and scared. What were they playing at? A thousand possibilities raced through his brain.
"Don't make me repeat myself, slave," the rat warned him and pointed at his omni-tool. "Get away from the door."
Garrus did as he was told. He moved backwards, still shielding her from them as best he could.
The krogan squatted down to the bars, his massive form blocking out what little light filtered into their cage. His shotgun was ready and pointed at the turian, a silent promise of swift retribution should Garrus try anything. Then he opened the cage.
Garrus looked at the open door with suspicion, his weary mind trying to understand their captors' intentions. He weighed his options, then, with a grace that belied his size, he crouched out of the crate.
Spirits, it felt so good to finally stretch his body. He had no idea how much he needed it. His muscles screamed in both relief and protest as he straightened to his full height. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to savor the sensation. But he couldn't do more than that. Two guns were pointed at him unambiguously.
"Close the door behind you," came the order.
Without a word, he obeyed, talons clenching at his sides.
The one they presumably called Balak praised him with a sneer, "Good slave."
The words stung, igniting a fire of rage in Garrus's chest. Before he could stop himself, the turian uttered a low warning growl and bared his teeth. It was a mistake.
Instantly, searing pain exploded from the collar around his neck. Every nerve in his body seemed to ignite at once. He fell to his knees, choking and panting, his vision blurring as agony coursed through him. It lasted for only a couple of seconds, but felt like an eternity.
As the pain subsided, leaving him gasping on the cold floor, Balak's voice cut through the haze. "Let's try this again, shall we?" the batarian said sternly. "On your feet, slave."
Garrus stood up, his legs unsteady, shaking from the aftershocks of the jolt. He forced himself to meet the slaver's gaze, refusing to show weakness even now. His mandibles were clamped tight against his face, a clear sign of his anger.
"That's better," the batarian grunted, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Now, here are the rules. You don't bare your teeth. You comply. And I will let you spread your pretty feathers."
He made a motion to the exit, inviting him to follow, with the krogan in the rear. The message was clear—cooperate or suffer.
"It's time to earn your keep, dog. Move along."
Garrus hesitated for just a moment and glanced back at the female. Her face was expressive but unreadable. Too many emotions mixed into her fear.
"Need a special invitation? Or maybe a collar?"
The threat snapped Garrus back to reality.
This was it! His opening. What he'd been waiting for, for days. They were letting him out, and now he could see what this compound really was. Gather more information about it. Find a way to the surface. It was a risk, but one he had to take.
With a final, reassuring look at the human in the cage, Garrus turned to follow Balak.
"Good dog," praised the batarian as they walked out of the pen, leaving the female and her scent behind.
Garrus's eyes darted from side to side, taking in every aspect of the corridor. The walls were made of rough-hewn stone, damp with condensation and covered in mold. Flickering lights cast long shadows, creating an eerie, oppressive atmosphere.
Balak led the way, not even glancing at his prisoner. The batarian moved with the confidence of someone who knew he held all the power. Behind them, the krogan's heavy footsteps created a steady rhythm.
As they walked, the turian was mapping the route in his head, noting every turn, every door they passed. Most cells were locked shut and looked like they hadn't been used in a while. So far, the only containment area that seemed to have captives was their own.
They passed what resembled a comms center; old and rusty door looked like it was being used a lot, the room behind it certainly had frequent visitors.
The part of the facility they kept Garrus and the human in was half abandoned, so the rats didn't really need a communications room in this wing. They had probably repurposed it for something else, a storage maybe. Garrus's mandibles twitched as he filed that information away. If they could get access to some supplies, it would greatly increase their chances of survival.
Further on, they came to an airlock that seemed to be sealing this part of the compound from the rest. Balak fiddled with his omni-tool to unlock it.
As the door opened, Garrus saw a spacious area that appeared to be some sort of a central hub. Apparently, it was the common space they used to pass the time when not on shifts or raids. Chairs of different fashion were scattered around an old dirty sofa and a table filled with used utensils. Rusty terminals and consoles looked dead and abandoned. Calling for help wouldn't be an option.
He was memorizing the surroundings when the batarian came to a stop in front of a heavy metal door. As he punched in a code on the panel, Garrus tensed, unsure of what awaited him on the other side.
The door slid open with a hiss, revealing a room that made his blood run cold.
"Welcome to your new playground, dog," Balak sneered, gesturing his slave to enter.
She watched two huge krogan drag him into the holding area by the cowl. He was wild, howling like a wounded animal, resisting, making it almost impossible for them to move him. His eyes were black, mandibles flaring as he thrashed against his captors.
There were restraints on his wrists, fastened behind his back. The krogan grunted with exertion, their massive frames straining to keep the prisoner subdued. One of them snarled a threat, but it only seemed to enrage the turian further, his howls echoing through the chamber.
She was relieved to see him alive. He'd been gone for far too long and she was terrified he might not return. She didn't know if she could do it without him; the thought alone made her cry again. She hated herself for this weakness, for letting fear consume her so utterly, but she couldn't seem to stop the tears. What if he was dead? God, she didn't know what she would do.
Then she heard it—turian growls, followed by a string of krogan curses.
They stopped in the middle of the room. One of the krogan went to the crate and opened the door, the other kept the turian in his grip.
They then shoved him inside, making the cage walls vibrate from the impact. She barely had time to get out of the way as the turian's massive body came hurtling towards her. He fell on his chest, hands still bound behind his back, letting out a grunt of pain and fury. The guards showed no mercy, roughly pushing his feet inside and slamming the door behind him with a resounding clang. One of them pressed on his omni-tool, and with a loud 'beep' the turian's restraints fell off him, clattering to the floor. He immediately braced himself on his hands, sat up and pressed his back against the wall, as he continued growling viciously, piercing gaze fixed on the krogan.
"Human," said one of the guards. "Toss me the restraints."
She did as she was told, not having much of a choice. The brutes looked visibly relieved as they were finally done with the heavy lifting. They swiftly picked up the manacles and marched out of the cell, not uttering a single word.
The turian and the human were left alone in their crate.
Her relief quickly dissipated as she studied him more closely. Something was very wrong. His eyes went completely dark, no blue left in them. Mandibles were twitching at the sides of his face, exposing sharp teeth. He was panting, chest heaving rapidly as if struggling to breathe. Apprehension crept over her as she noticed the unnatural rigidity in his posture, muscles coiled tight like a spring.
"What did they do to you?" she asked, her voice trembling with concern and a hint of fear.
He blinked, his eyes zeroed in on her. A low, dark sound came out of him and he breathed in the air in the crate. As he did that, his whole body shuddered.
She could see he was covered in blood, staining his talons and face. It was not his, however, but someone else's. She realized, with a sinking feeling, that those monsters had forced him to fight. And they had given him something, a drug of some kind, just like they had given it to her.
"Don't..." was all he could muster as she tried to move closer. Words were hard to form right now, coming out as snarls, low and indiscernible. His subvocals, however, were raging, warning the female to stay away, not to come any closer. The female...
They gave him synthetic adrenaline. Garrus knew that. His body's response was unmistakable—the surge of energy, the heightened senses, the rush of it coursing through his veins.
As they brought him into a room with a huge barred cell in the middle, he realized what it was. An arena. The scumbags knew he would not do what they wanted voluntarily. So they gave him something that helped, a synthetic compound designed to heighten his aggression and make him fight, whether he wanted to or not.
Synt adrenaline was a standard tool in the slavers' arsenal, particularly when dealing with turian captives. In legitimate medical settings, turians used the drug in a manner similar to humans, with one exception—the patient had to be unconscious during the procedure, otherwise the consequences could prove very volatile. If a turian subject was awake when exposed to the drug, they would experience uncontrollable outbursts of rage and violence. The synt adrenaline effectively lowered all inhibitions, shutting down the civilized part of the turian brain and unleashing primal, predatory instincts in an unbridled frenzy.
And that's exactly what happened. Garrus's brain shut off; everything that followed was a blur, just bits and pieces. He tried to attack them, but they overpowered him, gave him the collar, and tossed him into the ring.
They were cheering, dozens of them. His senses were heightened, he could smell all of them at once, hear their heartbeats pounding—a mixed crowd of batarians, krogan, a couple of asari, and maybe even salarians... multiple targets to attack. But they gave him something else to chew on—other slaves. Turian and krogan. He couldn't recall how many. They were released at him one at a time, as vicious and ready as him, drooling and howling like rabid varren.
He stepped further into the ring, drawn in by the sounds of their challenge. And then he smelled it—human blood. Her blood, from before, when she had been standing right where he was standing now in that terrible cage, scared, tiny, and alone. The thought made him go completely berserk. The female. They had hurt her right at that spot, drawn her blood, wounded that soft little body of hers. Pathetic, weak, unworthy males.
Mine, was his last coherent thought before his mind went completely blank, overcome by a primal rage.
Now, as he realized he was sitting in the cage with the human, her scent was driving him mad.
Synt adrenaline was still coursing through his system, stripping him of all reason. Thousands of years of progress and societal evolution erased in an instant, leaving him with nothing but the two basic instincts that had been driving his species since the dawn of time—fight and fuck. And he had already fought.
Garrus was on edge, nerves frayed, body shaking, aching, begging for release. And there she was right in front of him, crammed into their tiny space.
Spirits, why did she smell so intoxicatingly good? She was warm and soft. Her body was already unplated, unplated for him. Would she accept him? Was she willing? She certainly smelled like she was. Sweet and earthy. A scent of a female in heat. Mine.
"What did they give you?" he heard her soft voice.
She was looking straight at him, her violet eyes so scared—not of him, but for him. She didn't know; how could she? She wasn't turian.
It was hard to focus. The metallic taste of his rivals' blood lingered on his fangs, their blue and dark brown spattered across his talons, which still twitched with the memory of rending flesh. He had torn them apart, proven his dominance as the alpha male. They were lesser creatures, unworthy of even glancing upon her form.
The flutter of her human heart drew him in like a beacon, her body's invitation caressing his senses. Her scent was everywhere, inescapable and overwhelming. It clouded his mind and set his blood on fire, filing every breath with an intoxicating promise. He wanted to lose himself in it, to drown in the essence of her. In that moment, she was utterly irresistible to him, crying out that she was willing, ready to be claimed.
Unaware of it all, she reached out a thin hand towards him. The gesture, meant to comfort, only served to heighten his frenzy. Why would she do something so foolish? His subvocals were telling her everything she needed to know. Didn't she understand the danger she was in?
A guttural, feral snarl escaped his chest—filled with warning and raw need. It immediately flared the alarm bells in her brain, stripping away the familiarity of his presence. His sound pierced through her, primal and alien, reminding her what he truly was—an apex predator.
Garrus saw the realization dawn in her eyes, fear touching her face. Good, she needed to be scared. She needed to understand; and she finally did.
She scattered away to the opposite wall and stayed there.
His avian eyes, now completely obsidian, remained fixed on her with predatory focus. Low, menacing rumbles emanated from his chest. Whatever had happened to him, she realized, was far worse than she'd initially thought. Her knowledge of turians was limited, but the pain radiating from his rigid posture was unmistakable.
She knew that it wasn't his fault, that it was something that had been done to him. She could see he was fighting for control, doing everything he could not to hurt her—protecting her even now, only this time, from himself. Despite her fear, she felt a strong need to help him, to ease his pain even if just a little. So she sat quietly, careful not to make any sudden moves, hoping her stillness might somehow calm him.
Garrus squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to focus on the rhythm of his own breathing and the thundering of his heart. The problem was her scent. Taking it in smaller dozes didn't do him any good. Even the shallowest of breaths filled his senses with her essence, making his head spin and his plates itch with need. Still, he remained motionless, every muscle taut with the effort of restraint.
Minutes stretched into hours, or so it seemed to his addled mind. Occasionally, he caught sounds from her corner of the cage—soft whimpers, the rustle against metal as she shifted position. Each noise was a siren call, tempting him to look, to move, to act. But he resisted, clinging to his last shreds of self-control.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the intensity of her presence began to wane. The overwhelming urge to claim slowly ebbed, leaving behind a dull ache in his chest. Only then did Garrus dare to open his eyes. His gaze immediately found her small form, curled up on the floor, her back to him. A mix of relief and concern washed over him as he gradually regained his composure.
She lay on the cold metal of the crate, body wracked with violent shivers. As night approached, she became acutely aware of how much worse she felt. The chill barely registered; instead, her skin burned as if set aflame from within. The turian's condition had distracted her earlier, but now, alone with her thoughts, the full weight of her withdrawal crashed over her.
Fever clouded her mind, distorting her perception of time. The pain was all-encompassing, threatening to tear her apart from the inside. Every muscle in her body screamed in agony, a cruel reminder of whatever they had done to her. She had felt off before, but this—this was something else entirely.
With a soft whimper, she turned to face the wall, despite the voice in her head warning not to expose her back to the unstable turian. In that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care. The relentless cycle of falling in and out of consciousness had left her disoriented and weak. Each time she slipped into the darkness, a part of her hoped she wouldn't resurface.
As she drifted on the edge of awareness, a new sensation cut through the haze. Movement. He was coming closer. Fear of what he might do in his drug-addled state warred with a desperate need for his proximity.
Garrus felt her body shaking, but it wasn't the cold. She just couldn't be cold when she was that hot. It wasn't normal for humans, he thought and pulled her into his arms.
His hand reached for her face, cool hide against feverish skin, removing pale gold strands off her cheek, careful not to scratch her. His face moved closer to the back of her head, nuzzling her unconsciously. His fingers brushed through her mane.
Hair.
The human word echoed in his mind as the finally remembered…
She leaned into him, her head tilting back to rest against his plating, and Garrus watched her alien face at this angle. Her skin was even paler than before. Dark circles had formed around her eyes. Signs of exhaustion, malnutrition, sickness? All at once?
She was getting worse, and it scared him to his very core. He could feel her muscles flexing, tensing beneath the silk-thin skin. Her chest was heaving in labored breaths, the soft flutter of her heart barely discernible.
She moaned softly in his arms. And that's when he felt it. Deep within him, a sensation he couldn't quite name at first. It started as a faint flicker, like a distant star in the vast darkness of space, but quickly grew stronger, more insistent. The feeling began to take shape, morphing into something more tangible, more concrete—an idea. No, not an idea. It was more potent than that, more binding. A promise. An unbreakable vow that resonated through every fiber of his being.
I'm going to get you out of here, he told her silently.
Garrus didn't know what else to do, so for now, he just held her close, purring for her tenderly, cradling her frail form against his own as a sense of fierce protectiveness washed over him.