The Presidium's most prestigious conference center gleamed under artificial light, its polished surfaces reflected the blue, black, and white banners of the Turian Hierarchy and the Systems Alliance. Dignitaries filled the vast space, blending their voices into a quiet hum of anticipation. The Cultural Heritage Agreement Signing was more than a ceremonial formality—it was a fragile promise, a declaration that the wounds of the First Contact War would not extend to the destruction of history itself. Together, humans and turians were committing to the preservation of key cultural sites and artifacts, many of which had been damaged or threatened during the conflict.
Katie stood at the entrance in an elegant peach-color gown contrasting with the sea of dark uniforms and formal attire that filled the hall. She smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the fabric in a nervous gesture knowing this event was far more significant than it seemed. In the wake of leaked reports and relentless media scrutiny, Primarch Vakarian and Admiral Shepard needed all the good publicity they could get. The secrets that came out of the Hierarchy and Alliance closets had sown even more discord and distrust, threatening irreparable damage to the truce the two leaders had been so close to just days ago.
Her father gave her shoulder a brief, reassuring squeeze before he was swept away by a group of diplomats. Within minutes, he was deep in discussion with the Primarch on the podium at the far end of the hall.
Katie made her way to the banquet table at the far wall, letting her gaze wander through the assembled guests. Asari moved with effortless grace, luminous under the shifting lights. Salarians wove through the crowd, their rapid chatter a constant undercurrent. Turians gathered in tight formations, their low rasping voices layered with subvocalized exchanges.
And then, there was Garrus.
He stood across the hall, partially obscured by a group of Hierarchy officers. His eyes looked into hers and the rest of the room seemed to fade away. In that brief moment, a flood of emotions passed between them—longing, anxiety and the bittersweet ache for one another.
"Kathreen."
The voice startled her, breaking the connection. Alenko appeared beside her as if from thin air.
"Major." She mustered a polite smile, acutely aware of her turian watching from across the room. His irritation at Kaidan was almost palpable.
Alenko stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back, grey eyes warm and searching.
"Busy morning yesterday?"
Her chest tightened.
"What?" The word barely made it past her lips. Her face felt cold, blood draining away.
"Breakfast with Sha'ira," Kaidan said, his tone light.
Katie exhaled, relief washing over her.
He was just curious about the Consort. Nothing more. It made sense—there were plenty of rumors about asari, just as many as there were about what exactly Sha'ira provided.
"It was… interesting," she said, the smile still stiff on her face. "Sha'ira is perceptive. Wise. A good conversationalist."
The lie burned.
"Sounds like something worth losing track of time over."
No sarcasm. No accusation. Just a thoughtful remark.
But it still stung.
He meant the Volus Embassy meeting that she hadn't showed up for. A sharp twist of guilt coiled in her stomach. Her father's disappointment still clung to her like an old bruise. He hadn't said much—he never did when he was truly angry—but the weight of his silence had been worse than any reprimand.
She didn't want to lie. Not to him, not to Kaidan.
God, Kaidan.
She needed to talk to him. Needed to tell him—if not the truth, then at least enough to stop this before it would...
She didn't finish the thought as something else pulled at her attention. A figure cut through the dignitaries with fluid, predatory ease. Saren Arterius.
The sight of him had always unsettled her, but tonight, there was something particularly eerie about his movements. His mismatched eyes scanned the hall cataloging and calculating. His black Spectre's armor seemed to absorb light, creating an otherworldly effect that set him apart from the other turians in the room.
Saren navigated the crowd, and Katie noticed how others instinctively moved out of his way. Even those immersed in conversation would unconsciously step aside, creating a bubble of space around the barefaced turian. It was as if they could sense the danger he represented, even if they couldn't articulate why.
The official part of the ceremony was about to start and all the attendees gathered closer to the podium. Castis Vakarian's voice rang out across the hall. "Today, we take a crucial step towards healing the wounds of our past. This agreement is more than just words on a datapad—it is a promise to honor and protect the rich cultural heritage of both our peoples…"
Admiral Shepard stood beside him, listening to the turian's speech with a calm, diplomatic presence. As the Primarch finished, Shepard stepped forward, his weathered face solemn yet optimistic.
"The Heritage Agreement," he began, "is a commitment to preserving not just our own history, but each other's. In doing so, we forge a path to mutual understanding and lasting peace…"
A swell of applause filled the air as both leaders moved to sign the document, reporter drones swirling over their heads. Katie felt a flicker of pride watching her father, mixed with a hope that this moment could add to a real change.
The thunderous boom shattered that hope in an instant.
The explosion rocked the entire hall. Katie felt the floor lurch beneath her feet, the world tilting as the shockwave rippled through. The ringing in her ears drowned out the sudden chorus of screams and shouts that erupted all around.
Chunks of ornate ceiling rained down, smashing into tables and narrowly missing panicked diplomats. Through the clouds of dust and debris, her eyes frantically searched for her father. The podium where he had stood proudly with the Primarch moments ago partially collapsed. Her heart seized as she saw both leaders disappear beneath an avalanche of rubble.
The entrance doors detonated inward.
Garrus reacted in an instant, his training taking over as he assessed the incoming threats—heavily armed mercenaries pouring through the opening. Turians, all of them, moving with the coordinated efficiency that spoke of extensive military experience.
His eye swept over their gear. Each carried M-15 Vindicator rifles—efficient, reliable. But it was their secondary weapons that made his plates itch. Hellfire pistols. Elite-grade weaponry, rare even among special forces. Such high-end hardware spoke volumes about their resources and lethal intentions. This wasn't some amateur terror cell.
Then he saw it through dust and smoke. Their armor bore a 'split' insignia—the traditional Hierarchy emblem fractured in half.
Nova Legion.
Fuck.
"Clear sectors and establish control points," a dual-toned voice barked orders, confirming Garrus's observations about their background. Their formation was textbook Hierarchy special operations— three-turian fire teams locking down exits, cutting off retreat, forming kill zones.
"EMP!" someone shouted.
A wave of electromagnetic energy swept through the room. Omni-tools flickered and died, plunging them into communications darkness. The sleek C-Sec defense systems, state-of-the-art just moments ago, were now useless hunks of metal.
Fucking splendid.
The hall descended into chaos. Diplomats scrambled for cover. Garrus saw a group of asari commandos flaring their biotics and launching into the battle. Assisting the C-Sec formations broken by the sudden assault, they cut through the mercenaries with a force that was as beautiful as it was deadly. But as new waves of assailants rushed in, even the biotics were struggling to keep the Nova Legion at bay. The mercs overwhelmed the defenders with numbers, their tactics ruthless, exploiting every weakness in the room's security.
Katie stared at the podium with mounting horror, her eyes wide and unblinking as she witnessed the full fury of the attacker's firepower concentrate on that single point. She saw David Anderson emerging from the smoke, sidearm already drawn. He covered a salarian dignitary, pushing him behind a nearby cover.
Adrian Victus and Randall Ezno were covering the semi-collapsed stage next to turian C-Sec officers trading fire with the advancing mercenaries, while Hackett and Oraka rushed to help Admiral Shepard and Primarch Vakarian.
Through all the madness, Katie caught sight of Garrus on the opposite side of the hall. He had already sprung into action, his sidearm a blur as mercenaries dropped in quick succession. She watched transfixed. The rhythm of his motion was perfectly synced with his rate of fire. Gaze, sharp and focused, darted from threat to threat with cold accuracy. This was the Garrus she remembered from Lindor—the force of nature unleashed.
For a fleeting moment, their eyes met. Beneath the cold focus, she caught something else—fear. Not for himself, but for her. Like other civilians, she had no kinetic shield. A sharp jerk of his head gave a silent order: get to cover.
A split second later, gunfire tore through the space between them. Katie barely registered the movement before strong arms yanked her down behind an overturned table.
Kaidan.
Alenko pressed her low, body shielding hers, no words needed. He made sure she was secured behind the makeshift cover, ejected a smoking heatsink from his pistol and slammed a fresh one home, then leaned out from behind their table, simultaneously activating protocols on his omni-tool to counter the effects of the EMP.
Her initial shock subsiding, Katie felt a surge of anger rise within as she took in the sight—another attempt to promote the peace was crumbling right before her eyes. She clenched her fists, faintly aware of the faint purple glow beginning to shimmer around them. Deep within, something stirred, raw and long-suppressed, answering the chaos with its own rising force.
Garrus's instincts took over as he advanced through the ruined hall, now a battlefield choking with smoke and shouts. Too many enemies. Too many civilians caught in the crossfire. A turian in Nova Legion armor led the charge, his rifle snarling as he gunned down C-Sec officers struggling to hold a defensive line. The mercenaries moved with brutal efficiency, their shots precise, each one placed for maximum lethality.
Garrus's grip tightened on his Carnifex. The heavy pistol was a powerful weapon, but still a poor substitute for his trusted rifle.
Spirits, he missed his armor.
The diplomatic attire, with its protective underlay and kinetic shields, offered some protection, but it felt inadequate. He longed for the familiar weight of his combat suit and the reassuring hum of a tactical shield generator.
Damn this diplomacy and its protocols!
The irony wasn't lost on him—in their efforts to appear peaceful and build trust, they had left themselves exposed to this very kind of attack. Now, surrounded by explosions and gunfire, his battle instincts screamed at him, colliding with the limitations of his current gear.
His eyes locked onto the Primarch. Together with Shepard, he was taking heavy fire amidst the rubble of the collapsed podium, surrounded and aided by the unexpected mix of turian-human officers. They were still holding, but for how much longer?
Reaching them meant crossing open ground. He wouldn't make it without suppressive fire.
Garrus scanned the hall in seconds. To his right, a C-Sec team huddled behind cover, their leader, Chellick barking orders over the din. Their black-and-blue armor was dusted gray with debris, spent thermal clips scattered at their feet.
That was his route.
Vaulting over shattered stone, Garrus sprinted forward. One merc in his right. Two shots.
The first round hit center mass, shattering the kinetic shield in a burst of crackling blue. The second followed an instant later, punching through unprotected armor. The merc dropped.
One less to worry about!
Another merc on his left.
Garrus adjusted his aim. Another shot, another shield collapsed in a flare of disrupted energy. A precise follow-up to the head sent the turian sprawling.
Scratch one!
He slid into cover beside Chellick just as bullets chewed into the wall behind him.
"They knew our positions," Chellick growled, reloading with practiced speed. Blue blood trickled from a cut above his eye. "Security grid's dark—HQ's not responding."
Garrus didn't need a status report. He could see the problem for himself.
"I need to get up there," he gestured the direction of the podium.
Chellick nodded, immediately grasping what was needed. "We'll cover you." He relayed orders to his squad to shift formation.
"On my mark!"
The moment the barrage of covering fire erupted keeping the Legion's heads down, Garrus moved.
He advanced in quick, calculated bursts, weaving through shattered columns and overturned tables, his boots skidding on debris-strewn marble. He dropped two more mercs, barely breaking stride as he closed the distance.
When he reached the podium, he was greeted by a sight of Admiral Shepard positioned side-by-side with the Primarch, pistols blazing as they held off the encroaching mercenaries, shields flaring from relentless barrage of high-velocity rounds.
"We need to get them to safety!" Garrus shouted to the officers nearby. He noticed Hackett's knowing smirk. Clearly, this wasn't a novel suggestion.
"Get to safety?" Shepard asked with a wicked smile. "And disappoint all these esteemed gentlemen? Where's your sense of hospitality, Major?"
Despite himself, Garrus felt a grin tug at the corner of his mandible. It wasn't every day he saw an Alliance legend in action. Shepard fought with razor-sharp control, eyes burning with battle fury, that familiar smirk—one Garrus had seen on his daughter. In that moment, the admiral looked ten years younger.
Garrus took in the whole scene. The Primarch wasn't far behind his counterpart, cutting down the attackers with controlled bursts from his sidearm. Around the two leaders, humans and turians fought as one—moving in sync, covering each other's blind spots, compensating for weaknesses without hesitation.
The peace talks had aimed for unity. Here, in the heart of battle, it was happening. No hesitation. No divisions. Just soldiers holding the line together.
Taking position alongside them, Garrus raised his Carnifex and joined the fight.
Across the hall, Alenko found himself torn by how to proceed next. His eyes darted between Admiral Shepard and Kathreen—two conflicting priorities. The officer in him knew his duty was to protect the admiral, the obvious target of this attack. But he couldn't leave her alone.
Gunfire intensified as mercenaries pressed toward the stage where Shepard stood his ground. Explosions punctuated the chaos, mingling with the cries of the wounded.
"Go help my dad!" Kathreen's voice cut through his hesitation, sharp and resolute, as if reading his mind.
His chest tightened. Even now, she was beautiful—her face an unsettling blend of fear and determination, violet eyes burning with defiance.
With a pained expression, he made his choice. He gestured toward a partially collapsed pillar. "Get behind there and stay down. No matter what happens, don't move. I'll come back for you."
Making sure she got there safely, he tore himself away from the spot and plunged into the fray to fight his way towards the podium.
A flash of movement. Kaidan's gaze snapped to the side as a turian mercenary lunged toward him, mandibles flared in a battle cry. His rifle hung uselessly at his side—the heatsink spent—but he was already too close for a reload to matter. Turians thrived in hand-to-hand combat, and this one intended to prove it, closing the distance fast.
Not this time.
Alenko activated his omni-tool's overload function. A burst of electromagnetic energy erupted from his arm, slamming into the merc. The turian's shields flickered and died in a shower of sparks, leaving him exposed. In the split second of the mercenary's confusion, Kaidan raised his pistol. Time seemed to slow, the chaos fading into the background. He exhaled slowly and squeezed the trigger.
The shot rang out, precise and final. The merc staggered mid-stride before crumpling to the floor, never closing the distance. Kaidan didn't wait to watch him fall. He pressed forward, a grim sense of satisfaction settling in his chest.
No turian would ever get that close again.
As he moved, he caught the telltale flicker of omni-tools reactivating across the room. Power was coming back online, systems rebooting. A shift in the battle, subtle but undeniable.
But the tide wasn't turning just yet.
Garrus meticulously fired each shot. The air reeked of burnt metal and ozone, the flickering blue glow of biotics casting jagged shadows through the smoke. There was no time to think—only to act.
Across the havoc, he caught glimpses of Alenko carving through the enemy ranks with the ruthless efficiency of a seasoned Alliance officer. Not that long ago, they had been on opposite sides of the battlefield. The thought of fighting shoulder to shoulder with a former enemy was surreal. But there was no room for history here. Only the mission.
Cover the Primarch. Hold the line.
The human major had left Katie behind cover, now joined by a couple of other civilians, trusting the debris to keep her safe. Garrus envied him that certainty. He couldn't stop looking in her direction, couldn't banish the gut-deep instinct to go to her. But he knew his place—here, between the two leaders and the storm of gunfire tearing through the grand auditorium.
Another explosion rocked the hall. The floor heaved beneath him, sending a wave of dust and heat into the air. Garrus squeezed his eyes shut for a split second, shielding them from the blast. When he looked again, his gut clenched—the ceiling cracked above Katie's position. He barely heard his own desperate roar lost to the deafening sound. The ornate architecture buckled, massive slabs of reinforced metal and stone breaking apart as they cascaded downward.
For a heart-stopping moment, he lost sight of his bondmate completely.
As the dust began to settle, Garrus prepared himself for the worst. But what he saw next made his mandibles go slack.
She stood tall amidst the falling debris, stopped in its track by her outstretched hand. Blond hair floated in the air as if caught in a gentle breeze, defying gravity. The elegant human dress of a desert bloom color swirled softly around her figure. All of this through a haze of sparkling energy—purple, unique, like the color of her eyes.
The world slowed to a crawl as Katie felt the current surge through her body. The familiar tingle of power, suppressed for years, now erupted with volcanic force. Chunks of the ceiling hung suspended around her, caught in the swirling vortex of her hastily erected barrier.
The entire hall seemed to freeze for a moment, all eyes drawn to the unexpected display of impossible purple color. Gasps rippled through the crowd as civilians scrambled behind her crackling shield. Katie's mind reeled, struggling to process what was happening. In the corner of her vision, she caught sight of one of the media drones that survived the EMP, blinking with red and capturing every detail.
Her body trembled, not from fear, but the surge of power she'd kept locked away for so long. The familiar tingle of biotics crawled across her skin like electricity, a sensation that brought both exhilaration and dread. She hadn't dared touch this part of herself since Lindor, hadn't wanted to remember what she was capable of.
But now, watching civilians cower and C-Sec officers fall, the power sparked to life against her will, responding to her desperation. Her heart raced as the purple simmered around her fingers—she wasn't sure what was more terrifying: the carnage unfolding before her, or the devastating force threatening to burst free from within. Yet as one more explosion rocked the hall, a cold certainty settled in her gut. She no longer had the luxury of keeping her demons caged.
An asari commando nearby was locked in combat with four attackers, her own mass effect field flaring as she shielded a pair of civilians while holding the line. Without thinking, Katie reached out with her power, grabbing two of the mercs and hurling them across the hall. The asari's eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded gratefully before focusing on her remaining opponents.
"The human!" came the dual-toned voice. "Take her down!"
More assailants were converging now, turning Katie's direction. She felt a thrill of fear as she realized she'd made herself a target, but it was quickly overshadowed by a surge of adrenaline.
She lashed out at the turians with wild, unfocused bursts, sending them flying backward into their comrades. But more were coming, and her untrained attacks were as likely to drain her energy as they were to hit their targets.
Then—suddenly—they started dropping.
Garrus!
She didn't need to see him to know—it was in the rhythm, the ruthless precision. The shots came in perfect succession. Every time a merc turned toward her, they dropped, cut down mid-step by a round that left no room for survival.
She risked a glance over her shoulder, and there he was—cold, efficient, focused. His mandibles were tight against his face, his expression unreadable, but she knew what burned behind those sharp eyes.
Rage. Protection.
She felt the sting of a bullet grazing her arm as a round broke through. The shock and fear twisted into something primal. Katie screamed, her control shattering like glass. Pure biotic energy exploded outward, catching the nearest attacker and propelling him through the air with devastating force. His tech armor crumpled like paper and he slammed into the far wall, the impact leaving a dent in the alloy plating.
"By the Goddess," the asari commando beside her breathed. She moved to Katie's side, her own blue glow complementing the purple energy. "You have some juice," she shouted over the din, "but no control. Follow my lead!"
Together, they pushed back against the Legion operatives' assault. Katie mimicked the asari's movements, her biotics becoming more focused. Mercs' shields shattered under their combined attack, leaving the turians vulnerable to precise shots from remaining C-Sec officers.
As the battle reached its crescendo, Garrus spotted a figure moving through the wreckage with steady confidence. Saren Arterius. The sharp lines of his black Spectre armor seemed to mold with the shifting shadows. The carnage didn't faze him—if anything, he stood apart from it, untouched and indifferent.
Garrus's mandibles pressed tight as he tracked the Spectre's gaze. It wasn't on the mercenaries, the defenders, or even the political leaders still fighting for their lives. It was on Katie. There was something off in the way Arterius watched her. Not the detached assessment of a strategist weighing the battlefield. Not the urgency of an ally looking for a way to intervene
Anticipation?Excitement?
Had Saren been waiting at the edge of it all, watching?
And when Katie's power flared, raw and unchecked, a flicker of something else passed over the bare face.
Not surprise. Not concern.
Satisfaction.
Katie fought to keep control, but the battle pressed in from all sides. Her biotics flared unpredictably, sometimes striking true, sometimes scattering uselessly. She had never faced this many opponents at once, never had to split her focus across so many threats. The asari's sharp commands pierced her disorientation, but it wasn't enough—she was slipping.
Her arm hurt and her head was splitting in two. The sounds of gunfire and screams began to blur. The chaos and destruction around her became too familiar, too terrifying.
Suddenly, she wasn't on the Citadel anymore.
The elegant hall faded away, replaced by the concrete walls stained with age and neglect and the dirty mattress in the center of a large room. The smell of mold and fear, metal and burning flesh filled her nostrils, making her choke on it. Blood of her victims was everywhere. The turian mercenaries were no turian at all—they were something else now, their four eyes gleaming with cruel intent, hands reaching for her greedily, making her feel small and helpless.
"No," she whispered, her biotics fluctuating wildly.
"Hold it!" the asari beside her shouted. But it was too late. She recoiled as the purple barrier pulsed erratically, forcing back friend and foe alike. "Move!" she yelled, warning the nearby defenders.
Katie was unraveling. The fear, the helplessness, the untamed power spiraling beyond control—everything she had buried came surging back. A scream tore from her throat and her biotics detonated in a violent shockwave.
"Titans of Palaven," gasped one of diplomats, crouching behind a blue barrier.
Nearby attackers were lifted off their feet, slammed into walls and debris with bone-crushing force. The air rippled with dark matter as a couple of asari tried to cover friendlies with their shields. Katie's eyes glowed an eerie purple; the biotic energy swirled around her, alive and insatiable. It tore outward like a predatory beast, ripping apart everything that dared to get too close.
Garrus saw what was happening and felt his heart clench. He recognized the look in her eyes—it was the same expression he'd seen years ago on Lindor, when a frightened human had unleashed unfathomable power to save a turian's life.
He started fighting his way towards Katie, desperate to reach her before she lost control completely.
The air rippled and warped under the pressure of unstable force. Katie's body became the eye of the storm, her breath ragged as biotics coalesced in a violent maelstrom. Garrus had seen what she was capable of, knew what would happen next.
And he was too late.
Her energy detonated outward in a pulse of pure biotic fury. It was more than a shockwave—it was gravity imploding and surging outward in a cataclysm of dark energy. The walls groaned, fractures webbing out in erratic patterns as the ground itself buckled.
Garrus barely had time to register the sound before he was airborne. Dark matter gripped him, suffocating, crushing. He hit the far wall, his shield partially absorbing the impact in a burst of sharp, agonizing pressure. His breath ripped from his lungs as he crumpled to the ground. Pain lanced through his rib crest, his vision flickering as he struggled to inhale.
He had to move—had to get to her—but his limbs wouldn't cooperate.
He could only watch as her chaos unfurled.
Kaiden was closer.
He ducked at the last second, using the fallen pillars as cover. The blast slammed into the stone, sending hairline fractures spiraling out, but it held. He pressed himself against the debris, shielding his face as the wave of biotic energy tore through the battlefield. At least a dozen Nova Legion mercs that were closing in on Kathreen had no such protection. They were flung across the hall, some hitting walls so hard they left cracks in the surface before slumping to the ground, motionless.
The asari defenders fought to hold their ground. Some managed to stay upright, but others faltered, shields shimmering as they absorbed the brunt of the attack.
Kaiden gritted his teeth, heart hammering. He had to get to her. And he hoped he wasn't too late.
Katie stood at the center of it all, her body trembling, blood dripping from her nose and the corner of her mouth. The energy around her pulsed erratically, gaining momentum again instead of subsiding. Her wild eyes burned with violet light, but Kaiden saw beyond that—saw the way her limbs quivered, the way she swayed. She was draining herself.
He knew what would happen if she pushed too far.
Biotics wasn't infinite, wasn't just energy—it was marrow-deep, woven into the body itself. Run out completely, and the body collapsed. If she kept going, she wouldn't just pass out. She'd die.
"Kathreen!"
His voice barely carried over the hum of dark energy, but he pushed forward anyway, forcing his way through the gravitational pulses ripping through the air. He timed his movements carefully, moving from cover to cover, slipping through the gaps between each volatile surge. Heat lashed at him, his skin stinging from the biotic friction, but he didn't stop. Couldn't.
He had one shot.
With a final push, he broke through, closing the distance. Her body jerked as he grabbed her, his arms locking around her trembling frame. The energy crackled dangerously, biting into him, but he held firm.
"You're safe." His voice was firm and steady. "I've got you, Kathreen. I'm here."
The biotics didn't stop immediately. She struggled, still trapped in whatever nightmare her mind had dredged up. He didn't know what she was seeing with those glassy eyes, but he could feel it, the raw terror twisting inside her.
"Kathreen."
His hands cupped her face, thumb smudging blood. "It's me. Kaiden. Look at me."
Her breath hitched. For a second, he wasn't sure she heard him. But then her gaze snapped into focus, locking onto his; the fevered glow in her irises flickered like a dying flame.
"K-Kaiden?"
"That's right," he said softer now, though his grip remained steady. "It's okay. You're okay. I need you to calm down. Can you do that for me?"
The storm wavered. The surging energy crackled one last time before finally starting to fade. Her body sagged against his, her breathing ragged and shallow. As the last remnants of power drained from her, so did the adrenaline that kept her upright.
Kathreen's knees buckled, and Kaiden caught her, holding her close against his chest.
"I've got you," he murmured. "You're safe."
Garrus finally managed to stand, his entire body aching from the impact. His vision swam, but it didn't stop him from seeing what was right in front of him—Kaiden Alenko, cradling his bondmate against his chest, whispering reassurances as he held her trembling form. Relief warred with something darker, heavier. The thought of what could have happened, the damage she could have done, chilled Garrus to the bone—he had seen Katie's power firsthand. He had been too slow, unable to reach her in time. Unable to protect her. And now she was in the arms of another.
His mandibles tightened, his expression darkening as pain and frustration twisted inside. He wanted to go to her, to pull her away, but he knew he couldn't. Not when the battle still raged around them. He exhaled sharply, forcing his emotions down, channeling them into something useful—vengeance.
Katie's unexpected outburst had shattered the enemy ranks, scattering the mercenaries like dust in the wind. The tide had turned. Garrus clenched his pistol and stalked forward, focusing his fury on the remaining assailants, until his gaze once again was caught by Saren.
The Spectre stood motionless, observing the aftermath of Katie's biotic outburst, the same strange look on his face. Only when the C-Sec forces seized the momentum and pushed into the offensive, Saren's demeanor changed. With fluid, almost casual movements, he stepped into the fight. His own biotics flared, a sickly blue glow enveloping him as he unleashed devastation upon the remaining attackers.
Mercenaries were hurled across the battlefield, their bodies crumpling and falling to the ground in shapeless heaps. Arterius moved like a force of nature, each gesture precise and lethal. To the panicked crowd, he looked like a hero, swooping in at the last moment to save the day.
Garrus saw through the performance. Arterius had waited—calculating, deliberate. But for what? It felt like an experiment, the way he observed, measured, and only stepped in once the outcome was clear. And now, with his results in hand, he was erasing the evidence.
The last mercenary collapsed, and silence settled over the hall like dust after an explosion. Saren stood at the center of it, surveying the wreckage with cold precision.
Then the barricaded doors gave way. Security forces and medics surged in, voices overlapping in urgent commands. Amid this new kind of chaos, Garrus locked eyes with the Spectre. For a split second, something flickered beneath the surface—something true and unguarded. And then it was gone, smothered beneath the calculated stillness of a turian who had mastered the art of showing nothing at all.
Garrus glanced at his bondmate, still held in Kaidan's steady grip. Then at Admiral Shepard, rushing to his daughter. Then at the Primarch, already surrounded by a wall of aides and security. The battle had ended, but the danger was still very much palpable.
A chill settled over him, stark and biting despite the lingering heat of combat. Had Saren known about this attack? The Spectre's unsettling composure in the midst of chaos, his uncanny positioning throughout the fight—it all felt too precise, too measured to be coincidence.
And then there was his fixation on Katie's biotics. Garrus had seen it before, the gleam of interest that sent unease crawling up his spine. Had Arterius been watching her? Studying her?
Were these pieces connected? The attack. Saren. Katie.
Garrus weighed the possibilities, every instinct telling him there was more at play. If the Spectre was involved, if he had known and allowed it to happen… then the threat to Katie—and to the fragile peace they were fighting for—was more dire than Garrus had feared.
But even as suspicion burned through his mind, a part of him questioned his own reasoning. Was he seeing connections that weren't there? The stress of battle, the sleepless nights over the Syndicate and Hegemony threat, the constant vigilance required to protect his and Katie's secret—was it all taking its toll, making him paranoid?
Garrus shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He couldn't afford to be distracted, not now. Whether his suspicions about Saren were founded or not, the Nova Legion's assault demanded full attention. His tactical mind shifted gears, analyzing the attack's improbable success. How had these mercenaries breached the Citadel's most secure location? The implications were deeply troubling, suggesting a catastrophic security failure.
The once-grand hall was now a battlefield-turned-command center, where officials scrambled to make sense of the carnage. A makeshift medical area had been set up, where Shepard's and the Primarch's people with superficial wounds were being patched up. The more critical cases—like Randall Ezno, his leg torn open, and Adrian Vicrus, growling as medics pressed gauze against the shrapnel embedded deep in his side—were rushed to the Huerta Memorial. Civilians had been evacuated. The dead, primarily the C-Sec officers, were carefully lifted onto stretchers.
Primarch Vakarian stood rigid among the Councilors, his mandibles flared in a snarl. "I want every second of footage analyzed, every fragment of debris examined. I want to know how they got past our security." His gaze swept the ruined hall, past the shattered columns and bodies draped in the blue of C-Sec, past the scorched walls where banners of peace had once hung. The air stank of failure.
A short distance away, Admiral Shepard issued quiet orders to the Alliance personnel, his gaze flicking toward his daughter with barely concealed worry.
Katie sat on a cot, still and silent amid the movement of medics fussing over her, treating her injured arm and monitoring her biotic readings. She looked small and vulnerable, her elegant gown now torn and stained, her eyes wide with shock and exhaustion.
Alenko stood beside her protectively. His gaze swept the hall, constantly assessing, as if expecting another ambush. He wasn't going anywhere.
"Quite a show, wasn't it?" The low, dual-toned voice cut through Garrus's thoughts like a blade.
Saren.
The Spectre approached from behind, watching the aftermath with an air of calculated interest. His expression was unreadable, his subvocals eerie silent, but there was something in the way his eyes gleamed—a quiet excitement beneath the carefully crafted indifference.
"It's not every day you see such... raw potential unleashed," Saren mused.
Garrus fought to keep his voice neutral. "It was certainly unexpected. I'm just glad the casualties were minimal."
Saren's mandibles flicked in amusement. "Unexpected is not the word I would use."
Before Garrus could respond, Sparatus's sharp voice cut across the space. "Arterius, I want your input on this. The attackers' tactics were too precise, too well-coordinated for a simple terrorist cell…"
Saren rumbled and turned to the Councilors standing next to Primarch Vakarian and C-Sec commanders.
"How could this have happened?" Councilor Valern demanded, his large salarian eyes blinking rapidly in distress. "Citadel security is supposed to be impenetrable! We had multiple layers of protection, state-of-the-art scanners, the best C-Sec forces—"
"Security breach is not the only troubling thing," Tevos interjected, her gaze shifting toward the medical area. Toward Katie. "What about the Shepard girl? How long has the Alliance been hiding a biotic of her power?"
Admiral Shepard stepped forward, his uniform singed from battle, his expression set in stone. "Kathreen's abilities had no bearing on these negotiations." His voice was firm, though Garrus caught the flicker of unease beneath it. "Her biotics have never been a secret. Merely... undocumented."
"Undocumented?" Sparatus scoffed, his mandibles flaring. "A previously unknown biotic, daughter of a high-ranking Alliance official, reveals powers that rival those of an asari commando. She nearly brought the entire building down. Undocumented is not the word I'd use. Dangerous is more like it."
"Such power in an untrained biotic is unprecedented," Tevos said, explaining her reservations. "The Council is concerned that—"
"Is this really what you want to discuss right now, Councilor?" Shepard cut her off sternly, his patience wearing thin. "Or are you deflecting from the fact that a group of turian mercenaries just attacked the peace summit? Where's your outrage about that?"
Tevos hesitated. Sparatus rushed to intervene, his mandibles twitching. "That's... that's a separate issue. The Nova Legion does not represent the Hierarchy—"
"Oh? And my daughter represents the entire Alliance?" Shepard countered. "You can't have it both ways, Councilor."
Primarch Vakarian raised a placating hand. "We're all shaken by these events, but pointing fingers will get us nowhere. We need to focus on the immediate threat."
"This is unthinkable," Sparatus muttered. "The Nova Legion operating on the Citadel? It's a direct challenge to Hierarchy authority."
Admiral Shepard seized the opening. "Or a calculated move by elements within the Hierarchy opposed to peace."
The accusation hung heavy in the air.
Primarch Vakarian's response was immediate, vehement. "The Hierarchy does not condone these actions. We will cooperate fully with any investigation."
But the damage had been done. This looked bad—very bad—for the Hierarchy. The Nova Legion's attack had done more than leave bodies and ruin in its wake—it had struck at the foundation of the peace process itself.
Garrus growled in frustration. He focused on tending to his injuries, wincing as he smeared medi-gel over a deep gash on his arm. Yet even as he worked, his eyes tracked Saren across the room. The Spectre stood composed, recounting his version of events to a cluster of C-Sec officers surrounding him. To an outsider, he looked every bit the consummate professional—detached, efficient, dedicated to his duty. But Garrus saw past the facade.
His mind raced. The attack, Katie's revelation, Saren's involvement... The more Garrus thought about it, the more he suspected that Saren knew about the Nova Legion's plans. But how to prove it? Was there anything to prove?
Shepard's sharp voice snapped Garrus out of his spiraling thoughts. The admiral motioned for Alenko, who clearly didn't want to leave Katie for even a moment, but after a brief hesitation, made his way to his commander.
And at that exact moment, she looked directly at him. Her violet eyes found his, pale lips silently whispering his name. She scanned the room before carefully rising from the cot. Slowly, trying to steady herself, she made her way toward the water cooler by the wall.
Garrus waited a few seconds, then, as casually as he could, followed.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly, stepping up beside her at the cooler.
"Garrus," she whispered, her eyes glassy with unshed emotion. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... I couldn't control it."
His gut twisted. He wanted—needed—to pull her into his arms, to shield her from the scrutiny, the whispered fears. But he was painfully aware of the eyes on them and of the Spectre lingering just out of sight.
"It's not your fault," he murmured. "You saved lives today."
He saw it once again—the pain she still carried, the weight of the past pressing down on her reopening the wounds. Would they ever heal?
For a brief moment, their fingers intertwining in a gesture hidden from view. He poured all his support and reassurance into that touch, knowing it wasn't enough, hating that he couldn't do more.
"It will be alright," he promised.
She held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. Turning away, she walked back toward the medics, her water cup trembling in her grasp.
Garrus watched her go. The space between them felt vast, insurmountable. And yet, he knew—without hesitation, without doubt—he would cross galaxies to keep her safe.
"What," Shepard's voice rang out—low, controlled, and dangerous—"is the Hierarchy's response to this blatant attack by its own kind?"
Garrus shifted his attention back to the officials as Primarch Vakarian stepped forward, his stance rigid with authority.
"Admiral, I assure you, the Hierarchy has no ties to the Nova Legion. They are renegades, outcasts—"
"Outcasts with military-grade weapons and tactics," Shepard retorted. "Clearly very well organized."
"We understand your concern, Admiral," Sparatus interjected. "This attack is as much a shock to us as it is to you."
"Then you also understand how it looks to the Alliance," Shepard shot back. "A turian mercenary group attacking a peace summit—attackinghumandiplomats."
The tension in the room thickened, hanging like a storm cloud ready to break. Garrus watched the exchange, his mandibles flicking with unease.
"Admiral, the Nova Legion are just hired guns," Castis spoke in a steady voice. "They have no political affiliations. But I understand your position. The Alliance needs proof that the Hierarchy is taking this seriously—and that's exactly what you'll get."
"The Council won't stand idle, either," Sparatus added. "Our best people will be on this immediately." The Councilor cleared his throat with an air of authority. "Spectre Arterius," addressed Saren, who remained among the C-Sec officers, "the Citadel Council is assigning you to lead this investigation."
Saren straightened, his expression settling into a flawless mask of duty.
"Of course, Councilor," he replied smoothly, his dual-toned voice even and composed. "Rest assured, I will uncover whoever is responsible for this atrocity."
"You will have the full support of the Hierarchy," the Primarch added, a note of reluctance in his subvocals. His mandibles tightened slightly, betraying his dislike for the barefaced Spectre. "Everything we have on the Nova Legion and their operations is at your disposal."
Garrus watched as Saren accepted the responsibility with effortless ease—a picture-perfect Spectre. A paragon of order amid the chaos. For a moment, Garrus was reminded of the posters that had adorned his childhood bedroom, portraying Spectres as larger than life heroes, their authority unquestionable, their cause just.
Except now he knew better.
He saw what others missed—the micro expressions, the too-controlled body language, the silent subvocals, the calculating gleam in Saren's gaze. Beneath that polished exterior, there was something colder. Something far more insidious.
As the other officials discussed logistics, Garrus couldn't shake the feeling that they were playing right into Arterius's hands. Was it just his suspicions clouding his judgment, or did every suggestion the Spectre made seem designed to steer the investigation away from himself? His thoughts sharpened, analyzing each of Saren's words, looking for hidden meanings or misdirections.
Then, just before Saren turned to leave, he cast a glance at Garrus. It was brief—barely more than a flicker of attention—but it carried weight. A knowing look, edged with something Garrus could only describe asmocking satisfaction the barefaced wasn't even trying to hide.
His plates itched.
If his suspicions were correct, then the official investigation was compromised before it even began. The real answers wouldn't be found in sterile reports or security footage. The true conspiracy lay hidden in the shadows, where it would remain, as one of the potential orchestrators was now in charge of uncovering it.
Garrus exhaled slowly, forcing his emotions into check.
Fine. If the system was compromised, then he'd work outside it.
He'd conduct his own investigation—one not bound by bureaucracy, one that wouldn't be manipulated by politics or Spectre influence. He would chase the truth down, wherever it led.
His mandibles tightened.
Because whatever game Saren was playing, whatever his true objectives were, there was one thing Garrus knew with absolute certainty—Katie was involved.
And he would do whatever it took to protect her. Even if it meant going against a Spectre and everything he'd once believed in.