Jace Wilcox had spent years in warzones, but somehow, this felt worse.
The Zakera Ward C-Sec Precinct was a constant, suffocating chaos. Comms buzzed with overlapping voices. Officers shouted orders, filed reports, moved between desks at a breakneck pace. Holo-screens flashed active warrants, case files, crime reports – each one another reminder that the Citadel never slept, never slowed down.
It felt like being deployed all over again. Except this time, there was no exit strategy.
Jace's hands curled into fists at his sides. He hated standing still in places like this – hated the feeling of being ready to move, but with nowhere to go. In the military, waiting meant something was coming. Here, it just meant you were one step behind.
He shifted on his feet, eyes flicking over the other rookies lined up beside him. Four more bodies standing in a row, all of them trying to look like they belonged. He didn't know any of them. Didn't care to. This wasn't about building bonds. This was about survival.
So why did it already feel like a mistake?
"Damn," someone muttered beside him. "Feels like a turian boot camp in here."
Jace turned just enough to clock the speaker.
Leila Dawes. Second rookie from the left. Arms crossed, hip cocked, expression carved in something between sharp amusement and disinterest. She looked like she'd been born in the Wards – like the noise and pressure didn't touch her. Like she could breathe in chaos and call it home.
She didn't wear her uniform like someone trying to impress. She wore it like someone who knew exactly how much she could get away with.
He didn't know her story. Not yet. But he knew her type. The kind who moved through red tape like it was optional. The kind who smiled when they shouldn't. The kind who turned heads without trying and started fires just to see who'd try to put them out.
Too sharp. Too easy. Too comfortable.
And Jace knew better than anyone: comfort was dangerous.
"Loud, disorganized, barely functioning?" Selyna T'Veyna smirked, arms crossed, leaning against the edge of the nearest desk like she owned it. "Sounds about right."
Jace turned to look at her.
The Asari didn't carry herself like a rookie. Not even close. Still in her maiden stage, sure – but her stance had the weight of someone who'd seen real combat. Lithe frame, coiled with control. Her eyes tracked movement with the idle calculation of someone who'd learned to identify threats before they spoke. She didn't move like a cop. She moved like a merc.
Jace couldn't figure out why someone like her had signed up for C-Sec.
"You sure you picked the right gig?" he asked, voice low, just for her.
Selyna's eyes flicked toward him, unimpressed. "Oh, I'm here for the pension."
Jace raised a brow. "Right."
She smirked. "What about you, soldier boy?"
His jaw clenched before he could stop it.
Why was he here?
Because war had made him good at fighting and useless at anything else. Because the only place he ever felt steady was in the middle of a crisis. Because after everything he'd lost, being on the line still felt better than standing behind it.
But he wasn't going to say that.
Instead, he looked away – at the chaos of the bullpen, the officers moving too fast, the shouts and overlapping comms. All of it too loud. All of it too familiar. He zeroed in on the rest of the lineup.
Cassian Solvaris. Turian. Posture stiff as hell. Armor perfectly polished. He stood like he was still at the Academy – back straight, hands behind his back, like discipline alone would win the day. He looked fresh. Too fresh. Like he believed the rules were a shield.
Jace had seen officers like him before – the kind who thought order could fix chaos. The kind who didn't know what it was like when it didn't.
Beside him stood Nyxara Vakoris. Another Turian, slighter in frame, quieter in presence. No polish to her armor. Like she knew it was going to get scuffed and there'd be no point in it. Her gaze flicked between datapads and officers, fast and efficient, like she was already picking apart the structure of the precinct in her head.
She didn't carry herself like a soldier.
She carried herself like someone who knew exactly where the cracks in the system were – and how to work around them.
He didn't have to know them to tell:
One of them believed the rules were the solution. The other knew better.
Before he could process that thought, a door slammed open at the back of the room.
Conversation didn't stop. It tightened. Officers straightened instinctively, like muscle memory. Nobody said his name, but everyone moved like they felt it.
Jace didn't need to see him to know who had just walked in. He'd been in enough warzones to recognize the weight of command before the boots ever hit the floor.
Captain Armando Bailey moved like gravity – not flashy, not loud. Just undeniable. His uniform was regulation in theory but worn in practice – collar unfastened, sleeves shoved up, a tiredness ground deep into his bones. Not fatigue. Just permanence. Like the job had soaked in and never let go.
Bailey didn't walk with the swagger of someone who wanted authority. He walked like a man who carried it because no one else would.
Jace paid attention to that. That meant something.
The Captain scanned the room once – quick, surgical. His eyes landed on the rookies and locked in. The kind of look that didn't just measure. It cut.
He stopped in front of them, voice flat. "This isn't the military."
Jace's spine straightened without thinking.
"This isn't the Presidium." Bailey's tone didn't rise, but it hardened. "This is Zakera Ward. You screw up here, people die."
Jace's jaw clenched. Bailey's gaze pinned him first.
Of course it did.
He knew what he looked like. Military posture. Clean lines. Rigid. The kind of guy who thought preparation was enough. The kind who thought doing everything right would make the chaos manageable.
Bailey's eyes didn't hold judgment. Just familiarity. Like he'd seen too many soldiers try to become cops – and knew exactly how that story usually ended.
And for the first time, Jace wasn't sure what kind of man Bailey saw when he looked at him.
"This job's not about saving the galaxy," Bailey said. "It's about showing up. Every day. Especially when no one gives a damn."
He didn't say you're not heroes like an insult. He said it like a warning.
And it landed.
Jace had been a hero once. He wasn't sure what that made him now.
Bailey rubbed a hand over his face like he was already preparing for the paperwork. "Alright," he muttered. "Pairing you up."
Jace barely had time to process before Bailey started listing names.
"Wilcox and Dawes."
He glanced to his right, where Leila smirked like she had just won a bet. "Try to keep up, soldier boy," she murmured.
Jace gritted his teeth. He had worked with a lot of different people over the years. No-nonsense officers, Alliance tactical squads, entire military divisions.
Leila had the posture of someone who never took anything seriously – but still managed to get away with everything. That meant she was either brilliant, reckless, or a pain in the ass.
Jace was betting on all three.
"Solvaris and Vakoris."
Cassian didn't even flinch. He just turned to Nyxara with a small, familiar smirk. "Guess we're stuck together again."
Nyxara snorted softly, shaking her head. "And here I thought I'd finally gotten rid of you."
Bailey gave them a flat, unimpressed look. "Glad you two were buddies back at the academy, but this is the real world. You think you know each other? You'll realize you don't."
Nyxara tilted her head slightly, scanning Cassian like she already knew exactly how this was going to go.
Cassian, oblivious to the judgment, clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Vakoris. First day, fresh start, new adventures."
Nyxara sighed heavily, like she was already exhausted by him. "I swear to spirits, if you get shot, I'm leaving you there."
Cassian just grinned. "Noted."
Bailey turned his attention to the last remaining rookie. "T'Veyna."
Selyna stretched her arms over her head, looking supremely unbothered by the fact that she was the only one left unpaired. "I work better alone."
Bailey exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering something under his breath that Jace was pretty sure included at least two curses. "Fine. But you screw up, you're running solo paperwork too."
Selyna grinned. "Oh no. The horror."
Jace resisted the urge to sigh. They weren't even out the door yet, and this was already a disaster.
Bailey checked his omni-tool. "The Wards don't work like the Academy. People here don't care about your potential. Get to work."
And just like that, the squad was officially in the field.
The Wards felt different in uniform.
Jace had walked these streets before – off-duty, passing through, boots light and eyes open. But now? In C-Sec blues, badge clipped to his chest?
Every step felt like a challenge.
The Presidium was marble floors and sterile silence. The Wards were too loud, too fast, too alive. Neon signs flickered against soot-stained walls. Street vendors shouted over music thumping from nearby clubs. The scent of spice, sweat, and burning coolant clung to the air like a warning.
Jace kept his eyes forward, shoulders squared, the weight of his armor unfamiliar but grounding. He didn't flinch at the stares. The Wards watched everyone – especially the ones pretending not to be afraid.
What rattled him wasn't the city.
It was his partner.
Leila Dawes walked beside him like she'd never known anything else. Hands in her pockets, stride easy, gaze drifting without losing focus. She didn't scan corners. Didn't square up. She moved like she didn't need to.
She didn't walk like a cop. She walked like the street belonged to her.
Jace clocked it instantly – posture, attitude, the rhythm in her steps. She wasn't patrolling. She was blending.
And it unnerved the hell out of him.
Leila smirked without turning her head. "You're thinking too hard, soldier boy."
Jace kept his expression neutral. "And you're not thinking hard enough."
She scoffed, amused. "Relax. Nobody's gonna knife you in broad daylight."
"Sounds like you've got a lot of faith in people."
Leila chuckled under her breath. "Sounds like you don't."
Jace didn't answer.
Because she was right.
His eyes flicked to her, watching as she moved just a little too comfortably through these streets. She was reading the terrain like someone who already knew it. "You from here?" he asked.
Leila's smirk stayed, but something behind it shuttered. "Been around," she said vaguely.
That was an answer that wasn't an answer.
Jace filed that away.
They walked in silence for another block, the tension settling into something else. Not easy. Not comfortable. But not entirely unfamiliar, either.
But then the din of the wards was broken by sharp shouting. Jace's head snapped up.
Two figures in the alley just ahead – voices raised, tempers flaring. One shove, then another. It was escalating.
Before he could react, Leila was already moving. "Hey, hey," she called out, stepping into the alley, hands up in a casual but practiced gesture.
Jace held back, watching. If she could defuse it cleanly, he'd let her.
But the taller guy didn't de-escalate. He sneered, glanced Leila up and down, and rolled his shoulders like he was barely tolerating her presence. "Look at this – C-Sec sending pretty little things to talk down a fight now?"
Leila didn't react. Didn't stiffen, didn't show irritation.
Jace, however, felt his teeth grind together.
Then the guy moved. Fast.
Not at her. Not yet. But his hand twitched toward his coat – toward something in his pocket. Jace had seen that movement before.
It was never just a pocket.
That was all the provocation he needed.
He closed the distance in a second, grabbed the guy by the back of his collar, and slammed him against the alley wall. The force of it rattled the bricks.
Leila whipped around. "What the hell – ?"
Jace ignored her. "You think we're here to babysit?" he asked, voice low, practical.
The guy started struggling immediately. "Hey – what the hell, man! I wasn't even–"
The second man – the one who had been arguing – reacted instantly. "Get off him!" He moved forward, half raising a fist, then hesitating.
Leila stepped between them, palms up. "Hey, don't be stupid–"
But it was too late. The taller guy shoved back against Jace. He reacted with a soldier's instinct, flipping him around, arm locking behind his back before he could get a proper swing in.
Leila cursed under her breath. The situation had changed now – no longer an argument.
Now it was resisting arrest.
The taller man struggled instantly, cursing as Jace shoved him further into the alley wall, securing the hold before he could gain leverage. The weight of years of training settled into Jace's movements – efficient, controlled, final.
Not an opening. Not an option to fight back. Just an ending. The second guy – his friend, drinking buddy, whatever the hell he was – made a snap decision.
A bad one.
"Hey – get the hell off him!"
The guy lunged.
Jace started to shift – he could handle both of them if he had to. But Leila was already there. She moved fast – faster than he expected. A sharp hook to the jaw, a twist of her foot for leverage, and the second guy stumbled into the alley wall with a pained grunt.
Jace barely had a second to register it before his suspect started thrashing again. He wrenched against Jace's hold, but Jace had already adjusted – locked his weight forward, forced his knee into the guy's lower back.
The bastard wasn't going anywhere, but that didn't stop him from running his mouth – directing a steady stream of expletives at Jace, at Leila, at anyone who'd listen. "You have the right to shut the hell up," Jace muttered, pulling a set of cuffs from his belt.
The guy struggled harder. "I wasn't even – !"
Jace yanked his arm back tighter. "Go ahead, resist harder. Let's see how that works out for you."
Leila's glare cut through the alley. "Oh yeah, because threatening him is gonna make this easier."
Jace ignored her. He had the situation under control.
Leila didn't seem to care. She turned, shaking her head as she reached for her own cuffs. Her suspect was still dazed against the alley wall, one hand clutching his jaw where she'd clocked him.
She grabbed his wrist and started guiding his arms behind his back, voice easy, controlled. "Okay, let's not make this worse for you," she said. No mocking, no force. Just calm, almost casual. "You cooperate, we get this done fast, you get to keep most of your dignity."
Jace huffed quietly. "You're making deals now?"
"I'm getting compliance," she shot back, voice low.
Jace didn't have time to argue – his suspect was still struggling. "Hey, what the hell are you doing?" the guy snapped at Leila, still shifting under Jace's hold. "You saw what happened! He jumped me!"
Jace tightened his grip. "You were about to pull something from your coat."
The man froze for half a second. Then he scoffed. "I was pulling out my damn omni-tool."
Leila shot Jace a sharp look. "That true, soldier boy? You saw a gun, or you just assumed?"
Jace ignored the heat in his chest. "I saw a guy start a fight, act aggressive, and reach into his coat when C-Sec showed up," he said flatly. "That's enough for me."
Leila's expression didn't shift. But something behind her eyes did.
She didn't say anything else.
Jace locked the cuffs in place, felt the tension bleed out of the fight the second metal clicked over wrists. The man huffed out a breath, shoulders sagging under Jace's hold.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's just get this over with."
Jace shoved him forward, guiding him toward the main street where their transport was already pulling up. Leila pushed her suspect along beside them, walking a step ahead of Jace.
She didn't look at him. Didn't say a word. But Jace could feel the tension still simmering between them.
This wasn't just about the arrest.
This was about how they did their jobs.
And this wasn't the last time they were going to fight about it.