Nihlus
The Normandy was silent, as Nihlus made his way through the corridors, his thoughts restless. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for until he stepped into the mess hall and found Shepard sitting at one of the tables, a plate of cookies and a glass of amber liquid in front of her—the smell of caramel, cinnamon, vanilla, and a hint of smoke hanging in the air.
She wasn’t in uniform. Instead, she wore a simple tank top and shorts, her hair slightly tousled as though she’d just rolled out of bed. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen before, and for a moment, he paused in the doorway, unsure of whether to announce himself or leave her to her snack.
She looked up, catching sight of him. Her brow quirked slightly, but she didn’t seem embarrassed. “Didn’t peg you as a late-night wanderer, Nihlus.”
He stepped further into the room, his mandibles twitching slightly. “I could say the same for you, Shepard. Couldn’t sleep?”
She shrugged, gesturing to the plate. “Figured a snack might help. What’s your excuse?”
Nihlus pulled out a chair across from her, sitting down with his usual composed grace. “Thinking about the mission.” He paused, longer than he intended. “And you.”
Her brows raised at that, but there was a teasing glint in her eye. “Me? I hope I’m not keeping you up at night, Spectre.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Not in the way you’re implying. I’ve been trying to figure you out, Shepard. You’re… not what I expected.”
“Good or bad?” she asked, taking a bite of a cookie.
“Good,” he admitted. “But surprising.”
She smirked. “I’ll take it. Want a cookie? I have a stash of dextro ones. Can’t help with the drink. Didn’t get around to picking up my dad’s brandy yet.”
Nihlus blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Why are there dextro cookies on a human ship?”
Shepard shrugged, reaching for another cookie. “Picked them up for my father. He likes them.”
He shook his head, leaning back slightly. “I’ll pass. But I am curious… is this part of your nightly routine? Cookies and…?”
“Whiskey.” She chuckled, brushing crumbs from her fingers. “Only when sparring doesn’t do the trick.”
Nihlus tilted his head, mandibles twitching in amusement. “So that’s it. When you’re not keeping yourself awake with cookies, you’re beating up punching bags?”
“Or crew members,” she quipped, her grin widening. “Though you’re still my favorite sparring partner so far. I think Kaidan’s going to need a few more lessons before he catches up.”
Nihlus scoffed, amused. “A few?”
Shepard rolled her eyes, smirking. “Point taken.”
“But I’m flattered,” Nihlus said, his tone dry. “You’re a pretty good sparring partner yourself, Shepard.”
She leaned back in her chair, her demeanor growing more relaxed. “You know, you’ve got a way of sneaking up on people. First in the cargo bay, now here. I’m starting to think you’re keeping tabs on me.”
Nihlus didn’t deny it. “You’re not wrong. I’ve been watching you, Shepard. As much as you may dislike being observed, it’s necessary.”
“Necessary, huh?” she asked, her tone still light but with an edge of curiosity. “Because I’d make a good Spectre?”
He hesitated, studying her carefully. This was an unguarded moment for her, and while he knew he should tread carefully, he also knew he might not get another chance like this.
“Because I like to know who I’m on a mission with,” he said finally. “As a Spectre I find myself operating alone, more often than not. I need to know who I can trust and to what extent.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion but in thought. “Why are you here, Nihlus?”
Nihlus hesitated for a moment before shaking his head slightly. “You have a habit of asking too many questions, Shepard.”
Shepard leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the table. “I don’t like being kept in the dark. I can’t protect my people if I don’t know what I’m getting into.”
“A fair point,” Nihlus said, his mandibles twitching in what was the turian version of a smile. “I do as I’m told, Shepard. The Council needed a Spectre to oversee our upcoming mission.”
Shepard seemed to consider that for a moment, her expression softening. “But you won’t tell me why.”
“Not yet,” he replied.
They sat in silence for a while after that, the hum of the ship filling the quiet space between them. Shepard finished her cookies, and Nihlus remained seated, watching her with a mix of curiosity and something else he couldn’t quite name.
Finally, she stood, stretching slightly. “I should probably get back to bed before Joker stumbles in here looking for coffee. I don’t need the commentary.”
Nihlus rose as well, giving her a respectful nod. “Goodnight, Shepard.”
She paused at the door, glancing back at him with a small smile. “Goodnight, Nihlus.”
He watched her leave, the lingering warmth of their conversation staying with him as he sat back down. Shepard was unguarded tonight, but even so, she remained an enigma. And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he found himself wanting to unravel her mystery even more.
Shepard
The mission had been simple enough on paper: investigate a suspected terrorist facility on a remote colony in the Verge. But nothing was ever simple. She should have known better.
The firefight that broke out shortly after their arrival had left her and Nihlus pinned down in a crumbling structure while Kaidan and the rest of the team retreated to the extraction point. As if the ground situation wasn’t bad enough, an enemy ship had appeared in orbit, forcing the Normandy to break off and engage.
“Shepard, Nihlus, find cover and hunker down,” Anderson’s voice came through the comms, strained but firm. “We’ll be back as soon as we shake this ship. Hold tight.”
The line went dead.
Shepard exhaled slowly, checking her rifle. The distant sound of gunfire faded as the team fell back. Just her and Nihlus now, crouched behind what little cover the ruins provided.
“Well,” she said, glancing at him. “That complicates things.”
Nihlus shifted his position, rifle resting on his knee as he surveyed the area. “I’ve been in worse situations. I’m sure you have as well.” His mandibles twitched slightly. “The important thing is staying out of sight. They’ll come back for us.”
She nodded, though her shoulders stayed tight. “Still, being stranded without support isn’t exactly ideal.”
“Do you always understate the obvious?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Despite herself, she huffed a laugh. “Keeps morale up. You should try it sometime.”
His mandibles flared slightly—the turian equivalent of a smirk, she’d learned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
They moved cautiously through the ruins, keeping low, sticking to shadows. The facility’s skeletal remains offered minimal shelter, but they found a partially intact building that would work. She secured the entrances while he scouted for signs of pursuit.
“Clear for now,” he reported, settling into a corner where he could keep an eye on the approach. “But these terrorists won’t stay away for long. They know we’re here.”
Shepard sat down on an overturned crate, her sniper rifle resting across her lap. “We’ll deal with them if they show up. Until then, we wait.”
Silence settled between them, broken only by distant wind through the ruins. Her eyes kept moving—corners, exits, shadows. Not that it would help. Just habit.
Every so often she caught Nihlus watching her. Not the evaluating stare he’d given her in the cargo bay, something else. Quieter.
“You don’t sit still easily, do you?” he observed.
She glanced at him, raising a brow. “Is that your professional evaluation?”
“An observation,” he corrected. “You’re restless. It’s not a bad thing, but it’s noticeable.”
He was right. She was restless…But why…?
She shrugged, leaning back slightly. “Maybe I just didn’t see the mission going this way. Stranded behind enemy lines with a Spectre.”
“Find me too intimidating?” Nihlus asked, voice tinged with humor.
She laughed, genuinely. “Hardly. You ever met my father?”
That seemed to catch him off guard, but he just shook his head. “Can’t say I’ve had the honor. I imagine he would be intimidating from what I’ve heard.”
She thought about it for a second before responding. “Truthfully? Not to me I suppose.” she paused, “But it’s not hard to see why other people find him intimidating. Though try sparring with him…that’s nerve wracking and terrifying at the same time.”
Nihlus nodded, acknowledging the thought but didn’t respond. Just turned to scan the horizon.
After a while, he shifted again and spoke, his tone a little more relaxed. “This reminds me of a mission I had years ago. Outer colonies. Batarian extremists. We were pinned down—two men down already—and my partner at the time, older turian, disciplined, told me to wait. I thought he was wrong. Hated it.”
She looked over, genuinely curious now. It was the first time he’d offered anything real. Not performance. Not formality. Just him.
“And?” she prompted.
Nihlus exhaled slowly. “He was right. We waited long enough for the enemy to think we’d pulled out. They got sloppy. That’s when we turned it around.”
She nodded once. “Sometimes waiting’s the best move.”
They fell into an easy rhythm after that—trading stories, small observations, the kind of conversation that filled space without demanding anything. Hours passed. She sat cross-legged against the wall, occasionally checking the readings on her omni-tool.
She found herself studying him when he wasn’t looking. The way he held himself—confident without arrogance, alert without tension. He moved like someone who’d earned his reputation rather than hidden behind it. And he didn’t carry the resentment so many turians seemed to have toward humans. Toward her, at least.
Actually, the opposite.
It was easy, being around him. Easier than it should be. With Joker, she could relax some—he didn’t stand on protocol, didn’t treat her like she was untouchable—but he was still her pilot. Still part of her crew. Nihlus wasn’t. There was no command structure between them, no hierarchy to navigate.
Just… them.
“You know,” she said, not quite looking at him, “this isn’t the worst way to spend a day.”
His head turned slightly. “How do you figure?”
She gestured vaguely at the ruins around them. “No bureaucracy. No mission reports. No politics. Just two people waiting it out.”
He considered that, mandibles shifting thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
She finally met his gaze. “Sometimes it’s nice to just exist, you know? No expectations. No roles to play.”
For a moment, he just looked at her. Not evaluating. Not analyzing. Just… looking. It made something flutter in her chest—uncomfortable and not unwelcome at the same time.
“You’re different when you’re not leading,” he said quietly. “Less guarded.”
She huffed a soft laugh, leaning her head back against the wall. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it, Spectre.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, but his tone was lighter now. Warmer.
And there it was again—that look. Like he was trying to figure her out, the same way she kept trying to read him. The space between them felt smaller somehow, though neither of them had moved.
If she was honest, he made her a little nervous. Not the way an enemy did, or the way a superior officer could. Something else entirely.
Dawn crept across the horizon, pale light filtering through the broken walls. Their comms crackled to life.
“Shepard, Nihlus, we’re inbound. Be ready for extraction in fifteen.”
Anderson’s voice broke whatever spell had settled over them. Shepard stretched, rolling her shoulders as she stood. “Well, Spectre, looks like you’ll survive another day.”
Nihlus rose, rifle in hand. “Thanks to your stellar company, Commander.”
She shot him a grin. “Let’s get out of here.”
They moved through the ruins together, falling into the practiced rhythm of two people who knew how to move in sync. But her mind kept circling back to the hours they’d just spent—the ease of it, the lack of performance, the way she hadn’t wanted it to end when Anderson’s voice came through.
She didn’t know what it meant. Wasn’t ready to examine it too closely.
But she knew one thing: being stranded behind enemy lines with Nihlus had felt different than it would have with anyone else.
And that realization made her more uneasy than the firefight had.
Shepard
The Normandy was quiet, save for the low hum of the drive core in engineering. It cast a soft, steady glow over the room, reflecting on the walls around her as she leaned against the railing, arms crossed.
She’d come here out of habit—looking for something constant, something that didn’t shift beneath her feet the way everything else seemed to lately. The mission should have been straightforward. Get in, complete the objective, get out. Instead, she’d spent hours in those ruins with Nihlus, and now she couldn’t stop replaying it. The ease of it. The way her guard had dropped without her meaning to let it.
It unsettled her more than the firefight had.
She heard him before she saw him—footsteps, light but deliberate. Of course it was him.
“Spectre,” she greeted, not looking back.
“Commander.” Nihlus came to stand beside her, resting his hands against the railing as he gazed at the drive core. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was weighted, filled with things neither had said yet.
“You always come down here after missions?” he finally asked, breaking the quiet.
Shepard smirked slightly. “Something like that.”
Nihlus tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You don’t seem like someone who enjoys sitting still.”
She gave a small chuckle, her fingers drumming lightly on the metal railing. “It’s not that. It’s hard to be still when you’re in command. Always something that needs attention. Someone who needs orders.”
“But you didn’t seem to have a problem down there.”
Shepard finally turned her head, eyes meeting his. It wasn’t an accusation, just an observation, but it made her pause. Made her chest tighten just slightly.
“I’m not your commanding officer,” she said quietly. “And I don’t report to you.”
The words felt more significant than they should have. An admission of something she hadn’t fully examined yet.
Nihlus turned slightly toward her, mandibles twitching in thought. “Did you mean it? When you said it wasn’t the worst way to spend a day?”
Shepard huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You don’t let things go, do you?”
“Not when I want to understand something,” he admitted, his tone calm but insistent.
She considered dodging the question. It would be easy—deflect with humor, change the subject, retreat behind the armor of command. But something in the way he was watching her made it difficult. He wasn’t just asking for the sake of it—he genuinely wanted to know. Maybe because he was trying to figure out his own thoughts. Maybe because he wanted to know where she stood.
Maybe both.
“I guess it was just… different,” she said finally, her voice quieter than she’d intended. “No chain of command. No battlefield. No mission parameters.” She exhaled slowly. “Just waiting. With someone I trust.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them, and for a moment, she froze. Trust wasn’t something she gave easily—Selvek had taught her that. Had drilled into her the importance of knowing who stood at your back, of understanding motives, of never being careless with that kind of faith.
But she didn’t regret saying it. Didn’t look away.
Nihlus held her gaze, his expression unreadable at first. Something shifted in his eyes—understanding, maybe, or recognition. Then, slowly, his mandibles twitched slightly, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him in a while.
“That’s not nothing,” he said quietly.
Her throat felt tight. “No,” she agreed, voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. “It’s not.”
For a moment, they simply stood there, the hum of the drive core filling the space between them. The words had been spoken, laid bare between them like an offering. Neither pushed further. Not yet. But the air felt different now—charged with something unspoken, something neither of them seemed quite ready to name.
She could feel the heat of him beside her, close enough that if she shifted her weight, their arms would brush. Part of her wanted to. Part of her wanted to see what would happen if she did.
Instead, she broke the moment, smirking as she nudged him slightly with her elbow. “You gonna make a habit of watching me, Spectre?”
Nihlus exhaled a quiet chuckle, and she could hear the relief in it—the same deflection she was doing. “Would it bother you if I did?”
She thought about that for a moment, genuinely considering. “No,” she admitted. “But I might start charging you for it.”
He huffed in amusement, straightening slightly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Shepard turned back toward the core, her posture just a little more relaxed than it had been when he’d arrived. Nihlus lingered beside her a moment longer, and she could feel him hesitating. Like there was something else he wanted to say but couldn’t quite find the words for.
But then he nodded once and stepped away. “Goodnight, Shepard.”
She almost asked him to stay.
Almost.
She didn’t turn, but she tracked the sound of his footsteps. “Goodnight, Nihlus.”
The silence after he left felt heavier than it had before. She stayed there, staring at the drive core, trying to understand why her chest felt tight, why the space beside her suddenly felt too empty.
She’d told him she trusted him. Had said it out loud, made it real. And he hadn’t dismissed it, hadn’t treated it lightly.
“That’s not nothing.”
No. It wasn’t.
And the realization that she’d wanted him to stay—that she’d had to stop herself from asking—unsettled her more than anything that had happened in those ruins.
Because it meant this was becoming something.
And she had no idea what to do with that.
Nihlus
Nihlus sat alone in the crew quarters, a datapad in his hands, though his focus had long since drifted away from the mission reports displayed on its screen. His mandibles twitched slightly in thought, his mind replaying the conversation with Shepard in engineering. Trust. It wasn’t an unfamiliar concept to him, but it was rare that he extended it so easily to someone outside the Spectres. Even rarer that he caught himself wanting to.
The way she had said it—with someone I trust—lingered in his thoughts. It wasn’t a confession, but it carried weight. Something unspoken. Something he wasn’t sure he had the time or the place to understand.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke his reverie. He glanced up as Anderson stepped inside, his presence steady, familiar. The Captain studied him for a moment before crossing his arms.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Commander Shepard,” Anderson noted, his tone neutral but laced with something that wasn’t quite amusement, nor was it a warning.
Nihlus set the datapad down, tilting his head slightly. “Is that a problem, Captain? I am here to evaluate her.”
Anderson exhaled, shaking his head. “Not unless it becomes one.” He took a seat across from Nihlus, resting his forearms on the table. “Shepard’s… different. She’s been through more than most, and she’s got a tendency to keep things close to her chest. But when she does let someone in, it means something.”
Nihlus nodded slightly. “I’ve noticed.”
Anderson studied him for a moment longer before leaning back. “She’s mentioned you. More than once.”
That caught Nihlus’ attention, though he kept his expression carefully unreadable. “And?”
“And,” Anderson said, watching him closely, “there’s something in the way she talks about you. A weight to it. Not something I’ve heard from her before.”
Nihlus hesitated. He hadn’t considered how this might look from the outside, hadn’t thought about how others might perceive his interactions with Shepard. He was evaluating her—that was his duty. But was that all?
Anderson gave a knowing smirk. “I’m not here to tell you what to do, Spectre. But I will say this—Shepard’s not one to get attached easily. I know her. I know her family. And I’d be careful if I were you.”
Nihlus let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t think careful is the right word for any of this.”
Anderson chuckled as well, standing up. “Fair enough. Just don’t get so caught up in something that you forget what’s coming next.”
Nihlus nodded as Anderson left the room, but the words lingered.
What’s coming next.
He should be thinking about the mission. About Shepard’s performance in the field, her tactical decisions, her leadership under pressure. That was why he was here. That was his duty.
But Anderson’s words had cut through that justification cleanly.
There’s something in the way she talks about you.
Nihlus exhaled slowly, his hand tightening briefly on the datapad before he set it aside. This was exactly the kind of complication he couldn’t afford. Not now. Not when the Council was watching, when his recommendation would carry weight, when everything needed to be clear and objective.
He’d spent years operating alone, trusting his judgment, keeping things simple. No attachments. No complications. It was easier that way. Cleaner.
And yet.
He could still hear her voice in engineering. With someone I trust. The way she’d looked at him when she said it—open, vulnerable in a way he suspected she rarely allowed herself to be. The weight of that admission, the fact that she’d given it to him freely.
He pushed the thought away.
This was an evaluation. Nothing more. He would finish the mission, submit his report to the Council, and whatever came after would be decided by people far above both their pay grades. That was how it worked. That was how it had always worked.
He just needed to maintain distance. Keep things professional. Remember why he was here.
It shouldn’t be difficult. He’d done harder things.
So why did the thought of pulling back feel like the hardest thing he’d been asked to do in years?
Nihlus
The next few days aboard the Normandy were routine—too routine. Nihlus found himself pulling away, keeping his distance from Shepard where he could. He wasn’t avoiding her, not exactly, but he was conscious of how their interactions might be perceived. Anderson’s words lingered in his mind, and he wondered if the crew had already started to notice. If Shepard had noticed.
If she did, she didn’t confront him about it.
Then, late one evening, Shepard found him in the cargo bay, the familiar dim lighting casting long shadows across the floor. She stepped in with the easy confidence she always carried, though there was something else in her posture—something more deliberate.
“Spectre,” she greeted, arms crossed. “Haven’t seen you around much. Starting to think you’re avoiding me.”
Nihlus, who had been checking his gear, barely looked up. “Just keeping busy.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Is that a fact?” Her eyes narrowed slightly, her voice taking on a knowing edge. “Keeping busy with what, exactly?”
He exhaled, setting his rifle aside and finally meeting her gaze. “Something on your mind, Shepard?”
She didn’t answer immediately, instead glancing at the worn training mats off to the side. “Thought I’d get some sparring in. Figured I’d ask if you were interested.”
Nihlus raised a brow plate. “You have an entire ship full of soldiers. I’m sure someone else could give you a decent match.”
“Yeah, but you and I both know no one else would be much of a challenge.” Her lips quirked in a smirk. “Unless you’re worried I’ll knock you on your ass again.”
His mandibles twitched. Damn her. He knew exactly what she was doing—challenging him, drawing him back in, making this seem like nothing more than a continuation of what had already happened between them. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe it wasn’t nothing.
Still, he pushed himself to his feet. “Fine.”
They moved onto the mats, slipping into familiar stances. It started as it did before—controlled, measured, testing defenses. But something felt different this time. The usual rhythm was there, but it carried an edge. A sharper focus. Their movements were closer, more aggressive, more deliberate.
Shepard struck first, aiming a quick jab toward a weak point in his plating. Nihlus blocked it easily, but she was already shifting, using his movement against him to drive him back a step. She smirked. “You’re holding back.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Just waiting for you to actually put up a fight.”
Her grin widened. “Cocky. I like it.”
They circled each other, tension thickening between them. Shepard pressed forward again, this time faster, forcing Nihlus to go on the defensive. She feinted left before pivoting sharply, trying to sweep his legs, but he dodged, grabbing her wrist and twisting to throw her off balance.
She caught herself at the last second, using the momentum to pull him down with her. They hit the mat, a tangle of limbs and sharp breaths. Too close.
Nihlus instinctively pinned her, one hand bracing her shoulder, the other gripping her wrist. For a second, neither of them moved. Their breathing was heavy, their bodies pressed together, muscles taut from the fight.
Then, it shifted.
The fight wasn’t the only thing between them anymore. There was heat, an unspoken question in the space between their faces. Shepard’s pulse raced beneath his fingertips. He could feel it—could feel her—and for the first time since meeting her, he let himself wonder.
What if I don’t let this go?
Shepard’s eyes flicked up to his, searching. She didn’t try to push him off. Didn’t break the tension. If anything, she held his gaze with something equally unreadable—something he wasn’t sure she was prepared for either.
Nihlus inhaled slowly, his grip loosening. A choice. He had a choice.
And then Shepard made it for him.
Shepard didn’t hesitate. With a quiet, deliberate shift, she closed the space between them. Her fingers slid along the plating of his arm, anchoring them both to something unspoken—something real. Then, with a warmth that caught him completely off guard, she pressed her lips gently to the corner of his mouth.
It wasn’t like anything he’d known. No hard clatter of mandibles, no armored tension. Just heat and softness and intent. Fragile, yes—but steady. Certain.
Nihlus stilled.
Her breath was warm against his skin, her pulse unmistakable beneath his hand—racing. And as he listened, he realized his own heartbeat had fallen into the same rhythm. Matched. Measured. Tethered.
He loosened his grip at her wrist, talons trailing with quiet care along the line of her jaw. She didn’t flinch. If anything, she leaned into the touch, her skin soft against his armored palm. Inviting. Sure.
He lowered his forehead to hers, the contact grounding them both. And in that moment, the gesture was more than ritual.
It was surrender.
And when she didn’t move, when she simply breathed and let him stay—he understood she felt it too.
The spell held until her voice broke through, quiet but resolute.
“Not here.”
He nodded without a word. He didn’t need one. He stood, offering a hand to pull her up, but didn’t let go once she was on her feet. They stood there for a heartbeat longer, two soldiers catching their breath in the dark, before she turned toward the elevator.
She didn’t look back until she reached the elevator—just far enough to give him the space to decide.
He didn’t need it.
He followed.
Nihlus
The walk to Shepard’s quarters was silent, but it wasn’t hesitant. There was a weight to each step, a purpose in the way she moved, glancing back at him only once as if to make sure he was still with her. He was.
Nihlus wasn’t sure what to expect. Or maybe he was. Maybe the answer had been waiting there all along, ever since she had pressed that first challenge into his hands, ever since he had let himself trust her in ways he hadn’t trusted anyone in years. Maybe he had just been waiting for Shepard to decide.
And she had.
The doors slid shut behind them, sealing them in together. Shepard didn’t waste time with second-guessing. She stepped closer, her presence just as commanding here as it was on the battlefield, and her fingers found the plating at his waist, pulling him forward.
His hands found her in return. Soft skin, warm beneath his touch—so different from anything he knew. He had spent days thinking, analyzing, keeping himself at careful distance. Now, with Shepard standing before him like this, all of that restraint felt like wasted effort.
She met his eyes, quiet confidence settling in her expression. “You don’t have to overthink this,” she murmured, fingers tracing along the ridges of his jaw. “Just let it happen.”
And so he did.
The first touch was careful—learning unfamiliar territory. But Shepard made it easy, grounding him with her warmth, the steady pull of her hands guiding him into something neither of them needed to name. The differences between them were stark: soft skin against hard plates, the hitch in her breath when his talons traced over her back, the way his own breathing changed when her lips found the vulnerable plating at his throat.
She was fire and intent, certainty where he had spent days caught in hesitation. She moved with purpose, never once letting him question what she wanted, what she was offering. He had spent his life making calculated choices, always anticipating consequences. But here, he let instinct take over. Let her teach him—how her fingers tightened against his plating when he found sensitive spots, how his name sounded different in her voice when she was this close.
They found a rhythm that shouldn’t have worked but somehow did. By the time they lay tangled together in the dim light of her quarters, something between them had shifted. Irreversibly.
Shepard lay against him, one arm draped across his chest, her breathing slow and even. The weight of her, the warmth of her skin against his plating, was unexpectedly comforting. He wasn’t used to this—not just intimacy, but the aftermath. The kind of closeness that lingered when the heat had faded.
He let his talons trace idle patterns over her back as she drifted, relaxed and unguarded beside him. This was trust, he realized—not just in how she had let him touch her, but in how she had let herself fall asleep here, secure that he would still be there when she woke.
For weeks, he had struggled to understand Selvek’s choice. Why a turian of that caliber—a soldier, a legend, someone who could have been Primarch—would choose a human mate. Would abandon everything he’d built for something so uncertain.
Now, lying here with Shepard’s heartbeat steady against his chest, he understood.
It wasn’t about species. It wasn’t about logic or what made sense on paper. It was about finding someone who made everything else—duty, reputation, the entire trajectory of a carefully planned life—seem suddenly negotiable. About realizing that some things couldn’t be weighed against career advancement or political positioning because they existed on a different scale entirely.
Selvek had chosen love over the path to Primarch. Had walked away from everything turian society valued to build something new with Hannah Shepard.
And in doing so, he had gained this: a daughter who carried both their strengths, who commanded respect across species lines, who was brilliant and brave and wholly herself.
Nihlus’s hand stilled against Shepard’s back.
He understood now. Understood what Selvek had seen, what he had been willing to sacrifice. The weight of that choice, and why it had been worth making.
But understanding didn’t change the reality of his own situation.
He would have to leave. Report to the Council. Recommend her candidacy or not. Move on to whatever came next.
And Shepard—she would go wherever the Alliance sent her, wherever duty called.
The warmth of her against him suddenly felt fragile. Temporary.
He had finally found something worth keeping, and he had no idea how to hold onto it. Or if he should.