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Three things keep Garrus breathing. The scent of his baby’s silken, copper hair at night; his eldest’s dimples when she beams up at him, breathless from playing; and the adoring light in Shepard’s eyes, its singular, constant sparkle telling him that he’s her oxygen too. That last … spirits … some days it proves all that draws air into his lungs.
Turning his back on the door that once welcomed him, he can’t remember what enticed him to take the first step down the selfish path to regret. He glances back at the shadow crossing the window and takes one last breath.