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The black-clad Asari reclined on the desk, hands folded across her stomach and head tilted to the side. Her face was smooth, with lips parted languidly as though she’d dozed off while sunbathing in front of the broad window. The only detail that suggested otherwise was the tidy bullet hole on the right side of her ribcage.
“I will work for you, Shepard. No charge.”
Shepard tore her gaze from the corpse to meet the eyes of the assassin: unreadable seas of black under long, angular brows. He extended a hand and she shook it—or tried to. His cool fingers slipped away from hers faster than melting ice, bringing to mind everything she’d been taught about how to give a proper handshake, and what to think of people who didn’t.
But she lacked the energy to question him further. The sun had barely risen above the horizon, and she could already feel the infamous heat of Illium seeping through the windows and into her armor.
“Good,” she muttered. “Let’s get out of her.” She waved at Miranda, who lowered her pistol without looking away from Thane. Grunt’s arms were already at his sides, and his eyes gleamed with an emotion that Shepard couldn’t quite put a name to. Something about it reminded her of an eager hound seeing its master after a long separation, which didn’t make sense. She was just glad that Thane didn’t seem to evoke any instinctual aggression in the Krogan.
The four of them picked their way down through the levels of Dantius tower. The air circulation system hummed obliviously under the rhythm of three pairs of feet; Thane’s steps were silent. Dawn cast a pinkish gleam over the path that Shepard had traveled earlier: mechs and mercenaries reduced to crumpled heaps, splatters of blood glistening on cream-colored walls, scorch marks torn across floor tiles. She had to admit that there could be no greater contrast to Thane’s handiwork, which was dainty by comparison. But was his way better? Did she want it to be better? What did it even mean, to be better at killing?
“Mr. Krios,” said Miranda, snapping Shepard out of her circular contemplation. “You’ll need to report to the Normandy for an introductory briefing as soon as possible. Is there anything you need to do before we leave Nos Astra?”
“I… have spent the last several days in an apartment by the docks,” Thane said, stepping across an asari commando’s outstretched arm that was bent in more places than was natural. “I would like to retrieve my equipment and personal effects, if time allows.”
“That’s up to the commander,” said Miranda.
“Say yes, Shepard,” said Grunt.
Shepard raised her eyebrows at the Krogan, who stared back beadily. At what point had he embraced the spirit of hospitality? “Whatever you need, Thane. Lead the way.”
“Thank you.”
Once outside the tower, they piled into an available skycar. Shepard took the pilot’s seat, Thane slipped into the passenger space beside her, and Miranda and Grunt squeezed into the back. Thane supplied an address that Shepard tapped into the dashboard terminal, summoning a holographic map of Nos Astra: a three-dimensional turquoise jigsaw puzzle with pink rivulets of traffic coursing through it.
As they took off and skimmed through the air between shimmering skyscrapers, Shepard felt the familiar prone sensation that came with being in the driver’s seat: with her eyes fixed on the space ahead, whoever was beside her was at liberty to scrutinize her profile, which still sported a patchwork of incandescent scars. But Thane proved to be a polite companion, keeping his head turned away from her as Miranda ran through the usual recruitment quiz. Not for the first time, Shepard found herself strangely grateful for the other woman’s presence.
“It’s a simple contract. You agree to contribute to mission goals to the best of your ability. The commander retains the right the dismiss you at any time, for any reason. Cerberus will provide intel, top-of-the-line equipment, and other services as needed, but has no liability for injury, loss of property, or death that may occur as a result of your participation.” An orange glow flickered in Shepard’s peripheral vision as data was exchanged between their omnitools. The businesslike shell of Miranda’s voice grew a little thinner. “There’s a blank line at the bottom—for next of kin.”
“Ah,” said Thane.
They descended into an area of Nos Astra that lacked the polish of the rest of the city. The buildings were smaller and boxier, and arranged in tightly-packed huddles as though hiding from the grander architecture that loomed in the distance. The walls and roofs ranged from dusty gray to murky umber, one color often peeling away to reveal another. The early-morning light reflected on a fine film of grease that seemed to coat every surface.
The area around the landing platform was mostly deserted, aside from a small group of bystanders that shuffled off when the skycar touched down. As Shepard’s door swung open, a sharp sound burst out of the receding group; she wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or a shriek.
“It’s not far,” said a gravely voice by her side. Thane had materialized without a sound. She supposed she had to get used to that.
Grunt clambered out behind them, sniffed at the air, and unholstered his shotgun.
Miranda was the last to disembark, her lips pursed. “Just so we’re clear,” she said as she rolled her shoulders, “we still have an active comm to the Normandy, so any odd moves—”
“I assure you,” growled Thane as he moved a little ahead of Shepard and made towards a gap between two buildings on the opposite side of the landing platform, “that if I wanted to set a trap, it would be nothing so obvious as luring you down a dark alley.”
Miranda raised an eyebrow, and Shepard shrugged. She tried not to drag her feet as she followed Thane, fighting off the weight of fatigue that was beginning to soak her eyes. Had she always been so prone to heat exhaustion, or was it yet another side effect of having recently been dead?
Trap or no, she was grateful for the shade as they entered the alley. She walked beside Thane—the narrowness of the path forcing them a little closer than she otherwise would have chosen—with Grunt and Miranda at her back. The alley was mostly deserted, and the few humans and asari that they passed had the disinterested, dead-eyed look of having spent too many hours awake. Shepard supposed that she must look like that herself.
They entered the apartment building through a foyer with a low ceiling and grayish walls that might have once been blue. A burly asari sat on a sofa, a glass of violet liquid in hand and a news program burbling on the screen in front of her. She nodded to Thane as he passed, but narrowed her eyes at the rest of the group. Thane led them up a flight of stairs and into a room that was small enough that you could open the door without rising from the bed—but the room was so clean that Shepard momentarily wondered if they had materialized in an entirely different part of Nos Astra.
“This will only take a moment,” Thane murmured apologetically. He slid a slim black briefcase out from under the bed. He ran a finger alongs its edge, as though reassuring himself of its solidity. He then withdrew a cloth and gave a cursory dusting to the surfaces in the room. Destroying evidence, or being a courteous customer? Or both?
Something about his unwillingness to leave a trace of himself reminded Shepard of her childhood: traveling from ship to station, carefully stopping herself from putting down roots lest they be torn away at a moment’s notice. She never left a mark on any place, and tried not to let any place leave a mark on her. Looking at his bed, she realized that it was barely wide enough to accommodate a single person, and considered that perhaps he had even fewer roots than she did.
She felt an odd twinge in her chest. Probably just fatigue.
“Travel light, I see?” she said by way of smalltalk.
Thane stared at her. “If you are referring only to physical possessions—yes.”
Grunt cocked his head. Miranda sighed.
They left the building and retraced the path they had taken earlier. As they rounded a corner, a short asari hurried past Shepard. She caught a faint scent of perfume—an uncomplicated, sugary smell—and a swish of silky cloth.
Then she gasped, as Thane whirled around and seized the asari by the hand. The asari yelped, swayed, and regained her balance. Shepard was briefly reminded of movie vids from past centuries: the hero twirling the heroine in a clattering dance through a soft, blurry, black and white world. But Thane’s expression was anything but soft: his mouth was an unyieldingly straight line, and his brows were drawn together in something that wasn’t quite anger, but was somehow worse. Disappointment? Concern?
“Let go!” the asari shouted, trying to twist her hand out of his grip.
He let go, but he didn't look away from her, and she didn't move—not that she had much choice, with Miranda and Grunt blocking the path out. Grunt trained his shotgun on the back of her head, and Miranda’s clenched fists flared with the electric blue of biotics—but her eyes shifted between Thane and the asari.
Shepard sighed and pushed a few strands of hair away from her damp forehead. The day wasn’t getting any easier. “Someone explain. Now.”
“I’d like that too,” spat that asari. Her skin was a pale mauve, and had the same dull sheen as the surrounding buildings. She wore a dress whose long sleeves were threadbare at the elbows and too long for her arms. The whites of her eyes stood out against the dark shadows underneath them.
Thane clasped his hands behind his back. “We can make this quick if you return what you’ve taken,” he growled.
“What are you talking about?” the asari retorted quickly. A little too quickly, Shepard realized.
Thane squared his shoulders and took half a step towards her, and in that moment he seemed to tower above all of them. Despite his moderate height, it was as though he radiated an inescapable darkness that extended into space itself. The asari cowered.
“Alright, alright!” She reached into one of her oversized sleeves and pulled out a credit chit, which she held out to Thane. Shepard marveled at how the asari could have pickpocketed Thane so deftly, but then she recognized the black and yellow stripes on it—the sickeningly familiar colors of Cerberus. It was her credit chit that was being proffered.
“Ugh!” Shepard snatched the chit and replaced it in the forearm compartment of her armor—which, sure enough, was empty. Her face burned. How was she going to stop the Collectors when she couldn’t even stop a pickpocket? “Let’s—just get out of here.”
“We should do something about her,” Grunt said, prodding the asari’s crest with his shotgun. She was visibly shivering despite the heat.
“That would be unnecessary,” said Thane in a quieter voice, stepping back, his hard edge seeming to disintegrate. Like melting ice, Shepard found herself thinking again. He withdrew a credit chit from a coat pocket. He flashed his omnitool over it briefly, and then held it out it to the asari. She stared at him with bulging eyes.
“Enough for a few days’ worth of food, if used wisely,” Thane said. “Go. Now.”
The asari grabbed the chit. Ducking her head, she dashed back in the direction she had come from and vanished around a corner, leaving behind only a faint smell of sugar and fear.
“Why did you let her go?” Grunt demanded, pushing Shepard aside and leaning towards Thane. “You’re strong! You could have killed her! ”
“Of course I could have. Anyone could have.” Thane lowered his eyes, his brows clouding with that strange expression of concern again. “Don’t mistake strength for the desire to do damage.”
“Hurmm.” The krogan frowned, but didn’t argue.
Shepard bit her lip, and studied Thane a little more carefully than she had before: the jade scales that gave off a subtle iridescence, the translucent lids that fluttered across downcast eyes, the intricate pattern across his forehead that reminded her vaguely of ancient engravings.
What had the dossier said? He was trained from childhood as an elite assassin, but has slowed his activities in recent years? Was it just because of his disease, or was something else at work?
“Come on,” she said, her voice softer than it had been in hours. “Let’s get back to the Normandy. There's a long road ahead.”