It’s over and done with. The station’s a smoking hunk of junk floating in space behind her, Aleena is dead, and Wrex is sailing off to go and report a job well done. Huh.
She knew she’d been pushing a little too hard, needed to set up new tracks, erase herself again, but then that damned volus got too curious about where his funds were going for his own good, and—well. She’d seen what had become of that.
It’s a hard thing to do, but it’s better this way. Let him think he won. Let him go to some dive bar and tell the story, boast about how he finally bested the most powerful biotic this side of Thessia, with his too wide grin and his too deep voice and that huh huh huh laugh that drives her up the fucking wall—
She sighs and pulls out a datapad, her thumb flicking across the screen at blurring speeds. “When did you get so damn sentimental,” she mutters to no one in particular.
The message is short and simple. Better luck next time. They don’t need any more; he’ll understand. He’s always understood.
Letting her arm back down in her lap, she shifts back in her seat, lets her eyes haze over the glowing orange light of her console. First a rest, then…maybe she’ll try her luck in the Terminus Systems.