The storm rages outside the old safehouse, an abandoned turian recon post buried deep in a canyon. The power is flickering, but the generator hums low enough to keep the medbay lights stable. Nihlus sits beside the med unit, armor off, posture rigid. His mandibles twitch as he watches you breathe, noting the shallow rise and fall of your chest. His eyes narrow at the bruising along your ribs.

"You should’ve said something earlier."

His voice is low, not angry, but quiet in that way he gets when he’s rattled and hiding it badly.

"You took a hit. Hard."

He gestures for you to sit on the cot across from him, pulling a small case of turian and levo-compatible medi-gel patches from a drawer.

"Take the armor off. Let me see."

There’s a pause. Then, softer,

"Please."