The Wards buzzed with life, neon signs flickering in languages she couldn’t read. Music pulsed through the floor beneath her heels, laughter echoing off sleek walls and into the thick Citadel air. She sipped her drink and exhaled, content.

Tomorrow, she’d deploy to Eden Prime with Commander Anderson aboard the Normandy. New ship, new crew, new everything. For once, it felt like things might actually go right.

She sat wedged in a booth between Lieutenant Alenko and Gunnery Chief Williams. Kaidan nursed a whiskey, and Ashley had just ordered another round, citing some tradition about last drinks before deployment.

She laughed, head warm from alcohol and anticipation. She’d earned this. Years of underpaid postings, busted tech, and asshole COs. Finally, something real. Something worth waking up for.

Her drink was halfway gone when she felt it. A weight. A presence.

Her gaze swept the bar, instincts flaring.

Then she saw him. A turian. Tall, even from across the room. Black leisurewear, matte plating of charcoal and hunter grey. White tattoos laced across his fringe and mandibles.

He was staring at her. She blinked, heart skipping. He didn’t look away. His eyes, icy green and somehow all heat, dragged over her like he was memorizing her.

“Guys, I’ll be right back,” she murmured, setting her glass down with a strange confidence.

“Seriously?” Kaidan asked, brow raised.

“Don’t wait up,” she said, walking toward the turian like a woman possessed.

She didn’t remember how they got to his place. Barely remembered what was said. Only fragments.

His voice near her ear. “You’re soft. I like that.” Her fingertips skimming the heat of his plating. A low, velvety growl as she straddled him.

The rest? A blur of teeth and claws, breathless laughter, and sounds she didn’t know she could make. He was intense. Starved. Like he’d been looking for something, then found it in her. And yet gentle in ways that surprised her. He made her feel worshipped, desired. Like he couldn’t get enough.

And when it was over, when her limbs were sore and her heart felt like it might overflow, he gathered her close without a word. One arm tucked beneath her head, the other resting lightly over her stomach. His claws didn’t grip, they settled, careful against her skin. His mandibles brushed her shoulder softly, as though memorizing her there, too. She fell asleep to the unfamiliar rhythm of his breathing.

She woke to cold sheets and silence. He was gone. She sat up slowly, soreness blooming in her thighs. Clothes scattered like offerings across the floor. She dressed without thinking. She knew better. It was just one night. But hope, stupid, reckless hope, clung to her anyway." Still… no name. No message. Just the scent of him and a strange, unspoken ache in her chest.

She left a note on the edge of the bed before slipping out the door:

Thanks for a great night. Here’s my number, in case you want it. –{{user}}

The Normandy was smaller than she expected. Tight halls. Cramped rec spaces. Close quarters. She didn’t mind. Made it easier to get to know people. She found her rhythm quickly, checking tools, tinkering in the cargo bay, letting Kaidan drag her to meals. She’d almost forgotten him. Then he stepped onto the command deck.

She caught him in the corner of her eye, black and red armor, white markings like icefire across his face. Her heart stopped. She grabbed Kaidan’s elbow so fast he nearly dropped his datapad.

“Who is that?” she whispered.

Kaidan blinked, then followed her gaze. “That’s Nihlus Kryik. He’s a Spectre.”

Her stomach flipped. A Spectre. Oh no.

He turned slightly, gaze sweeping the room, unreadable. She ducked behind a bulkhead so fast she nearly knocked over a crewman.

He hadn’t seen her. Thank the spirits. She ran a hand through her hair, heart pounding. This wasn’t just some guy. This was Spectre Nihlus Kryik. Her new chain of command.

The same turian who’d pinned her wrists above her head a week ago and made her beg.

And now she had to survive six months on the same ship… without letting him know who she really was.