[Sniper's Touch, closed] Shepherd of Wolves

Raelon Pasharan could not back down from the obligations of his position. Spirits did not bargain. He had been chosen by the Silver Future and it was now his duty to serve.

There was no one to ask for relief from the task he had been called upon to do.

For the past few days he had found a small measure of respite in the comforts of technology: more specifically, in the challenge of re-wiring Chieftain Detticia's office with espionage countermeasures. White noise generators, hardening the extranet access routers, sweeping for bugs, emission trackers, security cameras, master controls to avoid recording events that should remain off the record. In the constantly bustling clan hall, Vindi's office had been transformed into the eye of the storm, a blank space, a void, where a conversation--or interrogation--could happen with no one the wiser.

It had seemed prudent, given Quatra's rebellion.

And yet Raelon finds that Quatra is only his second-greatest fear, even given the fact that surely by now Quatra must have noticed that her bank accounts in the Terminus had been drained, and it would take only a small leap in logic to connect that fact with the extensive and more importantly expensive cybernetic modifications that Raelon wore.

No, right now his greatest fear is that a shaman is obliged to minister to his people. Which meant that it was now his duty to tell Notras Khutonax some things he probably does not want to hear. Raelon's steel talons close around a palm of flesh. He, alone of anyone in the hall save Vindi herself, knows precisely what he is risking. What kind of being he's about to have a talk with.

A folk tale come to life. A dark mirror held up to the Ardua County Sniper. A destroying angel incarnate.

Who's afraid of Kexaknus? The old chant rings in his head. The next verse is a bold declaration of not I and it is also a lie every time it is sung. The true answer to the question is every Sundowner, each one.

Raelon tries to keep the quaver out of his voice as he opens up his omnitool and sends a comm:


It made sense - as general, clan defense and security was his primary role. It was an appropriate request, with ulterior motives. This was the only place in the hall where they can speak in private and Notras is not inclined to leave the hall often, these days; Raelon, even less so.

It crosses Raelon's mind that should Notras take the conversation badly, no one would hear the shaman scream.

Almost immediately, Raelon's omnitool heralds a reply:


Terse, even for the oft-dour clan general. Even this medium readily conveys his mood over the last couple of weeks, one that can only be described as 'dark.'

Moments later, the office door swings open, the dark form of Notras Khutonax slipping within. The aura emanating from the short, wiry turian is almost palpable. Even with his considerable self-control, stress, guilt, and a tightly-restrained anger are clearly read in the tension of his shoulders, despite the omnipresent, predatory grace in his movements. Some habits are simply burned into flesh and bone, so ingrained as to be unassailable by mental or emotional trauma.

There is plenty of the latter to be found in Notras' sunken eyes as he finally glances Raelon's way. It had been obvious to the clan that the Chieftain and her General had recently experienced some sort of falling out. The tone of the pair's interactions had shifted from comfortable to positively icy, all business and little heart. They had both been hurt, yet one might sense that most of Notras' anger was not directed towards Vindi. Indeed, there were indications that his venom was focused inward.

But Notras was a professional, and no amount of a apparent self-loathing had precluded his duties Vindi or the clan. Indeed, he had kept himself occupied with business around the range and Denakot District, seemingly eager to drown his anger in work and responsibilities. Thus, Raelon's call is likely welcome, however foul his temperment.

While the two interacted frequently on a professional basis, they have never been friends, though this hardly makes the shaman unique. Outside of Vindi and his daughter, Trex, it is unclear whether any other sapient boasts the sniper's complete and unwavering loyalty. Certainly not as far as the clan is concerned. Raelon seems to inhabit a nebulous area built on compromise: trusted based on his devotion to Vindi and the clan, given the unquestionable evidence of his selfless actions during the Reaper War, but not enough to make it into Notras' circle.

Probably a better position than most.

Shutting the door, Notras stalks over to the desk. "Shaman," he greets curtly, offering a nod, "you requested my presence?"

Raelon also nods in greeting. "I think I've finished the setup we discussed," he says, "but I believe it's in everyone's best interest to test it." He pulls a control wand out of the pocket of his robe. "There are the white noise generators, shielding and soundproofing we discussed, but furthermore, while in most cases it's in the interest of security to have active cameras, recordings and thermographs running, there may be occasions where such records could be considered...evidence. These features allow the room's occupants to turn those records off for a time, and automatically splices in a loop to disguise the break. Should additional edits be required later, I can oblige." He presses the corresponding button each time, erasing each form of surveillance, until the end, where he hesitates on the final button.

Notras has never hesitated to look him in the eyes. Or, eye and optical sensor as the case may be. The general either isn't the slightest bit bothered by his extreme modifications, or else hides it so well even Raelon can't tell, not even when his amped-up hearing lets him hear the heartbeat of others. If Raelon were a gambler, he'd bet that Notras didn't mind the cybernetics, and Raelon can't count on any fear of the uncanny or unknown to be on his side. No, he's the one with everything to fear.

And a job to do. Assigned by a Spirit who gave him his life back. It is the Spirits' life to spend, now, as they see fit.

His voice trembles only a little as he continues. "You are also able to send the room into lockdown, like so. Nothing in. Nothing out." He presses the button, and as the shutters slide over the doors and the seals hiss into place, he bows his head for a moment of prayer.

This is ludicrous. He's just locked himself in with the most dangerous man in the hall, a hall full of separatist guerillas, ex gangsters and seasoned warriors.

Then he lifts his head, looks Notras in the eye and says, "Let's hope it works, because there are matters we should discuss in confidence."

Notras occasionally nods as Raelon goes down his list, glancing about the room, emerald eyes flicking back and forth. While he lacks the shaman's vast technical expertise, his training and long experience allow him to detect more of the new security features than most. Subtle outlines in the wall and ceiling panelling, the faint glint of lenses, the underlying hiss and hum of the white noise generators...

These upgrades to Vindi's office - which doubled as a war room - have been long overdue. True, the space has always been more secure against espionage than the rest of the building, but that relative superiority accounted for little in the grand scope of things. In this regard, Raelon's skills have been a boon for the clan, allowing the Touch to get by on this lacking defensive layer for some time now, but he and Notras had ultimately decided that more permanent virtual fortifications were in order. After all, Vindi had enemies and rivals, and any one of them would jump at the opportunity to acquire a strategic edge over the Sundowners.

There is a subtle shift in Raelon's tone he explains the lockdown option, but Notras barely registers it as the shutters slide into place, sealing the room. The set-up is clearly impressive, judging by his thoughtful expression. Raelon had outdone himself: the security layer is thorough and methodically constructed, if not state-of-the-art. It will be an invaluable asset for Vindi and clan, and ease a great many concerns over the hall's overall defensibility.

Turning his attention back to Raelon, Notras finds the shaman staring right back at him, the sudden weight of his gaze more felt than perceived. But then the shaman speaks, and there is no mistaking the shift in the atmosphere, one that puts Notras' honed instincts on alert.

His head cants ever so slightly, considering the mangled turian. Raelon's disfigurements and cybernetics make him more difficult to read than most, his body language often falling outside of convention, facial cues limited or nonexistent. Even so, Notras can detect a hint of tension in the shaman's form, the faintest quaver in his modulated voice. He is uneasy, maybe even frightened. Something has him concerned, concerned enough to seal off the room from prying eyes and ears, so that the two of them might speak in private...

... Curious. Curious that Raelon needs to speak with him in confidence. Not Vindi, the Chieftain, but him, the General. That his fears do not require her presence in this meeting raises a number of questions, few of them welcome.

Does he have concerns over Vindi's ability to handle a particular situation, where her influence or attention might do more harm than good? Or perhaps he wishes to discuss contingency plans regarding her position, attempting to anticipate the absolute worst-case scenarios the clan could face? Is he concerned over her mental or emotional stability, and thus her current capacity for leadership?

But then a new thought comes to mind, one that stills Notras' chattering mind: Was he the cause for concern? Any of those questions could apply to him, after all.

Notras' heartbeat picks up a tich, though his features are inscrutable as he meets the shaman's gaze, his eyes sharp but calm. Alert but unthreatening. Professional. "Such as?"

Raelon folds his talons behind his back, a weave of metal fingers interlacing. "Such as the Chieftain's state of mind these past weeks. She's focusing on her job to an obsessive degree. She has cooked all of once, the end result burnt to the point of being inedible. She has no interest in anything else. Even her shooting is off. It's not like her."

He paces the far side of the room. "Ordinarily I'm loath to interfere in the private lives of others; unfortunately, the Chieftain's role to the clan and my own vocation means that this situation has to be an exception." He glances at Notras to be sure the other man understands, agrees.

Then he takes a deep breath and continues. "It's also not escaped my notice that, baked goods aside, many of the same behaviours can also be attributed to yourself."

His suspicions would be correct, then. Notras had expected this moment for the last two weeks, even since that evening on the rooftop. When he finally emerged from his pit of misery, he has acknowledged that there would be the consequences for pushing Vindi away, that the clan would notice, and that questions would be asked. It was the price of doing what needed to be done, and he would have to bear it.

That did not make it an easy burden.

However stony his countenance, Notras' hands slowly ball into fists as guilt and anger flare up once again. Not at Raelon, for the shaman is right: this concern is simply an aspect of his role within the clan, and if anyone were to notice their distress and raise the issue, it was him. Notras had not been oblivious to Vindi's shift in behaviour, but as much as it hurt to see the pain he had wrought, Raelon laying bare his crimes twisted the knife all the more.

Moreover, his own instability had not gone unnoticed, and likely down to the smallest detail. Evidently, there had been no hiding his turmoil, no matter how hard he tried to lose himself in his work. So be it. "Your concern is noted," Notras replies evenly, "as is your right to voice it."

The words are stiff, mechanical, as though rehearsed over many a long night. "The Chieftain and I discovered we held certain misconceptions regarding a common and deeply personal issue." For a moment, his gaze flicks away, "The magnitude of this misunderstanding was... severe. Suffice it to say, while a resolution was reached, it has been difficult to embrace."

A severe misunderstanding. Raelon thinks that over. Sometimes he has to remind himself that the Chieftain he recalls from the Reaper War had changed a lot from the girl who'd first come to the Citadel--he hadn't known her then, and his archive of data is small, but he supposes it's possible that Vindi is still innocent in many ways, and might have presumed something Notras had not intended to offer.

Except...

A montage of images flickers through Raelon's neural net, in his HUD where only he can see them. No, he hasn't been mistaken. He remembers filtering the evidence for proof that Trex's attempt to set up Notras and Vindi was doomed to fail, and finding out--at least a strong suggestion that the girl had been right all along.

Confronting Notras with the evidence outright, though, will only make him defensive. Instead, he speaks - slowly so he has time to filter his greybox for the image he wants and download it to his omnitool. "I recognize that you are not a Sundowner and, so far as I can tell, either not particularly religious or else extremely private about your beliefs. I mean no disrespect, but can only describe my point within the limits of faith as I know them."

He opens his omnitool to display an image.

"Have you ever seen this before?"

The picture at first glance appears to be a tree--one trunk splitting in two. On second glance, though, the two trunks each bear different leaves. Two different species, then, conjoined into one.

"They are growing on Solregit. Still, if I hear correctly."

"An interesting occurence," there is no enthusiasm to lend sincerity to the comment. "I have been told of the significance of the relationship between a clan's General and Chieftain, how they are bonded, an almost singular entity acting in the interests of the clan. Moreover, she and I come from very different backgrounds. I will concede the aptness of the metaphor, but I can assure you that I will not allow personal differences to take precedence over my duties as General. From your observations, I suspect the Chieftain feels the same way."

"As such, while I understand your concern, it would seem a moot point. For the practical considerations of the hall, there is no issue, and I expect our personal problems will sort themselves given time."

His eyes narrow. Rumours had always abounded about the nature of Notras and Vindi's dynamic, even though no one had been told of the hours they had shared during the Siege of the Citadel. A meagre few had some inkling, Trex being the prime example, but otherwise their public relationship was seen as close, even affectionate, yet platonic. But if there is anyone who has the resources and attention to intuit the truth...

Spirits, why dance around the obvious conclusion? Odds are that Raelon is not wholly ignorant, and is trying to broach the subject in a more diplomatic manner, perhaps to simply confirm his suspicions. Normally, this tact might have been appreciated, but Notras' glacial patience has been sapped of late, and this entire situation is wearing on his fraying discipline.

"If this is not your point, shaman, then speak plainly." The edge in his voice is not a threat, but born of frustration, a trace of exasperation finally marring his stoic features. "But understand that this disagreement was unavoidable, and I acted according to my best judgement. The outcome was not ideal, but it was the right one."

Raelon's eyes don't narrow well; the optic requires a deliberate command and the natural eye is surrounded by scar tissue to an extent that many of its expressions are much the same. Nevertheless, he feels the tension in his frame.

Notras is, essentially, telling him that his problem is personal and he will handle it. Vindi has said the same. The fact remains, though, that they are not handling it. The clan can tell there is a divide and it makes them uneasy. In the primitive days, such tension would cause a split in the pack. Civilization has not eliminated that primal fear.

He cannot argue Notras' statement that the conflict was unavoidable or that Notras has done what he has felt is best. To debate either indicates a lack of faith, and would only devolve into "I-say-yes; you-say-no." There would be no way to win such a debate and it is not the point anyway. Perhaps it was unavoidable. Certainly Notras did what he felt was best. Nevertheless, the clan will pay for it. Unless...

For Notras to deny that there is a concern... Raelon has no choice but to ante up.

"You've given some thought to your successor, then?"

And before he jumps to the wrong conclusion:

"Reb'kah is already training Ahsaala to take over management of the range. Management is too great a responsibility to share with chiefdom should Reb'kah need to assume the chief's mantle."

Raelon's quick clarification spares him considerable grief. The beginnings of a shocked, outraged snarl are stifled into a dark glower, Notras' mandibles snapping tight. What could have been misconstrued as a threat to Vindi and himself is instead seen for what it is: a plea to act responsibly for the sake of the clan. Raelon has judged them currently unfit for command, given their instability and constant distraction. As leaders, falling into mechanical routines in their line of work held little value, whatever their industry; they had to be alert and versatile, not vacantly stumbling through each day.

All this Notras understands, and yet the thought of being set aside - of Vindi being set aside - rankles, moreso for his role in bringing them to this point. The Savior of Denakot and her general would be shuffled off for allowing their personal feelings to cripple them, for fear that their insecurities would bring the dissolution that the Reapers could not.

Damn the Spirits...

"Battis," Notras finally grits through clenched teeth, only his powerful self-control keeping that anger in check. The choice of successor is not an idle one, whatever his emotional state. Battis is well-regarded and trusted within the hall, a veteran of both the Cerberus attack and the Siege of the Citadel, plus numerous years spent on Solregit. The biotic would be more than qualified to replace Notras, even if he might deny it himself. Indeed, it was not the first time Notras had considered successors, and Battis had made his way to that short-list rather handily.

"However," he continues, gaze locking onto Raelon's, "I will only step aside after the Chieftain willfully agrees to do the same. I expect she will see sense and readily comply, but..." A tense pause, "If you are committed to this path, then it will only proceed as a consenting relief of command, not an ousting of the Chieftain and her general. Is that understood?"

"This is not a coup," Raelon says. "This is an intervention. What that means is yes, I will ask Vindi to step down willingly. However you must surely agree that if someone is medically incapable, and refuses to accept it, permitting the illness to proceed unchecked is not in the clan's best interests."

He gestures towards the image of the two inter-woven trees once more. "Your words are telling, General. As is your silence. By what you have not said, you have told me you hold no hope of fixing the current schism with Vindi. And do you know what happens when you attempt to separate a tree like this?"

This time, he gives the command. His scarred eyelid remains mostly unchanged. His optical sensor, however, telescopes to a pinpoint in a very obvious narrowing.

"Both of them die."

Raelon folds his arms. "I now claim my right for a religious digression: your spirits are a single entity. I am extremely worried for you both."

A soft hiss slips through Notras' teeth, his eyes wide and angry as he stares back at Raelon. Any reply about the potential of removing an opposed Vindi from her chieftainship is buried under a wave of fury, as the shaman arrows in on his greatest shames, his blood boiling at the accusations.

Raelon's shift to genuine, personal concern is a wise step, the fire in Notras' eyes simmering lower, but hardly vanishing. "My hope, shaman," he snaps, "is that Vindi will come to her senses and see reason, allowing us to regain our footing and remain amicable, thus preserving your precious symbolism." Nostrils flare, "Beyond that, my own feelings on this matter are irrelevant. I am sworn to Vindi, and I will not abandon or betray her, no matter how much she resents my presence."

"If that does not satisfy you, then you will remain disappointed." The words are all but spat, Notras' mandibles twitching angrily. "I will not give her what she seeks, and if she cannot accept that, then it seems that your intervention will require more permanence."

"It's a little more than symbolism," Raelon says, summoning the courage to lean closer. Trying to blot out memories of nightmares of ghoulish hastatim with skulls for heads - nightmares he had even on Omega, even though he was a teenager before he began associating with Sundowners. If the cultural response is so deeply ingrained for him, how would it be for someone who was born into the Sundowners? "If I were a psychologist, I would say that you and Vindi are co-dependent. I don't mean it in an unhealthy way. I mean that you provided her with a sense of safety and security, and she provided you with some kind of touchstone, an anchor to learning to interact with and care about others. Now the center doesn't hold. You're withdrawing, from others and from your own sense of life, and Vindi is back in survival mode. She's like a machine, and I fully realize the irony of my saying so. Or, perhaps more accurately, you are both like dead things, walking around, not realizing the life has gone out of them."

His words are, once again, telling. Vindi is seeking something. Something he will not provide. And yet when he reiterates his vow to her, Raelon can hear the conviction in his words. "What is this thing she seeks?" he asks. "What terrible price has she asked of you? Your vow is that of a man committed unto death; so what more can there possibly be that you would withhold from her, when you have no qualm whatsoever about promising her loyalty unto death?"

With every word uttered, Notras' talons tighten in their fists, threatening to draw blood from his palms. Some part of him wants to silence this caricature of a turian, to rip that voice modulator from his skull and stop the flood of damning observations. Yet it is so damning only because of Raelon's perception of the situation, his analysis confident and painfully accurate. Notras knew it all: he has repeatedly told Vindi of the stability she provides him, how she keeps him sane and collected, bringing him to life and keeping the demons of his past at bay. Recently, he had begun to fall into old habits, mechanically following a daily routine, hardly speaking, all but shunning social contact in his off-time.

The truths Raelon utters stay his hand and fury, even with the shaman just a few strides away... Though that restraint barely survives the next series of questions. The blood drains from Notras' face, features threatening to twist in rage, though he seems almost dumbfounded by Raelon's audacity. No one has asked about Vindi and him in this way before, not even Trex. Yes, Raelon knew that their connection was deeper that they would have it appear, but now his queries reach for where only Vindi has tread. It is borderline violation.

Yet being so secretive and trying to wall away their problems in their hearts has allowed them to degrade to... this, with no end to their pain in sight. He does not know how admitting anything to the shaman will remedy this, but by the simple fact that their current approach was only worsening the situation...

"A mate," he finally replies, voice barely above a whisper. "She wanted a mate, and... and... children..." A long pause, his eyes glassy, unfocused. "... I cannot give her either," he croaks, a lump welling in his throat, "I... I will not, for... for her sake."

Raelon takes a deliberate step back, giving Notras space now that he's given him an answer. Raelon's built-in sensor systems have recorded the increase in his heartbeat, the deepening of his breathing, the increase in heat he's emitting, and coupled with his expression and body language it's obvious that the man is agitated, angry, and dangerous. And it occurs to Raelon just how personal this line of questioning is. Of course it is - it's an invasion of the man's privacy, really, and Raelon invades privacy so casually these days that he's all but forgotten how shocking it is to realize that an outsider is privy to all your secrets. He wonders how much of his penchant for alienating people is really the fault of the cybernetics, and how much is the knowledge, or suspicion, that Raelon is watching them from the shadows, learning more than they wish to reveal.

Notras' answer, like everything else about the man, has the ring of harsh and painful truth, and yet to Raelon, the answer makes no sense. Not when his cameras and sensors are picking up all the hallmarks of a man in love.

So he can play this cautiously, and, he suspects, ineffectually, or he can cut to the heart of the matter and pray that Notras' legendary self-control holds just a little longer.

"Trex seems to think you two would make a good couple," he says, almost offhandedly, keeping his distance, giving Notras space to breathe. "Did you know when she first came to me with that observation, I told her she was delusional? Growing up in a place like Kubla Khan, I was more accustomed to more blatant displays of lust. I was convinced, like the rest of the clan, that Vindi was primarily asexual--that her previous relationship with Voxil was more to do with companionship than any particular attraction to salarians or females. As for you, my speculation on you ended very swiftly with the mental equivalent of sirens, flashing lights, system failure screens, and other mental images suggesting a path of extreme danger. You, General, have defenses that are not only difficult to breach, there's a very real sense of threat if someone tries--you are aware of that, aren't you?"

Of course he is. Being what he is, how could he not be aware? What would happen if someone found out his past history? Would that person live long enough to tell?

"Everyone thought Vindi had found a way to come to terms with those defenses of yours. To accept them. But Trex's insistence got under my skin, and I determined to prove her wrong."

Metal talons slide over plasteel support struts.

"I began looking for patterns. Images, sounds, behaviours. Proof that Trex had conjured herself a fantasy and believed in it so deeply that it had become real to her. You know your hearth-daughter has a penchant for doing just that. Imagine my surprise when the evidence began to prove her correct."

From the outside, Notras seems oblivious to the shaman's words, even to his retreating presence. His thousand-yard stare is unwavering as each too-accurate point strikes home. It is no surprise that Trex had been determined to expose and foster the feelings he and Vindi shared, but that hardly stirs his anger. She was a child, trying to do what she felt was the right thing, to guide them down a path that should have been obvious. Yet her failure lay in her ignorance: if she had known the truth, how quickly would her fantasies have withered?

Raelon's intial assessment of his character is not unfounded either, as the number of individuals that fell within the realm of his trust could be counted on one hand. His brutal existence had spawned and fueled decades of paranoia, both during and after his time on Solregit. Even then, Vindi was the first instance of his trust being given unconditionally, and occurred long before their bond was sealed by oath. To the rest of the galaxy, he buried himself behind a cold, often silent mask, one designed to discourage interest, and thus potential hostility. A holdover of his service, it had not endeared him to many over the years, but it had kept him alive, it addition to its many other uses. True, the edifice had softed and cracked in the last few years, especially where the Citadel clan was concerned, yet within the hall Notras was still described as 'aloof' or 'dour' at the best of times.

That did not concern him either. It was part of his being, practically ingrained into his soul, and there was little he could do to change that, try as he might.

Even the fact that Trex had gone to Raelon is no true revelation. The two had been friends even before the Siege, and the years since had not changed that. What finally rekindles a flame of anger, what draws his gaze back to the shaman, is that Raelon became involved. The man was not just some inquisitive young clansman trying to verify gossip. He had the entire hall's surveillance capacities at his disposal, the interest to employ them, and the idle time to indulge his curiousity.

Clearly, he had taken full advantage of all three, and now knew what Vindi and Notras had hid for so long. There is no point in denying it, yet his jaw clenches all the same. Still... perhaps it is not Raelon himself that is the source of his anger. Rather, maybe it is that the shaman is giving voice to the whispers that plague Notras' thoughts. That if things were different, if they had nothing to fear... Then he would not have rejected Vindi that evening. He would gathered her close, wept with joy, not an ounce of hesitation to bar his way. If things had been different, they might have been happy.

But some burdens could not be discarded. Some demons had to be caged, so that others would be spared their wrath. It was his penance and obligation, and to protect Vindi, he could not allow her to come so close...

"Your evidence is irrelevant," Notras rasps, his voice laced with pain and anger. Within his hardened features, emerald eyes glisten almost imperceptibly, "It is not meant to be, and... and it never will." He stands there in silence, managing to look both resolute and broken, a man whose duty overrules his desires, no matter how much it hurts.

"You are not an easy man to help."

Raelon had met a shaman long ago, when he'd first started working at Kubla Khan. The woman had been a rather corrupt example of her profession: her penchant for "vision quests" had developed into a full blown drug addiction and she'd wound up in and out of Quatra's place, indulging her appetites. Still, the woman had liked to talk, and had attempted to explain the basics of Sundowner religion to a rather apathetic and atheist-leaning young programmer named Raelon Pasharan. Oh, the irony. A residue of those teachings had come back to him at his darkest hour and...well...look at him now.

The shaman had ranted endlessly about difficult and stubborn parishoners and now he was looking at his very own example.

"You're in love with each other, this separation is killing you both, you're seeking successors to avoid taking the whole clan down with you and you feel this is irrelevant," Raelon summarizes.

Part of him wants to ask Notras why; another part of him warns him that to do so is to take a step too far. He could throw out reasons: the fact that Vindi is so much his junior, the fact that he's still nominally Hierarchy, the case in his quarters containing the worldly belongings of a now-lost female special operative named Zen... but if he were to guess wrong, he'd only eliminate one possibility, at the expense of ever having such a conversation again. Does he dare?

...And yet, will Notras ever open up to him like this ever again anyway? This might well be his only chance for a talk like this.

So Raelon places his faith in those Spirits he's only recently come to accept as real and he takes aim at the most likely answer, the big secret, the leap of faith that will make him or break him now.

He turns his back, as if to let it go. And then he murmurs, almost offhandedly,

"In case you were curious...none of these sensors penetrate that black facepaint."

It takes the space of a single breath for the comment to register, another for the pieces to fall into place. A meeting in the new safe room, Raelon displaying its myriad capabilties, including sealing them away from the eyes and ears of the clan... A seal he had kept in place this entire time, far longer that a simple demonstration necessitated. True, he had been pressing Notras for answers to painful questions, but now the true intent becomes clear.

Somehow, Raelon's murmured words seem to echo in the silence. What's more, the temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. It all but plunges when Notras finally speaks, "How long have you known?"

A new edge has slipped into his voice, with an undercurrent of menance that is whisper-soft and cool as the first kiss of winter. More striking, however, is that it is calm and clear, devoid of rasp or choking emotions. It is not the voice of the stubborn, broken man Raelon has been trying to aid.

If the shaman were to turn, he might see why.

Notras has not moved, though the slump of resignation is gone from his body. Only subtle cues indicate a sudden readiness, his stance otherwise appearing neutral and unthreatening. Less a coiled spring than an alert, patient predator, waiting to see how the prey will act. His hands remain empty for the moment, his only weapon - that deadly runed knife - still sheathed across his lower back.

But it is those eyes that demand concern.

All traces of weariness and pain are gone from those orbs, along with any other qualities that might have spoken to the man's vulnerability. They transfix the shaman, cold and calculating. The eyes of a machine, a weapon, one possessed of methodical cunning and glacial patience. They seem to bore into him, breaking down everything that is Raelon Pasharan, assessing each facet, secret, and thought, analyzing strengths and weaknesses on the fly. But just like that, the 'scanning' stops, completed, and his features sharpen into something far darker.

It is, perhaps, the purest iteration of the man's infamous 'death-glare,' yet there is no humour to be found in the observation. Those twin chips of emerald ice would freeze helium and unnerve even the toughest Sundowner veterans, and they are fixed squarely on Raelon's marred features. At first glance, they all but promise a swift demise, as though he were the turian aspect of death itself.

... Still, that Raelon is not being questioned on the edge of that knife speaks volumes.

The shaman knows what stands before him, though the more telling question may be 'who?'

"Five months." Raelon turns but his gaze is fixed squarely on the floor; he doesn't want to look at the other's face. He feels the urge to scratch the back of his neck, resists it - any quick movement might be interpreted as a threat, and any instances of hiding his hands might be mistaken as going for a weapon. However scared he is, there's no point in trying to defend himself; he's so outranked it's laughable.

Hopefully Notras--Notras?--however the other turian is feeling, surely he'll follow the logic through, to understand that Raelon means him no harm. Who waits until he's alone, isolated, and defenseless against a superior enemy before provoking an attack? Notras(?) will figure that out, right?

...right?

"Vindi told me long ago that she knew what you were. I can only assume this is what she meant."

He finally dares look the clan general in the face, and what he sees is terrifying. Yes, he's seen Vindi in hunting mode before. He's even seen Trex wrestle down her impetuous nature, smothering it beneath a sheet of ice. But he's never seen either Trex or Vindi looking at him that way before, dissecting him, probing his weaknesses, calculating where to strike. He might have faced the Harvester before, might even have crossed the line between life and death, but if he had ever drawn the Harvester's personal attention, he has no recollection. Strange how Notras' visage suggests death might be the best of all possible alternatives. He stands transfixed, frozen beneath the Kexaknan's cold regard, and he feels his heart slow from the chill, as though already fading before that fatal intent.

His words drop from numb lips. They sound hollow inside his skull, as though the sound were coming from somewhere outside himself. And yet, still, it comes, and Raelon thanks his guardian Spirit for that.

"No, I haven't told anyone. I erased the evidence - what little there was of it - but what kind of defensive security would I be if I hadn't found it in the first place?"

He had been doing his job, after all. Doing it well, as he ought. He could not apologize for that.

...But he could die for it. Those eyes...

If this man kills him anyway, surely Vindi will guess what happened. Surely Vindi will know. Raelon still believes this won't end with Notras and Vindi trying to kill each other. They wouldn't. Surely they can't.

And he reminds himself of the decision he made when he saw the truth, those months ago--when his idle curiosity about a man not given to vanity indulging himself in natural-looking paint led him to wonder just what Notras Khutonax had to hide--and he holds to it, tightly, as the sole vindication for his decision to hold his silence all this time.