[If she was expecting some kind of reprieve, for Garrus to turn around and say that no, not really, he was joking all along, she'd be disappointed. But she wasn't expecting that, was she? Not really.

Her father is dead. No, worse - he will be dead, soon, and there isn't a single thing she can do to prevent it. It feels somehow like too enormous a thing to be possible - like Garrus has just told her the stars have gone out like lights. Her father is - was - a presence so huge it's like gravity. It can't just stop. And yet it has.

She presses her lips together hard to stop them from trembling, but the tears burn unbidden in her eyes anyway, then feel icy cold on her cheeks a moment later.]

It was always going to come back to me. [Her voice wavers.] I sent the parts. I would have been the first person they'd accuse. [She pauses, gives a scoff that's starkly devoid of humour.] I'm going to be the first person they accuse.

I was so careful, Garrus. [Her voice breaks on his name.] Nothing I ever sent back was viable, I thought he was running tests on the parts. [There's a pleading note to her voice then - a desperation to make him believe it.]

Whatever I think about the geth... I wouldn't have...

[She realises with a tiny, sickening jolt that part of the tears are for those geth. That someone managed the impossible task of making her pity the geth, and that someone was her own father, as he enlisted her help endangering the entire fleet to experiment on sentient beings, synthetic or otherwise. And he got himself killed. He's dead.

That's when the first sob bursts out of her.]