Chapter 26
"The One You Feed"

"Maybe ever'body in the whole damn world is scared of each other." — John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men

Insurrectionist safe house, 1020 hours
Andromeda Galaxy

The Spartan team was swept up in motion like a well-oiled machine. John confirmed with Lyra's blessing that the team would be rolling out as soon as they had gathered their supplies. With this in mind, the team took instant meals, water, and other supplements from storage; they armed themselves with a few rifles, pistols, and grenades (The rest of what Lyra could spare, they were promised, had been loaded onto the ship already); they additionally cleaned after themselves to eliminate traces that they had visited the safe house should Shin's rogue call be traced and someone come looking for them. They were methodical and efficient. The team interacted with little spoken, having coordinated enough times to know their individual roles within the collective. Boone and Sam by effect were outsiders to this effort and resorted to preparing personally for the move. This would lead to doubling of tasks and stepping on toes, but neither had time for an outline of the procedure or instructions on how they could support the other members.

Sam had arrived at the safe house with few items, and yet she hurried around the small room with her backpack in tow to collect what she would need. Change of clothes, water, protein bars, data pad, phone, wraps… She checked off each item from a mental check list. A weapon was needed as well, but she would grab a pistol once on the main floor again. For the moment, something else occupied her attention. Where the hell did I leave my hair tie? The most innocuous of items to lose, but it was the difference between compromised eye sight and a clear view while on mission. She tore off the sheets and checked under the bed. When she sat back on her heels, she noticed John standing stiffly in the doorway and hurried to her feet, "Are we headed out?"

"Yes," he answered but didn't move.

Frowning at his static presence, Sam swung her backpack onto one shoulder and tugged her hair free of the strap. She would have to make do without something to keep it out of her face. "Let's go."

"You're not coming with us."

The statement hit the air with the grace of a first against a wall. Sam tensed visibly like the words had struck her. Her face screwed into a deeper look of confusion. "What?"

As disoriented as Sam was, John was stoic. He occupied space in the threshold with a meaningful, resolute purpose. "You and Boone are going to stay low and hold down the base for us," he explained. "We need someone to provide support while we're on mission."

"The hell we are." The response came out like a knee-jerk reaction, impulsive and genuine.

A telling beat of silence passed before he said, "It's for the team, Sam."

"Is it?" The shock from his decision began to fade, allowing a disgruntled, hurt part of Sam to step forward. "Did they ask you to do this?"

Time together had allowed John insight into the nuances of her looks, and he regretted that perspective as he watched the pain building behind her tough front. For that reason alone did he offer, "Our first missions were fighting rebels. The Insurrectionists make them nervous."

It had been a poor attempt to explain his reasoning, but Sam was unconcerned with the why—only the what. "I'm not fighting for the Insurrectionists anymore. I'm with you."

"I know that." He paused to be sure the sincerity of that statement met its mark. Appropriately, Sam was unmoved. "The others aren't convinced."

"So it's not about the Insurrectionists. It's about me." Her face relaxed all at once, and her body twisted away from John while Sam erupted into a wry laugh. They had ostracized her, belittled her, hated her… and John had the audacity to tell her that she wasn't a team player. Now that she was placing the Spartan team above her own friends and colleagues, he decided she would be left behind. The reality began to settle, and a dull pain took shape in her chest.

When she turned back to John, her hazel eyes flashed potently. "I'm not going anywhere."

"It's not a question, Sam."

"You said we were a team," she challenged and took a step closer to him. Previously, she had held her voice in a tempered, steady tone, but that restraint dissolved in an instant. "And then you went behind my back and contacted my friends and family. Was that for the team?"

He wasn't especially concerned with the other ears listening in on their conversation, or the few soldiers at the foot of the stairs who had stilled in the middle of their work at the sound of Sam's voice. Instead, he focused on the brunette, trying to find the right combination of words that might ease at least a fraction of what she was feeling. Calmly, he said, "I didn't know you wanted to stay dead."

The words barely left his lips before Sam retorted, "I wanted to protect the people I care about by keeping them as far away from me as possible, and you dropped me in their laps! They don't know what they're up against, John. They don't know who's looking for me."

The implications weren't lost on John. The Insurrectionists wanted Sam in their grasp to propel their war games, but they had no idea what a deadly enemy ONI and the Zeniths were. Leading Sam to them had undoubtedly placed some of the people Sam cared about in their cross hairs, and for that John confessed, "I'm sorry."

The genuine regret in his tone halted Sam for one fraction of a second, but it wasn't enough. The anger was burning too hot, and she assumed his apology like fuel to the fire. She countered harshly, "And now you want to pawn me off, take the guns, and run? For the team?"

"I can't fight if I'm looking over my shoulder for you."

Once again, John's honesty paused Sam. This time rather than snap at him, her features settled, and her stance set opposite him. Holding his gaze, she said, "Then I'll step out of the way."

John was troubled by an unexpected recognition: Her acceptance felt harder to face than her anger. His jaw tensed before he tried, "I know you're—"

"You have no idea," she interrupted with the effect of a knife cutting him away from her.

His attention fell to the floor and the space between them. Both had made their decisions. There was nothing left to say. John would walk out the door alone, but first he stepped closer and reached for her.

Sam immediately backed away from him and wrenched her arm out of his grip. When he looked at her, he saw the burst of anger had cleared to cool fire. "If you want to leave, you should do it now. It'll be easier that way."

He gritted his teeth to have his words fed back to him, and the hand that had reached for her relaxed back to his side. Then, instinctively, he grabbed her and drew her against his chest. He was faster and stronger than her, so that Sam fought impotently for a fleeting second to free herself only to realize she had already been caught. When he didn't acquiesce, her body relaxed in sudden submission, her hands flattened against his sides, and slowly she slid her arms around his waist. Now her grip tightened around him like she could force him to stay.

He bent over her and kissed the crown of her head. "Keep your head down, Sam," he told her, tone concretizing with the weight of this final command. "I'll find you when this is over."

He released her, turned, and strode out of the room. He didn't look at her and didn't see the tears lining her eyes. It was a small charity not having that image to haunt him for the rest of the mission. Sasha stood at the foot of the stairs, the hardened vacancy of her expression telling John she had heard everything. He stepped around her without a word to face the rest of his team. Fred, Linda, Kelly, and Geoff were loaded with supplies and standing expectantly. He stooped to grab the bag he had abandoned earlier on the floor and shouldered it in one motion.

"Move out," he commanded.

The team began to file out of the ranch home, Geoff and Sasha the last among them. When the latter remained frozen at the bottom of the stairs, Geoff hesitated with one foot out of the door. He retraced his steps to approach Sasha and beckon, "Chief says we need to go," like the woman could possibly have missed the order.

The Spartan-III offered her bag of supplies and replied, "I'm staying."

He didn't accept the bag but frowned.

"The UNSC's not coming between me and my sister again."

Geoff's frown morphed slowly to a look of regret. In one move, he swept the second bag onto his shoulder and spun on his heel to jog after the team.

Once the door closed after the team and their Insurrectionist escorts, the sole remaining Spartan took the stairs two at a time to enter Sam's room. She stood at the small window on the far end of the room, looking out at the Spartan team's prompt retreat across the fields. Within a minute, they had made it past the fence and would soon be beyond her line of sight.

"What if that's the last thing I ever say to him?"

The question had been mumbled under her breath in a dazed, hollow tone. It wasn't meant for the Spartan-III, but Sasha placed her hand on Sam's shoulder and promised, "It's not."

Sam jerked to stare back at her sister, looking more alarmed than pleased. Tears lined her cheeks, and her eyes clouded with more. She placed her hand over her sister's and squeezed tightly. "Thank you for staying."

The Spartan smiled. No matter the scars that distorted one side of her face, it was a forgiving smile. "We'll figure out our next move together, Sam," she said and nodded to hammer in that point.

Sam mirrored her nod but looked out the window once more where the Spartan team had vanished from sight. There were only the empty, dry fields, the fence, and the cattle. No sign the team had ever been there. She sniffed lightly. The tears began to dry into sticky trails, and though her nose was red-rimmed like a rabbit, the signs of her hurt were being expertly tucked beneath a tough front. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, staring emptily ahead of her.

Sasha had been present when Sam woke from surgery, having ducked death by the skin of her teeth, and the Spartan-III could recall her insistence that she needed to find John and protect him. Little did Sasha know that she would later help John kill to protect Sam and keep her close to him. Facing her sister now as she juxtaposed the two memories against this moment, Sasha too felt a discomfort crawling into her chest. Both had sacrificed to be together, too much for them to be separated because of a rogue call by a yakuza thug.

The Spartan-III wasn't versed in these conversations, or fully content to sit in silence with the growing pressure on her chest, so she said, "Noah stayed behind too—"

"We have to protect him," Sam realized with an abruptness that interrupted whatever her sister had planned. She looked up at Sasha, and her hollow stare suddenly had an acute focus. It was as if the Insurrectionist lieutenant had awoken from a deep sleep. "And Lyra. And Paul… We need to get everyone off this planet before someone finds us here."

"We will," Sasha assured her, admittedly stalled by Sam's abrupt change of direction. "Just take a breath, Sam."

"I'm good," she said while standing. "We'll talk to Lyra first. She gave most of what she could spare to the team, but we might be able to figure something out on our own. We won't need a lot if it's just you, me, and Boone. And now that the Insurrectionists know I'm alive, we'll have more options."

"Where are we going, Sam?" the Spartan intercepted before her sister could step outside the door. The brunette spoke with newfound commitment and certainty as if this plan had been brewing, waiting for the moment to rise to the surface.

Sam paused in the door and gripped the frame, aware of the weight her answer held before she said it: "Constantine."

She meant to deliver the response and rush down the stairs to find the commander, but Sasha had Spartan speed and caught Sam by the arm before she could even alight from the landing. When Sam faced her sister, Sasha warned, "No."

Sam's determined features softened around her eyes. "I'm not running anymore, Sasha," she said. "Once ONI figures out where I am, they're going to hunt down everyone I care about looking for me." She swallowed heavily, the severity of this decision weighing on her brow, but she gazed openly into her sister's eyes. "So I'm going to go to the front lines, right where they can see me, and give them the finger."

"I didn't stay with you to watch you get yourself killed," Sasha countered seriously.

"Then come with me—fight with me. No one can touch us when we're together. We'll make them regret they ever recruited us." As she spoke, her words gained momentum, and her hazel eyes lit up with resolve.

Sasha recognized that look. She had seen it in her own face while on mission, and she knew it was indisputable. Reluctantly, Sasha released her grip on her sister, and Sam rushed down the stairs to corner her adopted mother and share her latest plan. For a moment, Sasha watched after her and examined the profound shift that had taken place.

Sam had softened at John's side. Anyone who knew the lieutenant before she met him could see the difference in how she held herself, how she smiled, how she looked when he walked into the room. No matter ONI breathing down their necks or the threat of the Zeniths, Sam was happy next to him. Sasha had never known it herself, but she imagined that her sister was in love—or at least about to take the plunge before John walked out. But now it was so obvious that pain was what truly drove Sam. Every muscle from her fingertips to her shoulders set with renewed purpose, and Sam assumed a stride Sasha had seen briefly when hunting down the Insurrectionist lieutenant. Staring after her sister, Sasha wondered if this hadn't been the Master Chief's plan all along, though she doubted John had anticipated his scorned woman would run to the front lines in his absence. Sasha remained because someone needed to guard Sam: She was an asset that could not fall into ONI's hands. In seconds, however, her job had become exponentially more difficult. Fortunately, Sam's sister was a Spartan, and failure was not an option.

Sasha descended the stairs three at a time after her sister to plan their next move.

O O O

Astra Lennox, Sublevel 4, 0233 hours
Triangulum Galaxy
5 days after leaving safe house

The keys tapped out an uneven rhythm against an otherwise stark silence. Only security guards and a couple of hounds roamed the halls after hours, so that the Spartan team stalked through the halls quiet as ghosts in the night. The dogs were troublesome considering their keen senses, but Linda and Geoff had managed to evade their path with Fred's assistance. The latter was holed up in the security office watching the screens alongside two unconscious guards. In 12 minutes, the guards scattered throughout the pharmaceutical complex would commence check in. It wouldn't take them long to realize their fellow officer wasn't calling out role. With luck, Fred, Linda, and Geoff would be back on ship with Kelly and John and well out of range before the guards wizened up.

Linda kept watch in the threshold, while Geoff hacked into the company's secure files accessible only via the local hard drives. The counter insurgency protocols were complex but not impossible to penetrate. He had been given until 0240 hours for his work, and he managed the efficient, focused effort necessary to make that deadline. It took him approximately 7 minutes to infiltrate the system. It occurred to him that Boone likely would have cracked it in 5, but Geoff had never seen anyone with Boone's skills. Fleetingly, he wondered if the ex-intelligence officer was healing well from his wound and if he were still in the care of Geoff's old teammate. The Spartan-IV avoided thoughts of Sasha and her abandonment of this mission.

"I'm in," he alerted the team.

"3 minutes," John reminded him from the ship.

"Aye, sir."

Considering the time constraint, Geoff was not discerning in his information retrieval. He grabbed large quantities of data and downloaded them onto his drive. Better to grab too much than not enough, he mused and perused some of the files while he waited for the rest to transfer.

The files had been given codenames, but inside each were confidentiality agreements, contracts, research, findings, etc. In all likelihood these were files that were never meant to exist. Given that many—if not all—of them were related to illegal research or funded by seedy groups, Geoff could imagine Astra Lennox wanted to keep these documents buried and had only retained a copy out of necessity. It was beneficial for the Spartans, not so much for Astra Lennox.

"You've got company. One guard. One dog. Approaching from the east corridor," Fred warned.

"I don't have the intel yet," Geoff responded, though he began searching through the files manually at this imminent threat.

He briefly made eye contact with Linda who adjusted her rifle into her shoulder and took up position where she could see the end of the corridor. She took a knee and leaned over to peer through the scope. She would take out of the dog first, then its guard.

"In position. How far?" Linda asked in a low tone.

"Approximately 12 meters and closing," the lieutenant replied.

Geoff continued scouring the files, determined to find the information before their night went to hell in a handbasket.

"Hold," Fred commanded abruptly, and both Linda and Geoff stilled. "He's stopping. Dog may have picked up your scent…"

Linda's finger curled imperceptibly over the trigger when a male voice echoed from further down the hall.

"He's on a call," Fred relayed. "Enemies?"

The redhead angled her head where she could better catch the words.

"…I told you not to call me at work. Boss has been reviewing the tapes… Is it an emergency?.. Shut off the main valve… Well, call the super… I don't give a fuck. I just replaced the floors, Karin..."

"Sounds like problems at home," Linda estimated after around 30 seconds of eavesdropping. Glancing at the watch on her wrist, she read 0241. They didn't have time to waste. "We should move while he's distracted."

"I've got it," Geoff confirmed from behind her and was covering his tracks before he unplugged his drive and zipped it into a secure pocket. He shouldered his rifle next and crept up to squat beside Linda who was still trained on the east corridor.

"Head west," Fred directed. "I'll guide you to a service stairway. It'll get you up to sublevel 1. Then you'll take the elevator back to the surface."

Geoff exited the room first and crept silently in the opposite direction to take up position at that far corner and provide cover for Linda. She moved once Geoff was set, equally quiet in her retreat down the corridor.

"Ho-hold on, Karin. Hold on, alright?"

"Dog's ears went up," Fred warned.

The Spartan-II maintained her pace in a calm, assured stride and reached the corner in seconds.

"Keep straight. Move fast. Dog's picked up your trail."

Both Spartans retreated as quietly as they had come—the significant difference being that the dog had either hard them or caught their scent. The guard hadn't yet decided whether to call in the possible wild goose chase as he followed the dog into the room and then out into the hallway away; the call would alert his superiors to the fact that he was taking a personal call while on duty. Or, he could chuck the dog's behavior up to a mistake. The Spartans hoped for the latter but moved like it was the former. They made no new friends on their way to the stairwell with Fred talking in their ears, and they ascended the flights in record time.

Before they reached sublevel 1, Fred interrupted their escape, "Hold. He's entering the stairwell."

They could faintly hear the door three levels below open, and a light was shone up the center of the stairwell. Geoff and Linda flattened themselves against the wall to avoid the light's range. They were halfway down the stairs from sublevel 1, near enough that they could stealthily ascend the final seven stairs, but the door opening would echo down. With luck, the guard would lose interest and continue his route down the corridor. Linda checked her watch again—0243 hours.

"Dammit, yes, yes! I'm still here. I'm listening. Calm down…" The guard's voice echoed up the stairwell, but as his short comments suggested, he retreated outside once more. The issues at home combined with his partner's panic had effectively dissolved his patience. He didn't seem to have to the wherewithal to explore the mysterious trail further.

"He's gone," Fred confirmed as soon as the lower door shut, and both Linda and Geoff hurried up to sublevel 1 where they met Fred at the entrance to the elevator. All three boarded it up to the surface level and rendezvoused with John at 0245 exactly to be shuttled up to their ship. It was closer than Spartans preferred, but John and his team had managed more with less to spare. The only thing that mattered was the intel retrieved. With this, they might have discovered the Zenith's Achilles' heel.

O O O

Insurrectionist Bellicose, 0254 hours
M32, Andromeda Galaxy
5 days after leaving safe house

In the darkness, the Insurrectionist lieutenant crept around the corner of a desk. She felt the edge of the wood graze her thigh, using the sensation to guide her approach. On the side opposite the door, she flipped on a desk light and bent to consider a large drawer on the bottom left side of the desk. Pulling gently, the drawer opened barely an inch and beeped to request a code. She quickly entered the set of six numbers, heard the drawer chime in response, and slide the drawer open fully to consider its interior. She pushed aside files, money, and a pistol to retrieve a heavy crystal decanter. Taking a clean coffee mug from the desk, she uncorked the decanter and proceeded to pour herself two fingers. The only sounds were the soft gurgle of the drink and the low rumblings of the ship.

All at once, the lights flickered to life overhead as the door to the office opened, and Sam's cat burglar days were finished. The commander stepped inside donning a weary makeup-less complexion and prompted, "Can't sleep?"

Sam ignored her and poured another finger.

"It's been a long time since I've seen that look." Lyra exhaled heavily to reflect the exhaustion hanging from her features. She had been keeping an eye on her adopted daughter ever since the young woman approached her with plans of committing suicide in Constantine. No doubt she had been having her crew monitor Sam's movements with similar hawkish intent, and she had been alerted with Sam snuck into her office.

The brunette still didn't speak, only swirled the drink briefly in the mug before throwing it back in one attempt. It was strong but smooth with a subtle fire that warmed her belly and crawled up her throat to prick her eyes. Sniffing lightly, Sam began to pour herself another glass.

Lyra watched with a vague disconnect and then offered, "This wasn't what you expected, and it wasn't what you wanted."

Abruptly, Sam's lips flickered with a wry smile. It fell when she downed the next cup, blinked her eyes clear of the sticky tears, and wondered, "Shouldn't you give me some motherly advice instead of stating the obvious?"

She grabbed the heavy decanter once more, but Lyra slipped her hand over the mouth of the mug, stared intensely at her daughter, and asked, "Like what?"

Sam shrugged limply. "'This will pass.' 'There are plenty of other fish in the sea,'" her own incredulity seeped into the words, giving them a vacant drawl.

"This will pass," Lyra repeated while she slipped her hand off the top of the mug and tapped two fingers against the side. Without question, Sam began to pour her a drink, and the commander finished, "The other part is up for debate."

"Thanks, Lyra." Sam scoffed and nudged the drink toward her mother.

The older woman sipped at the mug, taking a moment to swirl the aged scotch across her tongue. It had been a gift, something to savor after an endless day or a narrow victory, but Sam was too reckless in these moods to appreciate the flavor. The commander maintained her cool composure as she lowered the glass, stared at the dark liquid swirling around the mug, and commented, "He was a Spartan. They seem a bit too tightly wound for your tastes."

"John was different," she said before she caught herself defending the man without remembering that he was the reason she was cooped up on a ship, denied her shot at glory. "Sure, you could level a building off how straight those shoulders were, and he wasn't going to be a stand-up comedian in this life. But he's a good man... He would never turn away from a fight. And he'd never leave anyone behind—at least I didn't think he would."

Sam quickly stole the cup back and finished off the last of the scotch. The alcohol was fading into her blood, warming her belly in a pleasant slow burn, and her head was beginning to lose its weight and its dimensions. In such a state, the harshness evaporated, and she spoke about John with an admiration that prompted her to frown disapprovingly. All of this, Lyra watched with tired, clear blue eyes.

She allowed Sam to stew in her alcohol-emotion cocktail before she recalled, "He was the last person I expected to get a message from after you went missing. How he figured out to contact me, he wouldn't say… But he was adamant from the start. He just wanted to know that you were safe." Here, she paused to ease the cup out of Sam's hands. As expected, the brunette had found a new point of focus and didn't fight when Lyra disarmed her. Pouring herself a drink, she continued in a steady tone, "He didn't believe me at first when I said you weren't with us. I honestly expected a home visit after the stunt he pulled finding my contact information. So I offered to meet him."

Why didn't John mention this? Sam placed her fingers superstitiously to her lips, having thought the question so intently that she wondered if she hadn't spoken it aloud.

"It wasn't so easy to pull off considering the eyes on him or me at the time. But we managed." Lyra took a slow draw and rolled her jaw in thought. "He wanted to know where you were. So did I, but I also wanted to know what the hell his business was looking for you and stirring up trouble. I told him he must be desperate to reach out to me and asked what you meant to him." Lyra smirked to herself and carefully replaced the mug on the desk. Her features were stoic but those feline blue eyes simmered with some unspoken thought. "And he hesitated. Do you know how startling it is to have a man like that hesitate?"

Sam stared at the commander, silent.

"And I realized he had the look—like you have the look. He wasn't going to stop searching until he found you. So I offered to help him, if he helped me."

The anecdote spurred a pricking at the back of her neck, and Sam bucked it, like she could feel the words trying to tame her. "Yeah, he found me, rescued me, and then left. What was the point?" she countered roughly. She grabbed the mug Lyra had abandoned on the desktop and threw it back, wiping the stray drops from her lips with her forearm.

All at once, Lyra regained the mug and set it purposefully onto the desk. It resounded with a pleasant crack that signaled the commander was speaking and Sam needed to remove her head from her ass to listen. "If a man works that hard to find you and then walks away," she replied, "he must have a good reason."

"So what am I supposed to do—knit a sweater and wait for him to come back?" Sam countered and managed a lazy glare thrown Lyra's direction.

"No."

She frowned.

The commander pursed her lips dismissively and poured another finger. "You should go back to meaningless one night stands. After all, you don't need anyone."

When Lyra raised the glass to take a sip, her eyes met Sam's finding the young woman sullen and humorless. "Reverse psychology. Really?"

"I don't do motherly advice. My girl never listened to it," she responded and took a sip. "But I learned early on that she'd do the exact opposite of anything I told her."

"I wasn't that bad."

"You were—are," Lyra countered and smiled with an abrupt warmth despite the cup pressed to her lips.

In her wake, Sam was suddenly tempered. It could have been the alcohol aided by a lack of food and exhaustion disarming her one chain link at a time, or perhaps Lyra's words had at last seeped under Sam's skin. Whatever the reason, the brunette confessed, "I do need you... And Sasha." And John, she admitted to herself but wasn't ready to share aloud. She wet her lips and looked up at Lyra from beneath her brow. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you."

"You thought you were protecting us," she acknowledged. She reached across the large desk to draw her knuckles along her daughter's cheek and next stroked her hair tenderly.

Briefly Sam closed her eyes to submit to Lyra's care, but when they opened again, they were sober and heavy. "I know I was. And I need to protect you again."

Lyra's hand fell in the dead air between them, and she shook her head. "I'm not having this conversation again, Sam."

"You can't keep me here." All at once, Sam appeared a levelheaded, calm counterpart to Lyra's frustration.

"I can," she assured her.

"You won't."

The redhead stiffened and narrowed her gaze.

"I loved that about you. You let me run because you knew I'd come back. I always did. You knew that if you tried to hold on too tight, you'd lose me."

"Some quack doctor told me you needed your space," the woman mumbled sullenly and began to pour herself a drink.

Sam watched her for a moment and commented, "Turns out he was right."

This drink Lyra threw back with more grace than her daughter had accomplished, and she licked the last drop of scotch from her top lip. Her eyes speared Sam in the next instant. "We're not talking about hotwiring a truck and taking it for a joy ride… If I let you go to Constantine, I may never see you again."

"That's the idea," Sam echoed softly.

Lyra set the mug down firmly on the table and kept her gaze down.

"They've had me backed into a corner my whole life, Lyra. If I'm going down, I'm going to do it my way… That's mine."

The commander didn't react initially. Her attention remained downturned, staring unfocused at the empty mug. "You've run as long as I've known you, and I let you. I thought once you got your hands on the Spartan files and found out what happened to Sasha, that would be the end. You'd come home." At last, she lifted her features to face her daughter, and Sam's face paled at the sight of Lyra's watery eyes.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered dryly because she didn't know what else to say.

Lyra's lips flickered in a smile, and she pushed the mug across the desk toward the brunette. "When I saw that transmission you put out, I have never been more furious… or more proud than I was in that one moment."

The brunette stiffened, stunned.

"You were fucking reckless," she acknowledged and exhaled densely. "But I saw what your message did to people, how it inspired them. This is the start of a revolution." Lyra hesitated, switching between Sam's eyes while she delivered this message and searching for something unnamed. Gradually, her gaze settled. "No matter what I say, there's no turning back."

Author's Note: Is this where I sing Journey's Separate Ways? We see the Lone Wolf in his natural habitat... How will Sam fare without the Spartans while she takes on the UNSC? How will the Spartans use this new intel to take down the Zeniths? And how the heck is Hiro going to respond to Shin's disappearance? Keep reading to find out and prepare for fights in two galaxies :)

Thank you my lovely lyndakey1! Yes... Sam and Shin coming to fists. I'm not done with Blondie yet, so stay tuned for that haha Lyra is still giving Sam a hard time, but it seems she was more flexible to discussion than our Master Chief. I doubt he'll be as understanding as Lyra when he finds out Sam's running into fire. I hope you enjoyed this somewhat slower chapter, and I also hope you're doing well :) xx