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“Look at me. Hey. Look in here.” She raises her chin in defiance: it’s soaked, but she is not crying anymore. “Rhanda.” Her father’s eyes pin her in place; they glow through the shadow the crest casts over his face. “You are a strong girl. A very strong girl.”
“No,” she utters, like a cough.
“You will look over mom for me, won’t you?”
“The fight needs to go on. My clan is my family too.”
“No!” she shouts, and he takes it, because her father is krogan, and she thinks somewhere he knows he is wrong.