He steps forward, and she doesn't move. But it's not a defiance. It's not a last stand, but the feeling of her feet rooted to the ground. She should be rising up to meet him. She should be grabbing him and stopping this. Why won't she move?

"Tim, stop." It's not a question either, Shepard's brows furrowed, hands clenched into fists. If she had any nails to speak for, they'd have punctured her hands by now out of sheer force. She can feel it, building from the electronic connection at the base of her spine, pain trickling into her neck like an oncoming storm.

"Don't do this. You can stop."