Shepard doesn't stop her. Asuka seems taller, somehow, or maybe thinner. There's something about her that speaks of an uncharacteristic fragility, that makes Shepard think, for some reason, the smell of recycled air and the slick feeling of plastic under fabric.

She hugs back, then holds more tightly. They've all lost... people. Like limbs, or teeth. You kept going back to the place that was different, the place where they ought to be, even when you learned to know better.

"Good job coming back alive, kid," She says, instead of anything softer; but she knows Asuka will know what she means by it. The love there, that translates not just to relief, but to trust, "You got a minute?"

You need a minute?