Locke’s own mind wandered into dangerous territory… the pain and sorrow he felt when his entire paradigm shattered on Typhon, the moral betrayal of the people he thought were his comrades… the blood on his hands. Bit by bit by bit, the old pains started to claw their way back into his mind.

He sees his own reflection in the water, but the helmet is blood spattered, hands drenched. His breathing quickens as a lance of fear strikes his heart…

But he knows this pain. He knows this anguish. He’s grappled it before. Evie’s words linger in his mind. He pauses and closes his eyes for a few moments, taking a deep breath. Then, he lets it out slow, and remembers the words of his commander and adoptive mother back in the Frontier:

“We’re always changing and growing,” she had said. “To recognize where you were, and decide where you are going, decide to be better, there is no shame in that. That’s a victory. Embrace it.”

His hold of his rifle firms, and he snaps his attention ahead again, bringing the weapon up to level it at the mage, honed and focused. He heard Evie address the mage, so he waits to fire, but he’s ready… One misstep, one errant water current that so much as looks like an attack, and he’d squeeze the trigger. He has more than enough rounds left in the mag for a kill.