"It's the end of the world. We don't have another choice." —Ikora Rey
"I exalt our forebearers."
A foot-thick steel security door swings open into a brightly lit foyer, and the Warlock Shayura is escorted through in manacles by a pair of armed frames.
"I exalt my fireteam."
Ikora Rey stands on a turquoise and gold mosaic at the center of the foyer. The detention facility frames present Shayura, then release her wrist restraints. Ikora looks Shayura in the eye and sees shame and doubt reflected. "Do you understand why we're doing this?" Ikora asks.
"I exalt my truth."
Shayura nods, wringing her wrists where the manacles had bitten into them. Ikora dismisses the frames with a wordless gesture, keeping her attention on Shayura. "We are in an unprecedented crisis. One I am loathe to put you into when there is both healing and justice yet to be delivered."
"I exalt my heart."
"I know," Shayura says and casts her eyes downward. The older Warlock places a firm hand on her shoulder. Ikora's touch compels Shayura to meet her gaze, and in her mentor's eyes, she sees the same shame and doubt in her own heart looking back.
"I exalt humanity's capacity for love."
For a time, there is silence and stillness. Mutual understanding. Empathy. "I am releasing you to your fireteam on a provisional basis. For specific, emergency operations only. Otherwise, you are to report to Doctor Uzair to continue your sessions. When this is all over, then we'll talk about justice."
"This above all else…"
Shayura's shoulders tremble, and Ikora pulls her into a brief embrace. "Thank you," Shayura whispers.
"…I hold true."