There is a woman with remarkably similar facial structure heading his way now. Her hair may be cut short, the ends waving against her jaw with the breeze, and her eyes may be a flat white, but the biggest difference -- between the live woman and the one on the page -- is the cast of her face. The woman in the drawing is full of quiet resignation and old sorrow. This woman is smiling quietly to herself, and there is no sadness in it.

Maya's hands are in her coat pockets. She still wears her old greatcoat, from time to time, though only at Milliways (there are too many old memories associated with the uniform, for many in the Citadel), and she has stripped all rank insignia from it. It's really too warm for the coat, she is thinking, just as she spots the familiar broad-shouldered figure sitting on a rock, and she detours in his direction.

(Her smile strengthens.)