One Mate Was Never Enough
Something moved in his expression, not quite the composed Alpha, not quite the tender version from the house, something in between that I didn't have a name for yet.
"Because it's yours," he said simply, and looked back at his screen. I turned back to mine.
My hands weren't quite steady on the keyboard for the next ten minutes, but the work was good and the numbers were right, and by nine o'clock we had rebuilt everything.
Not identical to what had been lost, better, in places, the reconstruction sharper than the original because two people who understood the project at its bones had rebuilt it from the inside out instead of adding to it.