Page 102 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

The confession is so quiet I almost miss it.

I slide one hand into his hair. “I still want to. I just need to know I’m choosing it.”

He nods against my leg, and Idris finally comes closer. He stops beside my chair until I reach for his wrist and pull him down too, fitting him at my other side with Theo warm between us and Sloane breathing hard against my knees.

Idris touches my cheek with the back of his fingers. “Where do we start?”

“With bothering me.” My laugh comes out thin, but real enough that Sloane lifts his head. “With loving me like you used to before everything became a recovery plan. Kiss me because you want to kiss me. Send ridiculous texts. Argue with me about dinner. Let me pay for my own coffee sometimes.”

Sloane’s eyes are wet when his mouth curves. “Coffee is negotiable.”

“Dinner isn’t,” Idris says.

I stare at him.

He doesn’t look remotely sorry. “You asked where we start. We’re starting with dinner still being ours.”

Theo nods solemnly against my shoulder. “I agree with the Alphas.”

“You’re all impossible,” I say, but this time when Sloane rises and bends to kiss me, I meet him halfway. Idris’ hand settles at the back of my neck, Theo hums happily between us, and for a moment my office smells like food, tulips, and the kind of love that remembers how to reach without closing its fist.

A few minutes later, Sloane and Idris step into the hall to check in with campus security while Theo stays with me and we wait for Zana.

A firm knock sounds at the door before I answer. Zana steps inside carrying a leather case beneath one arm and two coffees in a cardboard tray. Her charcoal suit is immaculate, her dark hair pulled away from her face, and the blonde streak near her temple catches the light as she surveys the lunch spread.

“Dash told me I would be arriving during mandatory feeding,” she says, setting the coffees beside the grapes.

“He has developed opinions about my lunch habits.”

“He has evidence.” Zana removes her jacket and lays it over the back of my desk chair before sitting opposite us. Her gaze moves to Theo, then softens slightly when she hands him the cup marked decaf. “Cinnamon, oat milk, one packet of sugar.”

Theo breathes in the steam. “Dash sent instructions.”

“Several.” Zana opens her case and removes a slim folder. “He also told me you would say it didn't matter if I got it wrong, which he identified as untrue.”

Theo’s smile widens, and I feel the warmth of it where his shoulder rests against mine. The room carries coffee, bread, cinnamon, and the faint sweetness of his approaching heat. Fora few minutes, the legal folder on the table does not manage to make the office feel cold.

Zana waits until we have both eaten more before beginning. She does not rush Theo when he curls his fingers around the coffee cup or when his gaze drops to the paperwork.

“I want to confirm what happened with the temporary restriction Garrett obtained during your first heat,” she says. “We already have the court file. I need your memory beside it.”

Theo’s body goes still against mine. I place my hand on his knee and leave it there, giving him something warm to lean into without asking him to look at me.

“He said I needed to sign papers,” Theo says after a moment. “He told me they would keep Callie from making things worse. I asked to read them, but he said I was too distressed to understand.”

Zana makes a note. “Did you sign anything?”

“No.” Theo looks into his coffee, his lashes lowering. “The second time, he put a pen in my hand. I dropped it. He told Sloane I could not make decisions because of the heat.”

His voice wavers at the end, and I turn my palm upward on his knee. Theo threads his fingers through mine, holding on hard enough that the bracelet presses into both our hands.

“The court record matches that,” Zana says. Her voice stays plain and even. “Garrett obtained a temporary emergency restriction using a preliminary declaration and his position as head Alpha. The restriction expired when the supporting documents were not filed.”

Theo lifts his eyes. “Because I didn't sign.”

“Because you didn't sign.” Zana closes her pen for a moment and looks directly at him. “Your refusal mattered.”

The breath leaves Theo slowly. His shoulders loosen beneath my cardigan, and he leans closer until his temple rests against mine.