Seven examined the broken collar for a very long time.
Thomas stood beside Sylvia's chair with the rigid composure of a man prepared to accept execution but unwilling to apologize for the circumstances leading to it.
Sylvia sat beneath the medical scanner in a fresh robe, the new mark at her nape uncovered and faintly tender, while Seven's entire team pretended not to notice the bruises visible above Thomas's collar.
The pretense was not convincing.
"The protective barrier was designed to resist an infected dominant omega," Seven said eventually.
Thomas remained silent.
"It was reinforced with pheromone-treated steel."
Still nothing.
Seven lifted one half of the destroyed clasp between two fingers. "You tore it apart with your teeth."
"I was not entirely myself."
"You were yourself enough to complete a permanent mating bond."
Sylvia raised a hand. "In his defense—"
"No," Seven said.
Her hand lowered.
