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Vrann had paused at a nearby shop displaying little model shuttles, and I stepped to one side to open the message.

Bob's greeting was typically cheerful.

"Good morning, Sheriff! I've got some information for you, and I think you're going to want to sit down for it. Your match profile is ready."

I glanced around for a seat, found one beside the concourse window, and lowered myself onto it. The station's broad viewing panels offered a view of the Alliance transport waiting at its berth, its hull gleaming beneath the docking lights. I could see ground crew moving around the lower cargo hatches, preparing the ship for departure.

Then I opened the profile.

The first thing I saw was a photograph of a human man. He had dark hair, a warm expression, and the sort of face that seemed more open the longer I looked at it. He wasn't smiling broadly for the camera, but there was a softness around his eyes that made me wonder whether he was more comfortable laughing when he wasn't being photographed. He looked a little tired in the picture, though that might have been the lighting. There was something thoughtful about him, something that suggested he was accustomed to considering his words before he spoke. His name was Darren Brooks.

I read it once, then again. Darren Brooks, my match. I couldn't explain the small shift that happened inside me as I looked at his picture. It wasn't the sudden certainty of love, nor was it anything so dramatic as the stories some people told about recognizing their fated mate at a glance. I'd never met him. I didn't know the sound of his voice, the way he moved, or whether we'd have anything in common beyond whatever the matching system had identified. But I wanted to know him, and that was the first thought that came clearly enough to name.

I wanted to know who he was at the core of him, what he liked, what made him laugh, and what had put that thoughtful yet guarded expression in his eyes. I wanted to hear him speak. I wanted to see whether he looked like that when he smiled at someone he cared about.

I sat back, surprised by the strength of my curiosity, and opened the rest of the profile.

The photograph changed to a family picture. Darren stood with two boys, one on either side of him, while a young infant rested in his arms. He looked happy and relaxed in this one. A short legged, long bodied , golden-furred canine sat near his feet, looking directly at the camera with an expression of bright, uncomplicated enthusiasm.

The boys were clearly different ages, though not far apart. The older one had sandy-brown hair and a serious look that suggested he was trying to appear more grown-up than he really was. The younger boy was grinning, his face bright with energy. The baby was bundled comfortably against Darren, her dark curls framing her little face. The profile identified them as Evan, Matt, and Laura, and the canine as Skye. My hearts leapt as it recognized what this meant. Darren had children, therefore, I now had children. I felt them begin to sing.

I studied the picture for longer than I intended. There was something about the way Darren held the baby while keeping the other two close that told me more than a list of facts could have. He looked like a man who had spent a great deal of time taking care of other people. He also looked tired in a way that went beyond missing sleep, as though he'd had to learn how to keep moving when stopping would have been easier. I wondered what had happened to him.

The next section began to explain. Darren had been married to a man named Philip Brooks. Unlike Dragonii, humans did not always mate for life with another human. They were not physically bound in the same way as Dragonii and Mylos unless their mate was one. Their marriage had ended after Philip was arrested and prosecuted for serious financial crimes, including fraud, embezzlement, and tax evasion. Investigators had uncovered missing funds, false billing, fabricated business expenses, and money diverted from accounts Philip had been trusted to manage. The financial consequences had spread beyond the firm and its clients, leaving Darren and the children facing the loss of their home, vehicles, and much of their financial security.

I frowned as I read. It was a terrible thing to have happen to anyone, but it was particularly cruel when the person responsible was the one you had trusted to build a life with you.

The profile continued, detailing the second apartment Philip had rented and the expenses he had concealed. It also explained that Philip had maintained a long-term relationship with his male personal assistant, George Stanley, while continuing his marriage to Darren. He had used company funds to pay for travel and accommodations connected to that relationship. The report made it clear that Darren had not known about the affair or the apartment until the investigation uncovered them. I felt my jaw tighten. This Philip was a most unworthy male.

Then I reached the section about the children and discovered he was an even worse male than I had believed. Evan and Matt had both been adopted by Darren and Philip. The investigation had established that Philip had actually secretly fathered both boys through affairs with their birth mothers, who had been young women connected to the law firm where he worked. He had concealed those relationships from Darren, as well as the rest of his family and his employers, and presented the circumstances surrounding each adoption as though they had arisen from separate professional connections.

I looked back at the family photograph. The boys weren't responsible for any of that. Neither was Laura. They were children who had needed a family, and Darren had loved them and raised them. Whatever Philip had done, the children were not evidence of wrongdoing. They were people who deserved to grow up knowing they were wanted. Philip had not deserved any of them. I paused and reminded myself that he still did not have them. Darren did, and now, so did I. I would strive to always prove myself a worthy father.

I continued reading. The profile went on to describe Darren's efforts to keep their lives stable after the arrest while separating them entirely from Philip's life. His employment as a paralegal had allowed him to work from home, but the collapse of the household's finances had forced him to make difficult choices. For a time, he and the children had lived in a long-stay motel in a place called Titusville in a smaller state within a much larger union of them on Earth, called Florida, along with their yellow-furred canine. The profile described the room as cramped but safe, and noted that Darren had continued working while caring for three children and trying to find a way forward.

I paused there. A long-stay motel meant for transients and holiday makers with three children and a pet canine. A man trying to hold everything together after the person he had trusted most had taken so much from him. I pictured him getting the boys ready for school in a room barely large enough for all of them, feeding the baby, making sure the canine was cared for, and then sitting down to work as though he hadn't spent the previous night worrying about how he was going to afford their next meal or where they would live in another month.

I didn't know whether that was precisely what had happened, of course. The profile gave me facts, not the private details of every day he'd lived through. But I knew enough about hardship to recognize determination when I saw it. And Darren had kept going, proof of just how strong he truly was.

The final section explained that he had then applied for the position as deputy on New Haven. He had passed the preliminary screening and accepted the invitation to attend the matching center in order to take up the role. He was hoping for a new start, a stable home for his children, and a chance to build a future that wasn't defined by his former husband's crimes.

I read the last paragraph twice. A new start. I stroked the picture with my finger. A new start we would all make together.

I found myself wanting to know whether he was as gently kind as he looked in the picture, the games he played with his - no, our - sons, whether he sang to the baby when she wouldn't settle, and whether Skye followed him from room to room the way canines often did when they decided one person was their whole world. I wanted to know whether he liked the outdoors, whether he would enjoy New Haven’s wide open spaces, and what his laugh sounded like when he was truly happy. Most of all, I simply wanted to meet him.

That realization left me sitting quietly with the tablet in my hands, aware that something had changed somewhere deep within me. I opened Bob's message again and scrolled to the matching information.

The program had confirmed that Darren was my fated match. The legal implications were clearly stated, as was the requirement that we meet and seal the bond within seven days of our first meeting. The timeline had always been a concern for the administrators, particularly when one person was traveling from another world, and the other was still aboard the Bride Fleet, given the biological implications of our species’ mating drives upon identifying our mate.

I understood why they worried. A fated match wasn't an ordinary introduction. The bond came with legal and practical consequences, and the children of a non-Dragonii mate would be recognized under Dragonii law as part of the Dragonii mate’s family. Darren would not simply be choosing a partner for himself. He would be choosing a future for Evan, Matt, and Laura as well, and I would be taking on responsibilities that went far beyond a new relationship.

I didn't find that frightening. It made me careful. The bond might make us legally mated, but it wouldn't manufacture trust or erase the damage Philip had done. Those things would have to be earned. I was still considering that when another notification appeared, this one from the station liaison handling the colony's arrivals. It was a message asking me to confirm that I understood the seven-day requirement and that I was prepared to proceed. I typed my reply carefully. I understood the law, and I intended to meet Darren as soon as our schedules allowed. I would not pressure him to make promises before he was ready, but I would also not pretend I was indifferent to the biological nature of my mating drive nor the constraints we were bound to by treaty.

After sending it, I looked up and found Vrann standing beside me with a small model shuttle clasped in both hands.

"Can I keep this?" he asked, looking from the shuttle to me.

I glanced at the shop and then back at him. He was holding the model carefully, as though he already knew it was something he would have to give back.