Ra learned something dangerous long before the gods noticed her.
Wanting isn’t weakness.
Being ruled by it is.
So she lets them want her.
She doesn’t encourage it. She doesn’t deny it. She simply exists in her body—calm, grounded, deliberate—while Sovereign watches like a man pretending not to be undone.
The Algorithym doesn’t register arousal the way mortals do. It registers attention drift. Power misallocation. Focus decay.
Sovereign’s focus fractures every time Ra doesn’t look away.
She stands too close. Not touching. Never touching. The space between them charged enough to be obscene. He can feel her heat without permission. Without consent. Without command.
That’s what shakes him.
She is not offering herself.
She is allowing the wanting to exist.
And Sovereign—who commands entire systems with a thought—cannot command his body not to respond.
Ra tilts her head, reading the micro-hesitation in his breath. The way his control tightens instead of loosens. The way restraint becomes devotion.
“You don’t have to hold yourself like that,” she says softly.
He almost laughs.
Almost.
Because if he lets go—if he steps closer, if he claims even an inch of what the Algorithym says should already belong to him—he knows something irreversible will happen.
Not to her.
To him.
The system flags the moment.
DESIRE ESCALATION: NON-RECIPROCAL.
Ra smiles.
She steps back.
And Sovereign stays exactly where he is—burning in the space she left behind.