Ra had a theory.

A terrible theory.

The kind of theory that sounded brilliant at two in the morning and ridiculous by breakfast.

The theory was simple:

Men were easier when they chased.

You knew where you stood.

They flirted.

You ignored them.

They flirted harder.

Everyone played their assigned role.

Simple.

Predictable.

Safe.

Sovereign ruined all of that.

Because Sovereign never chased.

Ever.

Which was deeply annoying.

A lesser man would've sent flowers.

Sovereign sent opportunities.

A lesser man would've complimented her appearance.

Sovereign complimented her mind.

A lesser man would've demanded attention.

Sovereign simply became impossible to ignore.

Ra hated how effective it was.

Absolutely hated it.

Especially because every conversation seemed to linger afterward.

Days afterward.

Weeks afterward.

"You're thinking again."

She looked up from her coffee.

Tyler smirked.

Dangerous smirk.

Friend-who-knows-too-much smirk.

"I always think."

"Not like this."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Tyler laughed.

Actually laughed.

Which was offensive.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"You've got the look."

"What look?"

"The one women get before they make terrible decisions."

Ra narrowed her eyes.

"I don't make terrible decisions."

Tyler nearly choked.

Across the table.

Three people snorted.

One woman walked away because she couldn't stop laughing.

Traitors.

Every single one.

Inside, Ra groaned.

Because the annoying thing?

Tyler wasn't entirely wrong.

Her thoughts kept drifting back to Sovereign.

Not because she wanted them to.

Because they refused to leave.

Which felt suspicious.

Like mental trespassing.

The man occupied space without permission.

The worst part?

He wasn't even trying.

At least she didn't think he was.

Then again...

Maybe that was exactly what made him dangerous.

Across the city, Sovereign sat in his office reviewing reports.

Military briefings.

Federation updates.

Economic forecasts.

Three planetary disputes.

An assassination attempt.

Tuesday.

His assistant spoke.

"Sir?"

"Hm."

"You've read the same paragraph four times."

Sovereign blinked.

Interesting.

That never happened.

"Have I?"

"Yes."

Silence.

His assistant wisely said nothing further.

Mostly because she'd worked for him long enough to recognize the signs.

The signs had a name.

Ra.

Sovereign leaned back.

Dangerous habit.

Thinking about her had become a dangerous habit.

Not because of desire.

Desire was manageable.

He'd mastered desire centuries ago.

No.

The problem was affection.

Affection was messy.

Affection inspired hope.

Hope inspired risk.

And Sovereign had survived far too long by avoiding unnecessary risks.

Yet here he was.

Thinking about her laugh.

Her stubbornness.

Her ridiculous habit of charging directly toward danger.

A woman who treated impossible situations as mildly inconvenient scheduling conflicts.

His mouth twitched.

"Sir?"

"Nothing."

It was absolutely not nothing.

And both of them knew it.

Somewhere across the city, Ra stared out her window.

Somewhere else, Sovereign stared out his.

Neither realized they were thinking about the other at the same moment.

Which would've been romantic.

If it wasn't so irritating.

Next Blog: The gala where everyone finally notices what's happening except the two people involved.