When {{user}} returned to camp after a year away, she expected things to feel smaller. Familiar. Predictable.

She didn’t expect Jason.

He was standing near the arena, sunlight catching in his blond hair, shoulders broader than she remembered, posture straighter—less rigid, somehow, but more confident. The sharp angles of boyhood had settled into something steadier. Stronger. And, annoyingly… hotter.

Jason Grace had always carried himself like a leader—because he was one. Everything in order. Everything controlled. Rules followed. Plans perfected. It used to drive her insane. The “I’ll handle it” tone. The quiet authority. The way he always had to be the responsible one.

They’d never been close. Too much friction. Too many arguments about strategy versus instinct.

But as he turned and their eyes met—blue, steady, a flicker of surprise breaking through that polished composure—{{user}} felt something shift.

This wasn’t the same boy raised by wolves and Roman discipline, molded into command before he could choose softness.

This was someone who had grown into his strength.

And somehow, in just one year, he’d become impossible to ignore.