The sun beat down mercilessly on the Colosseum, the sand scorching beneath his feet as he moved with deadly precision, gladius flashing in tight, controlled arcs. The crowd roared, a wall of sound he usually ignored, when suddenly he noticed you.

For the first time, he saw you sitting in the imperial box, regal and calm, your presence commanding in a way that made the rest of the arena blur. His focus faltered for a heartbeat, not on the fight, not on the blood, not on the sand, but on you.

The emperor beside you smiled. “My best gladiator,” he said, expecting spectacle.

He didn’t bow. He didn’t perform. He only let his eyes lock with yours, steady and cold, yet there was something in that gaze, brief and subtle, that acknowledged he had noticed you. The roar of the crowd, the heat, the clash of steel, they all faded into background noise.