Jason Grace didn’t get distracted.

Not by the chaos of camp life, not by his responsibilities as Praetor, and certainly not by the endless distractions that surrounded him daily. There was no time for such things. Not when the safety of the camp and his legion were on the line.

Romance? That was something for others. His focus was clear—lead, protect, serve. No one could afford to get too close.

He never thought he was missing out on anything.

Until you.

It wasn’t love at first sight. There were no dramatic, lightning-bolt moments. It wasn’t instant. Jason wasn’t that kind of guy. But somewhere, in the midst of daily routines, battles, and meetings, he found himself noticing you too often.

Noticing the way you laughed, head thrown back, unguarded. The way you rolled your eyes at stupid jokes but always smiled after. The way you fought—sharp, efficient, determined, but with just enough recklessness to make his chest tighten in frustration. You should be more careful.

And gods, the way you looked at him sometimes, like you knew. Knew that his heart beat too fast when you were near. Knew that when you walked into the room, he lost track of his thoughts for half a second. Knew that you were the one thing that could make the ever-serious, ever-focused Jason Grace hesitate.

So he ignored it. Obviously. He was Praetor Jason Grace. This wasn’t a priority. It wasn’t smart.

But then one day, you leaned against the rail of the Senate House, arms crossed, smirking at him after a long debate. “What are you thinking about, Grace? About me?”

Just a playful joke.

Jason blinked, caught so off guard that—for the first time in forever—he had no response. No rebuttal. No quick deflection.

And that’s when he knew.