Tyler.....

 Tyler’s laugh grates on me. Not because it’s ugly—no, it’s smooth, warm, the kind of thing mortals write sonnets about. It grates because it’s hers right now. Ra leans into it, hand brushing his arm like she’s forgotten who’s in the room. And Erik, that golden wolf with his noble jaw clenched so tight he might crack a molar, watches the whole exchange like he’s auditioning for the role of “brooding immortal protector.”

Pathetic. Both of them.

I don’t breathe. Gods don’t need to. But if I did, the air would’ve caught fire by now. Every time she tilts her head, every flick of her lashes, I feel it—the pull. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Mortals play at seduction; Ra exists as seduction.

She throws me a look, sharp and sarcastic, like she’s daring me to behave. As if I’ve ever obeyed a dare. That little smirk? That’s her armor. I know the truth—she feels me before she sees me. Her body betrays her. Shoulders stiffen. Breath catches. Pupils widen just enough for me to notice.

And gods notice everything.

Tyler touches her wrist and my vision goes red. Erik leans in closer, whispering something that makes her lips twitch—and I swear entire star systems beg for mercy. Let them orbit. Let them think they matter. They’re her distractions. Her toys. I am her inevitability.

When I finally step forward, the room changes. No fanfare, no thunderclap, just a silence that cuts. The mortals don’t know why the hairs on their arms stand up, why their hearts stumble. Ra knows. She looks at me, defiant, sarcastic, trembling in ways only I can see.

They think they’re competing for her heart. Cute. I’m not competing. I’m claiming.

Because when a god loves, it’s not roses and chocolates. It’s ruin. And I would ruin every man, every oath, every universe that stands between her and me.