Reyna was pretty sure she hadn’t seen the sun in nearly forty-eight hours, and, genuinely, it wasn’t her fault. The Legion had been given some time to be simply on-call, rather than being on 24/7 active duty in recognition of the “whole saving the world” thing, but unlike divine punishments, rewards from up on high did not necessarily reach the highest ranks. While most of the Roman demigods got to enjoy a day dedicated only to leisure, outside of one or two chores, Reyna got to deal with the administrative nightmare that was learning how to integrate two camps of highly volatile demigods who were all but predestined to destroy each other. It wasn’t hard, exactly – all they really needed was a miniature version of customs, and Terminus was more than delighted to enforce that – but it was tedious, especially as she was trying to do it on her own. Frank was great, and he was going to make a fine Praetor one day, but she couldn’t help but find herself missing Jason. Unfortunately, he wasn’t available; he was too busy galavanting about with Piper in search of Leo, leaving Reyna to–

She cut the thought off. Jason wasn’t her partner anymore, and that was the end of the story, even if she didn’t care for it. Nobody, including Jason, was really sure what his new title of Pontifex Maximus actually meant, but even if they did, it wouldn’t matter. Jason had followed the proper channels and asked his Praetor (Frank, not Reyna, notably) for a leave of absence, so she couldn’t even really complain about dereliction of duty. So, she was just left to stew in a frustration of her own making while shouldering a weight meant for two backs. Again. 

Reyna’s pen hit the desk with a quiet clink when she flattened her hands against the woods, forcing deep, even breaths past clenched teeth and into her chest. She was meant to not be thinking about Jason, not dwelling over him again. “Get it together,” she growled quietly to herself.

“Get what together?”

Reyna’s head whipped up, furious and horrified in equal measure that the supposed sanctuary of her office had been breached, and her breath stuck in her throat. She dipped her head to show her respect. “Oracle.”

“Praetor,” Rachel smiled back lazily.

In all honesty, Reyna wasn’t really sure how to act around the one and only Rachel Elizabeth Dare. She was the direct mouthpiece of the god Apollo himself, but Rome didn’t exactly have an Oracle, so there was no easily-referenced precedent. Not to mention that the Greeks’ treatment of her was wildly contradictory in and of itself. In one moment, the Oracle of Delphi was treated with the utmost reverence her title demanded, and the next she was being beamed in the back of the head by a dodge ball, which everyone, including her, found hilarious. So, like she did with most social things she didn’t understand, Reyna just did her best to avoid Rachel whenever she could.

Right now though, Rachel was standing in her office, covered in paint and wearing a pair of knee-length cut-offs and mis-matched flip-flops with a sloppy bandana tying her hair back. She looked so effortlessly confident that Reyna wondered if she’d simply been born without shame.

“So, what are you working on, and why do you need to be in one piece to do it?” Rachel asked again, not even remotely annoyed at Reyna’s delay.

For a moment, Reyna considered icing her out, stating that it was important Praetor business, but she couldn’t. Or maybe she just didn’t want to. “I’m attempting to make a version of customs that isn’t completely trauma-inducing.” Rachel laughed loudly and openly at that, so Reyna made her own attempt. “And you? What are you doing here?”

Rachel shrugged casually. “I kinda just followed the signs.” 

“The signs, you say?” Reyna echoed, arching an eyebrow. “Then one or more of the signs should be corrected. This is my private study.”

“Oh, I don’t mean the street signs. I can’t read them; I don’t speak Latin,” Rachel said, absurdly calm. “I just… get signs from the Fates, and sometimes I follow them. Sometimes they lead me to rooms I don’t have any business in, but they wind up needing me anyway.”

“Thank you for your concern, but the Fates must have given you the wrong sign. “I’m not in need of assistance.”

“Oh, yeah? When was the last time you were outside for longer than five minutes? Do you remember having lunch? It’s two PM, by the way.”

At those words, Reyna’s stomach gave a loud, treacherous growl, and she felt her cheeks warm slightly. “I concede your point.”

Rachel laughed, obviously delighted and it made Reyna’s chest tighten slightly with sudden warmth before she could shut it down. Venus’s words echoed in her mind. No demigod shall heal your heart. She had to remember that.

But, then again, Rachel wasn’t a demigod, the stubborn flame of hope pointed out. She was a mortal girl, possessed by the undying spirit of prophecy. She was certainly not the shape Reyna had wished or hoped for.

She very quickly brought that thought to heel, and was a little surprised to find that her mental exercise had resulted in her physically snapping her book shut too. She did her best to pass it off as completely deliberate. “Have you had lunch?”

“No,” Rachel confessed, eyes glittering. “I had a feeling there was something I needed to check on before I ate. Any recommendations on where to go?”

Reyna stood, an unwilling smile twitching at her mouth without her consent. “I may have a few ideas.”

Rachel looked almost smug. “Then let’s go, Praetor.”