8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
S kye
Five days have passed since Thrax first appeared in the atrium. Each day, he returns, a silent sentinel gazing at the sky for hours. I steal glances at him over my laptop screen, increasingly intrigued by this man from the past.
Varro has joined me for the past two days, correcting pronunciation in my translation software, but it’s slow going. He explained, in perfect English, that the pronunciation that has drifted to us over the last two millennia has shifted. He’s the only man on Earth—well, there’s Thrax—who knows what all these words sounded like when they were spoken in conversation.
The enormity of my task—to ensure every word in his language is pronounced correctly—is overwhelming. Oh well, one step at a time. I have lists of the most common words in any language. That’s where we’ve started.
Today, as I’m deep in a coding trance, Varro’s voice breaks my concentration when he calls from the doorway. “Skye, Thrax, could you join Laura and me in the conference room?” He repeats himself in ancient Latin for Thrax.
My head snaps up, face immediately flushing with heat. Have I done something wrong? My mind races through every interaction, every line of code I’ve written. Did I miss a deadline? Overstep a boundary? Offend one of these ancient gladiators whose customs are so different from my own?
As we follow Varro, I can’t help but glance at Thrax. His face is impassive, giving nothing away. Has he complained about me watching him? Or is he in trouble, too? The thought of this imposing gladiator being “in trouble” almost makes me laugh, despite my nerves.
Thrax’s gaze briefly meets mine, and I’m struck again by the depth of emotion hidden behind his stoic exterior. There’s uncertainty there, maybe even a hint of the same anxiety I’m feeling.
As we enter the conference room, I notice Thrax has to dip his head to get through the door. Perhaps it’s a habit from his other lifetime, because, tall as he is, he doesn’t have to hunch.
I swallow and brace myself for bad news as if I’ve been called into the principal’s office. My hands are clammy as I take a seat, wondering if this is where my extraordinary adventure comes to an abrupt end.
Laura and Varro exchange a glance before Laura speaks, first in English, then repeating herself in Latin. “We want to apologize for the short notice. We’ve been called to America on urgent business. It’s bad timing, but it can’t be delayed.”
The knot in my stomach partially uncoils. I’m not being fired. Not yet, at least.
Varro continues, “We’re not sure how long we’ll be gone. But we don’t want to delay your work on the pronunciation, Skye. It’s crucial for the project.”
I nod, still unsure where this is going.
Laura turns to Thrax, her voice gentle as she speaks first in Latin, then translates for me. “Since you’re the only other person here who speaks ancient Latin, we were hoping you might be willing to help Skye with the pronunciation work while we’re gone.”
Thrax’s eyes widen slightly. It’s the first time I’ve seen a genuine emotion cross his normally blank face. He glances at me, then quickly looks away. His reluctance is palpable .
“ Nom possum …” He shakes his head, lips turned down.
I don’t need to understand his language to know he doesn’t want to do this. My heart sinks. He must really dislike me if he’s unwilling to work with me. I rack my brain, trying to figure out what I’ve done to offend him. Was it the staring? I thought I was being stealthy. Did I invade his space in the atrium?
Varro places a hand on Thrax’s shoulder and talks to him. Laura translates, “I know it’s a lot to ask, my friend. But your help would be invaluable. Skye’s work is important for all of us. It will help you adjust. And think of the others.”
Thrax’s gaze flicks to me again, and I try to school my features into something neutral, non-threatening. But inside, I’m a whirl of emotions. Embarrassment at being so obviously disliked. Curiosity about what I’ve done wrong. And, despite it all, a strange excitement at the prospect of working closely with this fascinating man.
After what feels like an eternity, Thrax gives a small nod. “ Si, putas me iuvare,” he says softly.
“Yes, if you think I can help,” Laura translates, then speaks to him in Latin. I understand one Latin word from what she says to him, “ Gratias.”
As the meeting wraps up, I can’t help but wonder what I’m getting myself into. How am I supposed to work with someone who can barely stand to look at me?
But as we file out of the conference room, I catch Thrax sneaking another glance my way. And for a split second, I see something in his eyes that doesn’t appear to be dislike at all. It looks almost like… fear?
The realization hits me. Maybe it’s not that he dislikes me. Maybe he’s just as nervous about this arrangement as I am.
As I head back to the atrium, my mind is already brimming with possibilities. This project just got a whole lot more interesting.