12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
T hrax
As I enter the atrium, I don’t examine the sky as I normally do. Instead, my gaze darts to Skye as she taps away at her machine. I’ve been quietly watching her for days, learning the little tells in her expressions. The way her brow knits when she’s locked in focus, or how her fingers race across the black squares with symbols on them. She calls them keys. And when she leans back and stretches, it means she’s ready for a break.
I’ve been waiting for that moment.
I’ve only been here a few moments when she sighs and rolls her shoulders, the signal I’ve been looking for. My pulse quickens as I stand, two steaming cups of that dark, bitter drink she calls “coffee” in my hands. She seems to rely on it, especially when she’s deep in her work.
“Skye,” I say softly, setting one of the cups next to her silver device I now know is a “computer”.
She looks up, her warm brown eyes wide in surprise. She clicks the key on her computer that turns on the translation program before she says, “Oh, Thrax! Thank you. That’s so thoughtful.”
I give her a small nod, letting a faint smile slip through. It feels good—this simple gesture of bringing her coffee, a quiet way of showing my gratitude. “You’ve been working hard,” I say, my voice low but steady. “Thought you might need this.”
Skye’s smile widens, and something inside me warms at the sight. Over the past few days, our interactions have become something I look forward to. It’s still hard to open up, to let my thoughts and feelings out, but with her, it’s different. She listens, always with a gentle smile and those kind eyes that never make me feel judged.
We sit, quietly sipping our coffee. I’m still not fully used to the sharp bitterness, but I think I’m starting to understand why Skye loves it so much. It’s strong and complex, much like this new world I’m trying to navigate.
“How are you feeling today?” Skye asks, her voice soft, though the translator’s volume is the same as always.
I consider the question carefully. In the past, I would have given a vague answer, something safe that wouldn’t invite further questions. But with Skye, I find myself wanting to be honest. “I am… adjusting,” I say slowly. “Some days are easier than others. But I’m grateful for your help.”
Skye’s eyes soften, and she reaches out as if to touch my arm, but stops herself. I wish she hadn’t pulled her hand back. “I’m glad I can help,” she says. “And I’m here if you ever want to talk about… anything. I never dreamed Varro and Laura would be gone for so long. Aline, their assistant, said Laura’s father took ill and they’ve extended their stay in the States. I imagine you wish Varro were here, someone who understands you.”
I nod, swallowing hard. There’s so much I want to say, so many memories and fears swirling inside me. But I’m not ready to talk about it. Not yet. Still, that I’m even considering sharing feels like growth.
We work side by side for a few more hours, Skye asking for my input on Latin pronunciations, which almost all need what Skye calls “tweaking.” I do my best to help, proud that I can provide something valuable .
Eventually, Skye stretches again and turns to me. “I need to focus on some complex coding now,” she explains. “Do you want to take a break? Maybe explore the facility a bit?”
I freeze, fear gripping my chest. Explore? Alone? What if I do something wrong? What if I’m not allowed in certain areas?
But then I remind myself: I’m free. I’m not a slave anymore. I can go where I want.
“ Sic ,” I agree, though my voice sounds far steadier than I feel. “I will… explore.”
Skye gives me an encouraging smile as I stand to leave the atrium. My steps are hesitant at first, but as I move through the halls, I feel a thrill of excitement. This is the first time I’ve ventured out alone since waking up in this new world.
I peek into every open door, discovering not just what is in each room, but finding a curious part of my nature I never noticed before. Most rooms are like mine, though they’re deserted, but one is larger and filled with tools. A workshop?
Inside, a man in a tunic and braccae of the material Skye calls jeans sits on a stool, a small knife in one hand and a piece of wood in the other. He’s carving something, his movements sure and practiced.
I watch from the doorway, fascinated. The man looks up and sees me, then offers a friendly nod. He says something in a language I don’t understand that doesn’t sound like the English Skye uses—and gestures for me to come closer. As he stops to take a bite of his sandwich, I decide he works here in this room with many machines. Is this what he does for fun on his break?
I pause, unsure if I should enter. But then I remember Skye’s encouragement, her belief in me. Taking a deep breath, I step into the room.
The man holds up the piece of wood and then mimes the action of carving. I nod, understanding dawning. He’s showing me what he’s doing .
Tentatively, I imitate his carving motion back to him. He grins and nods enthusiastically, then holds out another piece of wood and a spare knife to me.
As I take them, a memory surfaces—Caecilia’s necklace, the carved phallus she gave me for protection and good luck. My throat tightens at the thought, but for once, the pain is mixed with something else. Determination.
I may not be able to recover the necklace Caecilia gave me, but perhaps I can create something new. Something for Skye, to thank her for her kindness and patience.
As I carve under the man’s watchful eye, I feel a sense of purpose I haven’t experienced in a long time. This small act of creation, this gift I’m making with my own hands, feels like a step toward something new. Something hopeful.
For the first time since waking up in this strange new world, I feel like I might find my place. A purpose that has nothing to do with being a slave.