37. Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Seven
S kye
Thrax stands shirtless in the sunlight streaming through our window, his back to me. Fortuna’s face seems to come alive, Elodie’s skill making her robes flow like real fabric. The areas where his scars were most prominent have been transformed into a wheel of fate, spinning out new possibilities.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, stepping closer to admire it.
Thrax turns, a rare, full smile lighting his face. “It feels… right. Like I’m honoring my past while jumping ahead into this new life.” His hand finds mine, squeezing gently.
The depth of emotion in his eyes takes my breath away. In this moment, I realize just how far we’ve come together, and how much further we have yet to go.
We haven’t been sexual since that first night. Between the healing tattoo and my long hours improving the translation program, it’s never felt like the perfect time. And because of Thrax’s past, I truly want it to be perfect.
“We’ve got a breakfast date with Varro and Laura,” I remind him .
Soon, we’re in the cafeteria, which hums with its usual activity, but our table feels like an island of extra excitement. Varro can barely contain his enthusiasm as he leans across the table toward Thrax and me.
“It’s happening tomorrow,” he says, glancing around to ensure no one’s eavesdropping. “You’ve done so well, Thrax, that we’re thawing the next gladiator.”
Upon hearing this, my excitement is secondary to fear. Even though Thrax’s response to the revival process has gone without a hitch, from my understanding, this is still a procedure that could be deadly for some or all of the others. Thrax and I are so attuned that he must sense my worries, because he reassures me by squeezing my thigh.
“Who?” Thrax asks.
Laura pulls out her tablet, swiping through files. “We’ve decided on Cassius. He seems to be in the best physical shape. We’re hoping for another success.”
A heavy silence falls over us as we contemplate the enormity of what’s about to happen. Another man, torn from his time, about to wake up in a world he can’t possibly comprehend—that is, if he’s lucky enough to wake up.
“He was strong,” Thrax murmurs, his eyes distant, as though he’s watching a memory. “Quick on his feet. Did Varro tell you about his memory?”
“I forgot,” Varro says. “Sulla—”
“Bastard!” Thrax interrupts, his voice overflowing with anger.
“Right. Sulla, the bastard ludus master who enjoyed using a whip, got angry at the man’s sharp mouth when we were at the docks at Ostia. He hit Cassius over the head and practically split it open. Knocked him out. When he awoke, he couldn’t remember anything.”
“I thought he might be joking at first,” Thrax adds, “but after a few days at sea, it became clear he’d lost all of his memory. ”
Laura appears thoughtful as she scrolls through her pad. “He might not be a good choice…”
“But you said he’s healthy, that he is most likely to survive the thaw,” Varro reminds her. “He wasn’t from our ludus . He and Thrax met us at the docks the day we set sail. He got along well with us, though. A calm fellow. He might do well. He handled his loss of memories without drama.”
“Dr. Diaz says he’s the best candidate,” Laura says. “We should go forward with Cassius. He should do well, even with the head injury, since he showed no problems on the long, choppy sea voyage.”
Varro nods in agreement. “Let’s hope so. We’ve learned a lot since I woke up. We’ve got the ear translators, and the video series I’ve been working on to explain some of the changes they’ll encounter—one step at a time. The process should be smoother for him.”
As they discuss the details of tomorrow’s procedure, a thought strikes me. “You know,” I say, interrupting their technical chat, “at one gladiator per week, we’re looking at three months, maybe more, before everyone’s revived and stabilized.”
The realization settles over us. Three months. It feels both incredibly long and impossibly short.
“I had hoped…” My voice trails off, but Thrax’s questioning look prompts me to continue. “I wanted to take you on a trip. Maybe to Paris. Show you those airplanes up close, let you look down on the earth from thirty thousand feet in the air.”
Thrax seems paralyzed as he tries to convert feet to a number he can relate to. Varro supplies, “ Triginta milia pedum .”
Thrax’s eyes go wider than I’ve ever seen them. He shivers, perhaps out of fear, though I imagine my gladiator is more excited than any other emotion. Then his expression falls. “But with Roth… the trip won’t be safe, will it?”
We all nod grudgingly, the threat of Dr. Roth hanging over us like a storm cloud. But then, Laura becomes more animated .
“Wait a minute.” She leans forward. “What if… what if it’s actually a good idea?”
Varro raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Laura’s excitement builds as she explains. “All our intel suggests Roth is laser-focused on the hospital. If we can get Skye and Thrax to the airport without being noticed…” Her brows lift as she wordlessly encourages us to fill in the blanks.
“We could pull it off,” I finish, feeling a spark of hope ignite in my chest.
The possibilities start flying around the table. Disguises, secret routes, the thrill of outsmarting Roth. It’s like something out of a spy movie, and I can’t help but get caught up in the excitement.
“Why Paris, though?” Varro asks, turning to me. “I would have thought Rome would be the obvious choice.”
I hesitate, glancing at Thrax. “I thought that might be too much. Seeing everything so… changed.”
To my surprise, Thrax shakes his head. “No, I want to see it.” His tone is insistent. “Rome. The Colosseum.” Then his voice grows soft as he adds, “Even in ruins.”
Varro reaches across the table, clasping Thrax’s shoulder. “It’s… intense,” he admits. “The first time I saw a picture of it in its current shape, I wept, brother. It made the passage of time so… real.”
“Seeing the plane in the sky did that for me,” Thrax insists. “I want to see Rome, even though I know it will be hard. It’s proof that I’ve… endured.”
As we dive into the details of the trip—fake passports, security measures, the best routes through the city to get to the airport—I can’t help but marvel at how quickly our quiet breakfast turned into planning an international adventure.
“You’ll need to be careful,” Laura cautions, ever the voice of reason. “Keep a low profile. ”
Thrax nods solemnly, but I can see the excitement dancing in his eyes. “I never thought I’d see Rome again,” he says softly. “I certainly never thought I’d fly through the air like a god.”
His wonder is infectious, and soon we’re all caught up in the possibilities. Varro admits he’s been researching Rome and describes the Trevi Fountain, while Laura pulls up images of the Pantheon on her omnipresent tablet.
As our planning session winds down, my body is alive with excitement. Tomorrow, we’ll wake up another gladiator, taking the first step toward reuniting Thrax with his brothers-in-arms. And soon after, we’ll be jetting off to Rome, showing him how his world has changed—and how much of it still remains.
Thrax leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For giving me a chance to see my home again and for giving me a future I never dreamed possible.”
His words make me feel warm and glowy inside. With a response like that, I’ll keep giving him presents—big and small—forever.
As I look around the table at our little group—Laura and Varro now pouring over the statistics of the gladiators in stasis, reviewing who should be revived after Cassius—I’m struck by how quickly this has become my family. My home.
Whatever challenges tomorrow brings, whatever Roth might have planned, we’ll face it together. Soon we’ll be walking the streets of Rome, making new memories in a city older than time.