48. Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Eight
S kye
My hands are trembling and my thoughts are whirling as we stand in the center of the Colosseum, surrounded by police, a growing crowd of curious onlookers, and overzealous reporters. I can’t imagine how they got here this fast. Thrax, still riding the adrenaline high from our encounter with Roth, begins to answer a police officer’s question.
“ Thrax sum, gladiator e —”
Panic surges through me and I squeeze his hand and give him a quelling look as he announces, “I am Thrax, a gladiator from…”
We know each other so well that he instantly catches my meaning and clamps his lips together. Turning to the officer, I say firmly, “We’re not answering any questions without a lawyer present.”
We’re whisked to a police station, which looks just like the American ones I see on TV. The next few hours pass in a blur of repeated questions and bitter coffee. Inside a stuffy interrogation room, I manage to contact Laura during a break.
“We’ll be on the first available flight,” she assures me. “Don’t say a word until we arrive. I’ll have Aline find an Italian attorney who will meet us there.”
The wait is excruciating. Thrax paces the small room, his agitation palpable. The relief is overwhelming when Laura and Varro finally burst in with a conservative-suited lawyer in tow.
The interrogation resumes, but this time we’re prepared. Our lawyer deflects the most probing questions, while Laura and Varro provide just enough information to satisfy the authorities without revealing too much.
As we leave the station, the true scope of our situation becomes clear. As we ride an elevator to the main floor, we all instinctively grab our cell phones. Headlines flash across our smartphone screens:
“TIME-TRAVELING GLADIATOR BATTLES IN COLOSSEUM!”
“ANCIENT WARRIOR AWAKENS IN MODERN ROME”
“LOVE ACROSS MILLENNIA: GLADIATOR’S 21ST CENTURY ROMANCE”
“Oh god,” I mutter, gripping Thrax’s hand tighter. How on earth did the story leak when all Thrax said were four little words in Latin on the sands of the arena? Perhaps one of the polizia made a call to someone in the media.
We pause at the station’s exit, confronted by a sea of reporters and flashing cameras. Laura turns to us, her expression grim but determined.
“We need to make a statement,” she says. “Control the narrative before it spirals further.”
We huddle together, quickly deciding that Laura and Varro should take the lead. They step forward, and the crowd falls into an expectant hush, their cameras snapping and microphones thrust close .
Laura’s voice rings out clear and strong. “My name is Laura Turner. About one year ago, my archaeological research led me to the wreck of an ancient Roman ship called the Fortuna . What we found there defies explanation—perfectly preserved human beings, frozen in time for nearly two millennia.”
Varro picks up the thread. “I was the first to be revived. Through a miracle of science we don’t yet fully understand, I awoke in this new world. Thrax,” he gestures to us, “is the second of our brothers to join the modern era.”
The reporters erupt with questions, but Laura holds up a hand. The questions don’t stop for at least a minute, maybe more, but when Laura doesn’t answer any of them, the noise recedes so she can continue.
“We’re still learning about the mechanism of their preservation and revival. What we do know is that these men are not simply historical curiosities—they are people , with rights and dignity. We ask for patience, understanding, and privacy as we navigate this unprecedented situation.”
As soon as Laura finishes, we’re mobbed. Police materialize, forming a protective barrier as we’re rushed to a waiting car. The drive to the airport is tense, punctuated by the wail of police escorts clearing our path. I don’t know why we were lucky enough to get the royal treatment, but goodness knows, we need it.
Thankfully, I had our passports with me. Everything left at the hotel can be replaced.
Through the tinted windows, I watch Rome recede as we approach the airport. Beside me, Thrax’s hand finds mine. Somewhere between the ancient stones of the Colosseum and whatever awaits us at home, we’ve crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed. The world knows the gladiators’ truth now.
I close my eyes and let out a long breath. Although the hardest part should be over, I suspect there’s more trouble ahead.