Page 51 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

The words make Damian murmur a prayer of gratitude in Latin. Although Sarah doesn’t understand a word, she smiles and nods as though they share a secret.

As Sarah drove on our bumpy ride here, I created a route using the paper maps in the glove compartment. “The first leg is the most dangerous,” I murmur as we’re about to say our goodbyes. “They’ll be watching the main roads, but I found some old mining roads and fire trails. Not comfortable, but safer.”

Damian studies the route with a warrior’s eye for strategy. Even in borrowed jeans and a T-shirt, he carries himself with that innate dignity that first drew me to him. Did I really once think I could pretend to own someone like him? Containing all that power? What a fool’s errand.

Tears prick my eyes as I hug Sarah goodbye. These people took us in without question and protected us when we were most vulnerable. How do you thank someone for that kind of gift?

“I know your path lies elsewhere, but you’ll always have sanctuary here if you need it. Both of you.”

“We will remember the lessons you shared with us.” Damian’s voice carries quiet certainty. I nod as I translate his words for her, letting her know I share his sentiments.

Final preparations move quickly after that. My father takes the back seat without complaint—a minor miracle in itself. The flash drive with his evidence rides in my pocket, a weight far heavier than its small size would suggest.

As I slide behind the wheel, Sarah presses one last gift through the window—a thermos of her grandfather’s special tea. “For clarity,” she says with a knowing smile. “And courage.”

The reservation disappears behind us as we take the first of the back roads I marked. Dust clouds mark our passage through the desert landscape, each mile carrying us closer to whatever awaits us in Missouri. My fingers find the crystal in Joseph’s pouch, drawing comfort from its cool solidity.

“You’re very quiet,Fortis,” Damian says softly.

“Just thinking about everything they did for us. Everything they risked. When I looked up to see all those arrows nocked and ready to fly, my heart was in my throat.”

“Some debts cannot be repaid,” he replies. “Only honored by how we use their gifts.”

In the backseat, my father stays uncharacteristically silent, perhaps finally understanding the weight of what his actions set in motion.

The moon rises higher as we navigate the maze of back roads. Somewhere behind us, corporate forces search in vain. Somewhere ahead, Damian’s brother gladiators prepare to welcome him home. And here, in this moment, we carry the hope of an entire tribe who believe in the power of ancient spirits and modern courage.

I hope our actions honor all they gave us.

Chapter Forty

Damian

The Kansas landscape rolls past our windows, endless flat fields replacing desert vistas. Maya handles the truck with the same determined grace she shows in fighting, making the unwieldy vehicle dance through the network of back roads.

Even in this tense moment, I find myself admiring her fierce concentration, the way her hands move confidently on the wheel. She catches my admiring gaze and flashes that smile that never fails to make my heart race. In the backseat, her father dozes fitfully, his face troubled even in sleep.

We skipped lunch and dinner, trying to reach the sanctuary, which they call Second Chance, before our pursuers catch up with us. I’d been dreaming of the past, but memories of arena sand fade as I watch Maya navigate this modern world with growing confidence. Even exhausted, she maintains the quiet strength that first drew me to her.

“We should stop soon,” she says, checking the ancient dash gauges. “Need gas before we hit the next stretch.”

The small farm town looks exactly like the last twenty that we passed—a cluster of buildings surround one gas station. This one is older and shabbier than most. It has two pumps.

“I’ll handle this,” Maya says as we pull up. “Less chance of being remembered if they only see a woman alone.”

I watch through sun-streaked windows as she interacts with the station attendant, her body language carefully casual. She’s learned deception well—a thought that brings both pride and sadness. The arena taught me similar skills, hiding strength behind submission until the right moment struck.

Her father stirs as she returns. “Need anything inside, you two? Bathroom break?”

“I’ll go.” Franky stretches, joints popping. “Getting too old for long car rides.”

When he’s gone, Maya slides closer to me on the bench seat. “How are you holding up? Really?”

The question carries layers of meaning. How am I handling this strange journey? The approach of reunion with my gladiator brothers? The constant threat of pursuit?

“I am…” I search for the right words in English, but I don’t know enough of her language to speak my heart in them. I continue in Latin. “At peace. The path ahead holds danger, but we face it together.”

Her smile warms places the sun can’t touch. “Even after everything, you stay centered. I marvel at you more often than you know, Damian.”

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