Page 52 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

“My father taught that true balance comes not from avoiding storms, but from finding stillness within them.”

Maya’s hand covers mine. “You talked about him at the hidden pool, but I’d love to know more about him.”

The request honors me, so my words come easily. “He believed knowledge was worth any price. That wisdom could be found in unexpected places.” Like now—a Greek philosopher’s son and an American fighter finding common ground across two millennia. “He would have liked you.”

“Yeah?” Her eyebrow lifts playfully. “A female fighter who trains gladiators?”

“A warrior who fights with both mind and body. Who protects those in her care, no matter the cost.” My free hand cups her cheek. “Who shows me daily that some bonds transcend time itself.”

The kiss, when it comes, feels inevitable as sunrise. Her lips carry the warmth of summer winds, the strength of destiny, the promise of sanctuary ahead. My thumbs brush the corners of her jaw as she deepens the contact, her small sound of pleasure making my blood sing.

It’s hard not to wish we were back in the swimming hole, and that I’d had the time to make her come apart from my touch.

The ancient phone’s buzz shatters our moment. Maya pulls back reluctantly, checking the message. Her face pales.

“Laura says they’ve infiltrated local law enforcement around the sanctuary. Setting up fake checkpoints, monitoring every approach.” She scrolls further. “They’re concentrating all their resources in a tight circle around our destination. Creating a dragnet we can’t slip through.’

Her father returns, catching her last words. “How close are we?”

“Maybe fifty miles out. But that’s where they’re focusing everything—manpower, drones, corrupt cops.” She shows me the phone’s screen. “Laura says they’ve essentially created a fortress around the sanctuary. They plan to let us get close, then close the trap.”

I see the tactical logic through a gladiator’s eyes. “They know their target. Instead of spreading resources thin across the country…”

“They’re waiting where they know we have to go.” Maya’s jaw sets in that determined line I’ve come to know well. “We need a new plan.”

The sun edges lower as we pull back onto our route. But now every passing mile brings us closer to the enemy’s strongest position. Every moment of peace could be our last before the storm breaks.

Maya’s hand squeezes my thigh with affection, her touch both comfort and promise. The kiss we shared still lingers on my lips, reminding me what we fight for.

Not just survival now, but a future worth claiming.

Chapter Forty-One

Maya

Early evening finds us parked behind an abandoned gas station just outside St. James, Missouri. We’re about an hour from Second Chance. The ancient flip phone glows as I study Laura’s latest message detailing the pharmaceutical companies’ blockade around Potosi.

“They’ve got every approach covered,” I tell Damian, showing him the crude map she’s drawn. “Fake police checkpoints on Highway 8 and 185.” I trace the highways with my finger. “Private security teams are watching the back roads, and drones are monitoring everything else. Like a noose tightening around the sanctuary.”

“How far out does their perimeter extend?” Even exhausted, his tactical mind never stops working.

“Laura thinks it’s about a two-mile radius from Potosi.” I zoom in on the map. “Laura says they’re especially heavy along the highways and…” My voice trails off as something catches my eye.

“What is it?”

“Look at this.” I point to an area where Laura’s marked old mining tunnels. “She says this area used to be called The Lead Belt—one of the oldest mining regions in Missouri. Some of these tunnels date back to the 1700s.”

My father leans forward from the back seat. “My friend Hal grew up around here. Talked about it until I thought my eyes would roll back in my head. He told stories about those mines. Whole network of tunnels running through Washington County. Some folks say you could travel for miles underground without ever surfacing.”

“Could they still be passable?” Damian’s forehead pleats in deep thought, as though he’s calculating the odds.

“Laura says she found recent maps of them—what’s passable, what’s not.” I read further into her message. “They’re marked on this map.”

“There’s an entrance point here.” I indicate a spot on the map. “About thirty miles from where we are now. If we can reach it before dawn…”

Damian studies the map with the focus of a man who once navigated the tunnels beneath Rome’s greatest arena. “How far underground?”

“Laura says it’s not a deep system—most tunnels are relatively close to the surface.”

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