Page 48 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
Rising, I reach for my phone and begin typing a response to Norris.
“What are you doing?” Lucius asks.
“Choosing what matters.” I show him the message before sending it, then remember he can’t read English.
“‘David, I understand your position, but I cannot and will not compromise my consultant’s privacy. If that means terminating our agreement, I accept that consequence. The footage you’ve received will be my final submission for this project. Signed, Rosemary Vaughn’.”
Lucius pauses, his expression unreadable. “You’re certain? This opportunity—”
“Isn’t worth betraying someone I care about.” The words come easily, truth crystallizing in the moment of decision. “There will be other opportunities. Ones that don’t require me to exploit the people I care about.”
After sending the message, I set my phone down and feel an unexpected lightness. For years, I’ve chased validation through views, subscribers, and professional recognition. Yet in this moment of seemingly losing everything I’ve worked toward, I feel more authentic than I have since my near-death experience.
“No one has ever chosen me over practical benefit,” Lucius says quietly, something vulnerable flickering in his gaze. “Not in either of my lifetimes.”
The simple admission breaks my heart. I move to sit on his lap as though we’ve done this hundreds of times before.
“Maybe that’s what this journey has really been about,” I suggest. “Not exploring death traditions, but learning what actually matters in life.”
“And what have you learned matters most?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I don’t hesitate. “Connections. Integrity. Seeing people as they truly are, not what they represent or what they can do for me.” My hand finds his. “You.”
His fingers intertwine with mine, warm and solid and real. “That is wisdom worth more than any patron’s gold.”
Outside our window, the first sounds of evening festivities begin—musicians tuning instruments, vendors calling their wares, families starting their procession to the cemetery. The second night of Day of the Dead approaches, the celebration of connections that transcend even death’s boundary.
My phone remains silent. No angry call from Norris. No desperate attempts to salvage the deal. Just silence that feels increasingly like freedom.
“What now?” Lucius asks.
I smile, feeling more like myself than I have in years. “Now we celebrate Día de los Muertos—not as content creators, not as historical consultants—just as two people honoring the boundary between worlds. Together.”
His answering smile transforms his solemn features. “Together,” he agrees, and in that single word, I hear possibilities stretching before us like an unwritten story, waiting to be discovered one page at a time.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Raven
The morning sun filters through the colorfulpapel picadobanners strung across our hotel balcony, casting patterned shadows across the bed. Lucius still sleeps, his white hair splayed against the pillow, face peaceful in a way I rarely see when he’s awake.
We haven’t been intimate again, but perhaps it’s best that way. We’re getting emotionally and spiritually closer every day.
I slip out of bed carefully, grabbing my phone to check the time. The screen illuminates with a barrage of so many notifications that it makes my stomach sink.
Twenty-three missed calls. Forty-one text messages. Hundreds of social media alerts.
The first message from Megan freezes my blood:CALL ME NOW. Someone posted footage of Lucius online. It’s everywhere.
My fingers tremble as I open the link she’s sent. The video opens with a scene from last night’s cemetery celebration. Despite the shaky phone footage, Lucius is unmistakable—his pale form standing before a grave, white hair catching the candlelight as he performs a simple ritual that blends Roman practices with Mexican traditions. The Latin words flow through in English, though I don’t know how they were translated, as he honors the boundaries between worlds.
The stranger captured everything—his distinctive appearance, his formal movements, the ancient language he spoke. Worse, they clearly recorded from close range, hidden among the crowd of celebrants.
Comments beneath the video swarm with questions and theories:
“Who is this guy? Those aren’t standard Day of the Dead rituals.”
“That’s ancient Latin. Like, REAL ancient Latin, I think.”
