Page 49 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
“Is this connected to those frozen gladiators they found years ago?”
“@BeyondTheVeil, isthatyour mysterious consultant finally revealed?”
My thumb hovers over the screen, paralyzed by the implications. The damage is already done. My heart is pounding, my hands are shaking, and my thoughts are swirling with woe-as-me thoughts as I imagine this will be the end of our growing relationship.
“Rosemary?” Lucius’s voice, sleep-rough but alert, carries from the bed. “What’s wrong?”
He’s practically still asleep, but still so attuned to me, he senses just how upset I am.
I turn slowly, phone clutched in my hand like a grenade with its pin removed. “Someone recorded you last night. Performing a ritual at one of the unattended graves.”
He sits up immediately, fully awake now. “Show me.”
I hand him the phone, watching his expression carefully as he views the footage. His face remains perfectly composed—that arena mask sliding into place—but I see the slight tightening around his eyes, the barely perceptible tension in his jaw.
“Norris,” he says finally, his voice flat. “He must have sent someone to follow us when you refused his demands.”
“I’m not sure.” My mind races through possibilities. “The angle is wrong. This was taken by someone standing among the mourners, not a professional cameraman. And it was posted to TikTok, not a production company account.”
As if on cue, my phone buzzes with a call from Norris. I answer on speaker.
“Have you seen it?” he demands without greeting. “The footage is everywhere. Twitter, TikTok, YouTube. Over two million views already and climbing.”
“We didn’t authorize this,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Someone at the cemetery must have recorded without our knowledge.”
“Authorized or not, it’s a gold mine.” Norris’s excitement is palpable, which turns my stomach. “The mysterious pale man speaking ancient Latin in a Day of the Dead ceremony? People areobsessed. I’ve got network executives calling me about fast-tracking the documentary.”
Lucius rises from the bed, moving to the balcony with a rigid posture that speaks volumes about his distress. I watch him retreat from the conversation—from me—and something cracks in my chest.
“This isn’t what we agreed to,” I remind Norris coldly.
“You think I planted a random Mexican tourist in a cemetery to secretly film your consultant?” Norris sounds genuinely offended. “I didn’t need to. In the age of smartphones, privacy is an illusion. But now that it’s out there, we’d be idiots not to capitalize on it.”
“We’re not discussing this now.” I end the call despite his protests, then follow Lucius to the balcony.
He stands with his back to me, white-knuckled hands gripping the wrought-iron railing. Below, San Miguel continues its morning routine, oblivious to our crisis unfolding above.
“I need to contact the sanctuary,” he says without turning. “They should be warned. If someone connects this to the thawed gladiators…”
“I’ll help you call Laura.” I step beside him, not quite touching. “We’ll contain this.”
“Will we?” Now he turns, his expression carefully neutral, but his narrowed eyes reveal the betrayal he feels. “Two million views and climbing. My image, my voice—my sacred ritual performed for some poor fellow who died in the last century—now entertainment for strangers.”
“I never wanted this,” I whisper, reaching for his hand.
He doesn’t pull away, but neither does he return my grasp. “I believe you. But that changes nothing. What I feared has happened, regardless of our intentions.”
My phone buzzes again with calls and messages, each notification like another nail in the coffin of what we’d been building between us. I silence it completely, needing to focus on him.
“What can I do?” I ask, desperate to fix this somehow.
“Nothing.” The simplicity of his answer cuts deeper than anger would have. “What’s done cannot be undone. The modern worldhas claimed me as content, just as the arena once claimed me as spectacle.”
“This isn’t the same—”
“Isn’t it?” His voice remains calm, which somehow makes it worse. “My appearance, my practices—things that marked me as different, as valuable property—once again presented for others’ fascination.”
My throat tightens with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry, Lucius. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you from this.”
