Page 53 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
The phone rings—Laura’s voice carrying tension I’ve rarely heard. “Can you reach the transfer point safely?”
“Yes. But getting past additional agents will be harder if they have the roads covered.”
“Protocol Seven is now in effect,” Laura continues, using the contingency we’ve discussed but hoped never to use. “I’ll text you safe locations through our encrypted account. We’ve mobilized professional security and legal defenses. Stay mobile until we can make sure Second Chance is safe.”
The call ends, leaving silence between us. Raven stares out the window, her expression thoughtful.
My hand finds hers across the seat, seeking connection even as instinct urges withdrawal to protect myself.
Miguel announces our approaching transfer point. The switch happens with precision—one vehicle for another, minimal conversation. Our new driver introduces herself only as Sophia.
As we continue toward temporary refuge, Raven breaks the heavy silence.
“We can’t run forever. At some point, we need to face this.”
I turn from contemplating the landscape, an idea forming. “Running and facing are not the only options.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the arena, when outmatched by a stronger opponent, sometimes the best strategy was neither direct confrontation nor retreat.” The tactics that kept me alive for years might serve inthis modern battle. “Sometimes, you change the nature of the contest itself.”
“Control the narrative,” she says slowly as understanding dawns.
This is why we connect despite our different worlds—her mind works with the strategic clarity I’ve always valued. “Instead of letting them define you, we define ourselves first.”
Since I first saw those images on her device, I’ve felt little beyond grim acceptance. But now... something stirs. Not hope, exactly. Purpose. A path I choose for myself—no master’s command, no god’s whim. Mine.
As night falls, cloaking us in darkness broken only by our vehicle’s lights, Raven reaches for my hand again. The gesture carries meaning beyond words.
“Whatever we decide, we decide together. I’m with you, Lucius.”
I interlace my fingers with hers, this simple touch bridging centuries of difference. “Together,” I agree.
Ahead lies temporary refuge while we determine our strategy. Behind us, a world increasingly curious about the pale stranger with ancient knowledge. Between us, a connection tested by circumstances neither could have anticipated.
The Romans believed fate was a wheel, eternally turning. Perhaps this challenge is merely another rotation bringing me back to familiar territory—the fight to maintain freedom and dignity in a world that wants to make me a spectacle.
But unlike in Rome, I no longer fight alone.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lucius
The safe house in Texas is a one-story house tucked into a wooded area. Two days we’ve been here—two days of sanctuary calls, legal consultations, and endless debate about our next move. Raven has been relentless, arguing for a controlled interview as our best strategy. The gladiators and Laura remain divided, their voices carrying through the speakerphone during our latest conference call.
“It’s too risky,” Sulla insists from the sanctuary. “Once they have his image, they’ll never stop coming for the rest of us.”
“The damage is already done,” Varro counters. “The video exists. It’s been shown all over the globe. The speculation is rampant. Better to shape the narrative than let others craft it for us.”
“I agree,” says Cassius, who seldom inserts himself in planning discussions. “My father was a Roman senator. I learned more at his knee than in a hundred years of courses at modern universities. Dealing with it directly is the best way. You control perception.”
When the call ends without resolution, silence settles over the small kitchen where Raven and I sit across from each other. The weight of the decision presses upon me like arena sand beneath my feet—familiar, heavy, inescapable.
I’m glad to know one of Dara Hobson’s security teams is guarding us. I’m told she’s richer than a Roman emperor and acts as a patron. She has provided legal and financial backing to the sanctuary since we were discovered. I may have been a good gladiator in my time, but I’m no match against guns. The team will ensure Raven’s safety, which gives me comfort.
“It has to be your choice,” she says finally, her fingers curled around a coffee mug gone cold. “Not mine, not the sanctuary’s. Yours.”
I rise, moving to the window. The forest surrounds us, thick and silent, as if nature itself is holding its breath. Time stretches as I ponder. I have no idea how long I stared out the window as I played different scenarios in my mind, like I did as a gladiator. Though this fight doesn’t involve swords. It’s a match of wits.
