Even from here, I can see the easy smile, the way he makes violence look like art.
"That's Flavius," I say, following Charity’s gaze. "The showman of the group. Makes me look like an amateur."
"I thought you were the performer.”
"I learned tricks to survive. Flavius? He was born to entertain. Before the arena, before Rome, he was a Germanic warrior-poet. Storyteller. Every move he makes is calculated to dazzle." I grin. "The kids love him. So do the women."
"Is he seeing anyone?"
"Not yet. He's been helping Laura with the education programs, teaching performance arts, running the demonstrations. But he keeps everyone at arm's length. All charm, no substance. Or that's what he wants people to think."
I watch Flavius laugh at something one of the kids says, the sword disappearing behind his back in a move too fast to follow.
"He's lonely?" Charity asks.
"Yeah," I agree quietly. "Aren't we all, until we find our person?"
As the party flows around us, I watch Laura introduce Charity’s parents to everyone. They stand stiffly at first, shoulders tight, glancing around like they’re not sure where to stand. But Laura's easy warmth draws them in. Nicole drifts over to Mrs. Pembroke, and the two start talking—something about philanthropy, from the few words I catch. Victor catches Mr. Pembroke’s attention with a mention of Roman military structure.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they start to relax.
With a squeeze of my hand, Charity wanders over to the stables to see the horses, Lucky trotting at her side.
My gaze tracks Charity across the yard automatically. Old habit—centuries old—born from watching for threats in noisy crowds.
Nothing dangerous here, but the instinct doesn’t care. I make myself breathe, loosen my shoulders, pretend I’m just another man at a party instead of a gladiator counting exits.
Varro comes to stand beside me, handing me a cold beer.
“Didn’t think you’d show,” he says. “City life agrees with you.”
“Yeah,” I answer. “It’s loud. And strange. And smells like shit in a different way from Rome. But it’s mine now.”
“That’s the part I mean.” Varro studies my face. “You look… sure of yourself. For the first time since we thawed.”
“I had a lot to figure out,” I say. “Still do.”
“Don’t we all?” He nudges my shoulder. “You miss this place at all?”
“Not really,” I say. “But I’m glad it’s here.”
Varro gives a knowing nod. “And you’ve got your city. Your magic. Your woman.”
I can’t help the warmth in my voice. “My life.”
Varro raises his bottle. “To freedom, brother.”
“To freedom.”
Charity
I'm standing in the kitchen helping Laura arrange food when my mother appears in the doorway, looking lost.
"Can I help?" she asks tentatively.
Laura and I exchange glances. "Sure," I say. "Want to bring out the salad bowls?"
My mother picks up two bowls like they might bite her. I've never seen her carry dishes in her life. But she follows us outside, sets them carefully on the table, and actually asks where else she can help.
