Flavius nods slowly. “Yes. She should know.”
“And the men.” My stomach twists. “Thrax, Cassius, Quintus—all of them. This isn’t just my framework that got stolen. It’s their stories. Their expertise. Their trust.” I meet his eyes. “They deserve to know what Blackwell did with what they shared.”
“They will want to help,” he says quietly.
“I know.” The thought steadies me instead of overwhelming me. “And I need their help. I can’t fight this alone—not against a tenured professor with institutional power. The Sanctuary’s backing will help, and Laura needs to know how this research was conducted… honestly, according to the rules.”
“You ask her today?”
I nod. “After I send Blackwell a response. I’ll tell Laura everything—show her the timeline, the evidence. If the Sanctuary supports the complaint officially, it’s not just me against Blackwell. It’s institutional misconduct.”
Flavius’s expression sharpens with something like pride. “Smart. You build army, not fight alone.”
“Exactly.” I take a breath. “I’ll talk to her this afternoon. Then I’ll meet with the gladiators—anyone whose work contributed to the framework. They should know before this gets official.”
He reaches out and cups my face gently. “They will stand with you. All of us.”
The certainty in his voice emboldens me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“For reminding me I don’t have to do this alone.”
His thumb strokes my cheekbone once. “Never alone. Not anymore.”
I lean into his touch for one more breath, then straighten. “Okay. First things first.”
I draft a brief acknowledgment to Dr. Blackwell, nothing more. No details. No explanations. Just a boundary.
Dr. Blackwell, I received your email. I’m focusing on my fieldwork and will be in touch when I have updates to share.
Best, Sophia
When I hit send, something in my chest loosens.
The path ahead is clear now. Gather evidence. File the complaint. Fight.
The thought should terrify me.
It does.
But it also feels… clarifying.
“What now?” Flavius asks.
I blink. “Now?”
He spreads his hands. “You wrote ideas. Sent email.” His eyes search my face. “What do you need next? More planning? Rest? Distraction? Food?”
I consider.
The old version of me—the one from before all this, untouched by ice-melted gladiators and goddesses and ethical theft—wouldsay work. Dive deeper into documents, policies, strategies until I collapse.
The version of me here, now, in this log cabin with this man and this fight ahead… knows that’s not sustainable.
“I need…” I surprise myself again. “A shower. Breakfast that isn’t panic toast. A walk. Then I’ll come back and make a proper list for the complaint.”
