Page 48 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

“You’re a smart woman. If you’d told me this earlier, I would have refused to take this trip.”

“By our return trip, you’ll be an old hand. When we’re on the plane, you’ll notice the other people don’t even pay attention. It’s a nothingburger.”

“Nothingburger,” I echo. The translation software can be useless sometimes.

I try to focus, through the windshield, on the scenery, marveling at the modern buildings and vehicles that still feel so alien to me. But my mind keeps racing ahead, imagining what lies in store. Flying through the air in a metal bird. Rome. The Colosseum.

At the airport, our driver drops us off with a quiet “Good luck” before melting back into traffic. Skye leads the way, her confidence bolstering my own as we travel the busy terminal.

Skye and Laura are often glued to their phones like Narcissus was with his own reflection, but as we walk through the airport, I can see this is not unusual. People walk into each other, children pull on their parents’ arms trying to get their attention, all the while their eyes are fixed on the colorful screens.

I could walk through the airport naked, and I doubt anyone would bother to look up from their phone.

“Remember,” Skye murmurs as we approach the check-in counter, “let me do the talking. Just smile and nod.”

I do as she instructed, trying to look natural as she hands over our passports and tickets. The woman behind the counter barely glances at us, her fingers flying over her keyboard. Each second feels like an eternity as I wait to get caught with my false papers, but finally, she hands everything back with a fake smile and a bored tone. “Enjoy your flight.”

We make it through security without any problems, though the process leaves me baffled and slightly on edge. Before we left the hospital, Skye explained the purpose of the metal detectors, the body scanners, and the careful examination of our belongings. It all feels hostile, yet strangely reassuring. If it’s this difficult for us to get through, surely it will be even harder for Roth or his men to follow.

As we settle into seats at our gate, the reality of what we’re doing finally starts to sink in. In a matter of hours, I’ll be seeing Rome again. The thought sends my emotions whirling.

“You okay?” Skye asks, her hand finding mine once more.

I nod, not trusting my voice. My words aren’t smart enough to describe all my emotions at once. Is there a way to describe the jumble of worries and excitement all swirling together inside me?

“It’s okay to be nervous.” She gives me an encouraging smile. “This is a big challenge. But I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way.”

Her words calm me, anchoring me here. Whatever happens in Rome, whatever ghosts of my past we encounter, I won’t have to face them alone.

The announcement for our flight comes over the speakers, and we join the line of passengers preparing to board. As we walk down the tunnel, my heart pounds so loudly I’m sure everyone must hear it.

But then we’re inside the plane, finding our seats, and a new kind of excitement takes hold. This is it. The moment I’ve been dreaming of since I first learned about these flying machines.

“I’m so glad Laura sprang for first class,” Skye says as she wordlessly reminds me how to fasten the buckle as I did on the car ride to the airport. “You would have been miserable in the cheap seats. They’re half this size.”

As I’m picturing that, one of the uniformed servants offers us a beverage. I have money. Varro pressed some into my hand before we left. “For presents and treats,” he said with a smile. “Buy what you want. Part of the gold we recovered from theFortunais officially yours. You deserve to indulge yourself.” It was clear by the meaningful look he gave me that he knew that if I spend any money at all, it will be on Skye.

I still haven’t answered the servant’s question, not knowing if I have enough money for the drink.

“It’s complimentary,” she says with a false grin.

“He doesn’t speak English,” Skye adds with an equally fake smile. “But I’m sure he’d like champagne.”

When we both have drinks in our hands and the servant moves to the next row of seats, Skye says, “It’s alcohol. Bubbly. Stronger than the wine you’re used to.”

I take a sip but don’t like it. Skye’s happy to finish mine off. She’s taking her last swig when the woman retrieves the glasses and steps away.

The engines start as if Vulcan’s forge suddenly roared to life. When the plane moves. I grip the armrests tightly. Skye leans close, her voice soothing in my ear.

“Ready for takeoff?”

I meet her gaze. “Ready,” I reply, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Skye

The plane shudders, and Thrax’s grip on my hand tightens. Once we’re in the air, his eyes are wide, fixed on the clouds rushing past our window. We’re somewhere over Europe, hurtling toward Rome at hundreds of miles per hour.

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