Page 23 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

He shrugs, trying to look tough, but I can see the pain in his eyes. “Whatever. I’m better off without them.”

I recognize the act for what it is—a shield against the hurt. I feel compassion for the boy and wonder if I’m discovering bits and pieces of my true nature, even if I never find my memories.

“It’s okay to miss them,” I say softly. “To miss the good times. It doesn’t make the bad times any less real, but it’s part of who you are.”

Jason looks at me, really looks at me, and I see something click in his eyes. “You get it, don’t you? You’ve been there.”

I hesitate, unsure of how to respond. “I… I think I have. My memories are still hazy, but I know what it’s like to feel alone, to feel like you’ve lost everything.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess you would.” He’s quiet for a moment, then adds, “Thanks. For not bullshitting me, I mean. Everyone else just tells me it’ll all be okay.”

“I can’t promise it’ll all be okay,” I reply honestly. “But I can promise that you’re stronger than you think. And you’re not alone anymore.”

Jason doesn’t respond, but I see some of the tension ease from his shoulders. We sit in silence until Diana calls us back to end the session.

As we groom the horses in the dusty sunlight inside the barn, I find myself watching Jason more closely. His determination, his struggle to trust—it all feels achingly familiar. Am I seeing echoes of my own past in him? Or am I simply trying too hard to fill in the blanks of my own story?

Diana stands beside me as we watch the van pull away. “You were amazing with Jason today.” Her voice is warm with admiration. “You have a real gift for this, Cassius. You can connect, get people to drop their guard around you.”

I turn to her, struck once again by how pretty she is. She’s nothing like the women on TV with their cosmetics and fancy hairstyles. She’s… fresh. The setting sun paints her hair gold, and her eyes shine with an emotion I can’t quite name. I almost ignore her praise, but then decide to let it sink in. “Thanks.”

Our gazes meet, and suddenly the air between us feels charged. I’m aware of how close we’re standing, of the warmth radiatingfrom her body. I clench my fists to keep from reaching out to touch her.

Diana takes a small step closer, her gaze dropping to my lips for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “Cassius, I…”

But whatever she was about to say is cut off by the sound of Thrax calling my name from across the yard. The moment shatters, and Diana steps back, her cheeks flushed.

“I should go,” she says quickly. “I have some paperwork to finish. But… good work today, Cassius. Really.”

As she walks away, a storm of emotions churns inside me—pride in what we’ve achieved with the kids, confusion about my past, and a fierce urge to reach out and pull Diana back into my arms.

I turn toward Thrax and the world shifts. The shade trees fade away, replaced by a room so luxurious it almost knocks the wind out of me. Marble columns reach to a ceiling covered in detailed frescoes, and the floor beneath me is a mosaic so intricate, I hesitate to even walk on it.

In the middle of the room stands a man, tall and commanding in an elaborately embroidered toga. His face is stern, radiating authority, but something in the angle of his jaw, the curve of his nose, tugs at my memory. A shock runs through me as I realize—this must be my father.

He’s speaking to me, his voice low and insistent. The words come in snatches, like fragments of a half-remembered song.

“…to lead in the senate, you must cultivate friendships…”

I strain to hear more, desperate to cling to this piece of my past.

“…learn how to make people let their guard down with you…”

The man—my father?—paces as he speaks, his sandals tapping on the mosaic floor. I’m struck by how casually he treats such luxury.

“…use information you glean to your advantage…”

The words hit me like a blow from a gladius. Is this who I was? A manipulator, using people’s trust against them? The thought makes me question everything I’ve come to know about myself.

As quickly as it came, the vision fades. The fancy room dissolves, replaced once more by the familiar sights and sounds ofSecundo Casu. But the taste of the memory lingers, raising more questions than it answers.

If this was my father, what does that make me? The furnishings in that room spoke of wealth beyond anything I’ve seen in this new world. Was I truly born to such privilege?

More importantly, what do I believe in now? The man in my memory spoke of manipulation and taking advantage, but is that who I want to be? The Cassius who works with Jason and Bailey, who feels a connection with Diana—is he the real me, or just a product of my memory loss?

I reach Thrax, still reeling from what my therapist calls a flashback. My comrade is saying something about training schedules, but I can barely focus on his words. My mind is racing with questions and doubts.

Chapter Eighteen

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