I brace for the questioning, but it doesn’t come. Not while we eat, not while we’re on our way up to the barracks. The silence unsettles me. Considering how they hazed me when I first arrived here, I’m more than a little nervous. I triple check the lock on my cell after the guard secures it. Twice, I get up from my rack to check it again.

It’s secure, but it was that first night too. That didn’t stop the men from getting to me. And they weren’t angry then. They had no reason to be suspicious of anything except my possible presumptuousness about my place within the ranks.

And tonight, just as that night, there is nothing I can do but lie here and wait for them to come if they will.

Movement.Near-silent, but there nonetheless. And it isn’t just a single set of footfalls or one man’s breathing. Like a swarm of unseen insects closing in, they’re there, just outside the door.

Click. Scratch.

The lock. Oh gods . . .

My heart pounds. I turn my head toward the door.

Clink. Clink. Click. Scratch-scratch.

I leap from my rack and move to the door. The shadows on the other side are nearly impossible to distinguish from the cover of darkness. Even harder to count. One man? Five? A dozen? And—

A massive hand shoots through the opening and snatches me by the throat. Then another. I seize the forearms, try to pry the fingers off, but my hearing dulls. My awareness clouds. Blackness takes over.

My knees crack on the floor and jolt me back to clarity just as the door screeches on its hinges. I don’t even have a chance to shout before a hand is over my mouth.

I’m shoved to the floor. Someone is on my back. A foot pins my hand. A knee pins the other. Weight presses down on my legs.

“Stay quiet,” someone growls, “or I’ll snap your neck. Understood?”

I nod as much as the hand on my mouth will allow. A moment later, the hand lets go.

“Where have you been the last few days?” Sikandar says, and I realize he’s the one on top of me. “And what business do you have with Drusus every time you return?” He grinds my face onto the stone floor. “Talk to—”

“Easy, Sikandar,” someone—Lucius, I think—says sharply. “Don’t mark his face.”

“What? Don’t mark—”

“Do you want Drusus to get suspicious?”

No answer, but the pressure eases.

“Answer him.” That sounds like Quintus. “Now.”

I take a breath, and manage to pull in some of the dirty straw off the floor. I cough and sputter, wincing as Sikandar leans into me.

“Talk,” he says, speaking almost directly in my ear. “Or we can just make sure you have an unfortunate accident on your way down the barracks stairs in the morning.”

I spit out more dust and straw. “I’m reporting back to the master when I return to the ludus,” I say through clenched teeth. “He ordered me to. I swear it.”

“Reporting what?”

“That I’ve returned, you fool.”

“Then where are you going when you leave?” The knee presses down harder on my back. “Speak, Saevius.”

I wince as my ribs threaten to crack beneath his weight.

“What are you telling the master?” Lucius demands. “Talk, gladiator. What are you telling him?”

“About what?” I ask. “What would I tell him? That you’re dragging me out of my rack—”

A foot in my side silences me.

“Enough,” someone growls. “What are the two of you discussing behind closed doors?”

My heart pounds within my compressed ribcage. “Nothing that has anything to do with the familia.”

“Then what?” Sikandar spits. “Talk, curse you.”

I think quickly. “The munerator of the Ludi Augustales, he—” I struggle to breathe beneath Sikandar’s knee. “He wants me on the billboard. For the Ludi. A featured fighter.”

The pressure on my back lessens slightly.

“He is left-handed,” someone says.

I wince as I try to pull in some more air. “He wanted me to prove I could fight well enough. And to sit so the painter could put my face on the billboard.”

“I don’t believe him,” Lucius mutters. “He’s been meeting with Drusus since—”

“Because Drusus still thinks I’m the one sending messages out of the ludus,” I throw back, straining to look over my shoulder in the direction of his voice. “He suspects me, you fool.”

“As do we,” Lucius says. “Either of communicating with someone outside, or watching and listening to us for Drusus.” Quiet movement. When he speaks again, his voice is closer to me, like he’s knelt beside me. “Near as we can tell, Saevius, you’re a danger to every man in this familia.”

“I’m not a danger to any of you. I swear it.”

“See that you aren’t.” Quintus’s tone is laced with murderous venom. “We’re watching you. Every move you make. Every time you speak to the master.”

“Whatever business you have with Drusus,” Lucius says, “you can address it in the yard.”

“And if he summons me?” I ask, wincing as the Parthian’s knee presses into my back.

“If he summons you, then that’s the master’s prerogative,” Lucius says. “But if you go to him? You’ll wish we’d snapped your neck tonight.”

“And remember this, gladiator,” Sikandar says. “Give us any reason to believe you’re going to turn on us, that you’re putting a single one of us in any danger with the master, we’ll make sure that unfortunate spill down the stairs is arranged.” He presses harder against my back. “Understood?”

I grimace, and barely manage to choke out, “Understood.”

The knee on my back lifts away. Feet scuff past me. The door closes. The corridor outside empties.

And I don’t sleep for the rest of the night.

Just as they promised, the men are watching. Every time I come and go, every time I even look in the direction of Drusus’s rooms. I barely sleep, jumping out of my rack at every sound that could be the men coming in to remind me of—or make good on—their threats.

The seven days Drusus granted me are nearly up. I have until sundown, and I have nothing to show for the days Drusus has granted me. I doubt he’ll let me leave again, not with the Ludi Romani coming up.

Hiding in the shadows not far from the ludus’s back gate, I’m restless and nervous. Bruises under my tunic and on my cheek and jaw throb relentlessly, reminding me that even if Drusus were to grant me more time, there still remains the constant threat of my suspicious familia.

Fortune is, for once, on my side this morning: Drusus leaves the ludus. Alone. I follow him down the street, past the Forum, into the marketplace, and to a different building tucked back into a crowded, narrow street that’s teeming with people.

And just as I suspected, I’m not the only one interested in the secretive lovers.

Another man follows, but not closely, and his face is concealed. When Drusus disappears into a building, the hooded man waits outside, leaning against a wall, casual and unassuming.

Casual and unassuming except for the hand resting on the hilt at his belt.

In between watching the vacant doorway, he scans the crowd. Sweep to the left, check the door, sweep to the right, check the door. He’s as alert as an alley cat, fingers opening and closing on the barely visible hilt.

I can’t see his face, but he seems completely unaware of me. His posture doesn’t change as I approach him slowly from his right. The sun hasn’t been up long, and there are plenty of heavy shadows, not to mention a rapidly thickening crowd, so it’s easy to hide. It’s also easy to lose sight of a man, and my heart skips every time a cart lumbers between us or someone blocks my view of him.

The lady Verina emerges from the building, and he makes his move.

So do I.

As he approaches her, I approach him, counting steps and adjusting my gait to match his. He’s perhaps ten paces from Verina when I cross his path, and just as I’d calculated, we collide. Feigning an attempt to right myself, I thrust my elbow into his chest.