18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

L aura

The stench of unwashed clothes hits me like a wave as I rummage through the crew’s laundry bags. My nose wrinkles in disgust, but I press on, desperate to find something—anything—that might fit Varro. The irony isn’t lost on me; here I am, digging through other men’s dirty laundry to clothe a naked gladiator from ancient Rome. If someone had told me a week ago that this would be my life, I’d have laughed in their face.

My fingers brush against a soft cotton t-shirt, and I yank it out, hoping it’ll stretch over Varro’s broad shoulders. Whatever he wore when the Fortuna sank is long gone, disintegrated by the relentless march of time. He’s been naked since he awakened, a fact I’d like to rectify immediately.

As I continue my search, my mind wanders to other necessities. We’re stranded on this godforsaken island, and every item could mean the difference between survival and… I shake my head, unwilling to complete that thought.

My gaze lands on two diving knives, glinting dully in the dim light. Without hesitation, I snatch them up and tuck them into a nearby shaving kit. It’s not that I don’t trust Varro, but… well, maybe I don’t. Not yet. Not when those hands that once wielded a gladius could so easily end me.

Continuing my search, I lift Tony’s air mattress to see if he has any clothes in the under-storage compartment. He’s a bear of a mechanic, and his clothes, as well as Garrison’s, are more likely to fit Varro than the two slim divers, Rick and Rowdy.

What secrets might his bunk hold? I ease his air mattress aside and gasp. The empty platform beneath is a treasure trove of sustenance—MREs, candy bars, and other non-perishable snacks. It’s as if I’ve stumbled upon King Tut’s tomb. Except instead of gold, I’ve found something far more valuable: food.

“Thank you, Tony,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. My eyes sting, and I blink rapidly, refusing to cry over a stash of processed food. But the relief is overwhelming. Since Varro woke up, the gnawing worry about our dwindling supplies has been a constant companion. How was I supposed to feed a hulking gladiator and myself on what little we had left?

I’m so engrossed in my discovery, mentally rationing our newfound bounty, that I don’t hear Varro’s approach. His looming, naked presence in the doorway startles me, and I nearly drop an armful of MREs. His expression is a storm of confusion and suspicion, and I’m suddenly very aware of how this must look—me, rifling through our compound like a desperate scavenger.

“What are you doing?” His voice is rough, tinged with exhaustion and mistrust. It’s a stark reminder of how precarious our situation is, how little we truly know—or trust—each other.

I gesture to the laundry bags. “I was looking for clothes for you,” I explain, trying to keep my voice steady. “And I found food. Lots of it.”

Varro’s eyes narrow, his gaze flicking between my face and the MREs in my arms. The intensity of his stare makes me want to squirm, but I stand my ground. We’re in this together, whether he likes it or not.

“Why did you do it?” The question comes out of nowhere, his tone gravelly and angry. He’s looking at me through lowered brows, and for a moment, I’m reminded of just how dangerous this man could be.

“Why did I look for food? Clothes?” I ask, genuinely baffled by his sudden shift in mood.

When his response is to grind his molars and shake his head in frustration, I’m forced to ask, “Do what?”

“Last night, when I first awoke,” he clarifies, his voice tight. “Why did you crawl on top of me?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I look away, suddenly finding the scuffed toes of my boots fascinating. “You were freezing,” I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you were dead and was shocked when you made a noise—stunned to see a dead man come to life. Your lips were blue, and you were shaking so violently I was afraid you’d hurt yourself. I was trying to warm you up. Body heat, you know?” I risk a glance at him, adding softly, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I can only imagine what it must have looked like.”

“Or what it felt like,” he tosses this to me as though it’s a sharpened spear.

“Right. I was trying to keep you alive in the only way I knew how, but I imagine you felt… violated.” My knowledge of ancient Rome tells me the life of a slave provided no rights, not even bodily autonomy. “I apologize, but I’d do it again, even knowing I was risking my life, to keep you alive.”

The silence that follows is deafening. I can hear my own heartbeat, a frantic rhythm in my ears. When I finally gather the courage to meet his gaze, I’m surprised to find not anger or disgust, but a flicker of understanding in his dark eyes. It’s a small thing, but it feels monumental.

“I thought…” He trails off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Th-thank you for saving me.”

The words are stiff, almost forced, but I’ll take them. It’s a start, a tentative truce in this impossible situation. But there’s more he needs to know, and the weight of it sits heavy on my chest .

“About that,” I begin, my stomach twisting into knots. “There’s something else you need to know.”

Varro’s brow furrows, his body tensing as if bracing for a physical blow. “What is it?” His voice is tight as he steps forward to sag onto one of the men’s beds.

I imagine he’s wondering where this next piece of info goes on his shitty life timeline. Better than losing his family at a young age, but worse than being forced into slavery? That sounds about right.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable fallout. “We’re on a small island. It’s uninhabited except for the two of us. We’re stranded here. The boat that brought me is wrecked, and the rest of the crew…” My voice cracks, and I have to swallow hard before continuing. “They left me behind.”

“Left you?” Varro’s voice rises with disbelief, overly loud in the small tent. “How could they just abandon you?”

“Greed,” I say simply, my lips twisting into a bitter smile. “They found the treasure they sought and decided I was expendable.” I almost give Garrison some benefit of the doubt, wanting to mention the terrible storm and the urgency of the moment, but I don’t. He could have returned when the storm stopped. There’s no excuse for what he did.

I watch as Varro processes this information, his jaw clenching, hands curling into fists at his sides. For a moment, I think he might lash out, unleash the fury and frustration that must be boiling inside him. But instead, he takes a slow, measured breath, his shoulders sagging with resignation.

“So we’re alone,” he says, his voice flat and emotionless. “No food, no way off this island.”

“We have some food,” I remind him, holding up the MREs like a peace offering. “And I saw a rabbit. Where there’s one, there must be more. And there’s got to be a way off this rock.” My voice faltered there because I don’t fully believe it .

Varro’s dark eyes search mine for any hint of deception or false hope. But I hold his gaze, willing him to see my determination. Maybe he heard my hesitation, but I want him to see my stubborn refusal to accept our circumstances without a fight.

“Okay,” he says at last, and I see a glimmer of something like respect in his eyes. “We’ll find a way.”

It’s not much, but it’s a start. A fragile thread of understanding stretching between two lost souls adrift in a world they never asked for. But as I look at Varro, at the strength and resilience etched into every line of his face, I feel a flicker of hope ignite in my chest.

Together, we might just stand a chance. And right now, that chance—however slim—is all we have.