The roar of the crowd still echoed faintly through the stone corridors beneath the arena, though the fight had long since ended. Sand and blood clung to Brenna’s skin as she sat on a low bench in the dim medicus chamber, the sting of vinegar biting into fresh injuries. Around her, other fighters groaned or laughed through pain, the air thick with sweat and iron.

Rome loved its spectacles especially ones like her.

Footsteps approached, measured and deliberate. Her dominus.

Brenna did not rise. She only tilted her head slightly, green eyes sharp beneath strands of loose red hair as the medicus continued his work.