"You're lying," I said, my voice ragged, my pulse pounding so hard it felt as though my heart might burst from my chest.
"You know I have no reason to lie to you, Elena," Uncle Alan replied, his voice unusually sharp.
"I have parents," I argued, unable to stop my lips from trembling. Pippa tightened her grip on my hand as I continued, my words coming faster now. "Arthur and Judy Wright. It says so on my birth certificate. I have memories of my childhood—"
Then I stopped.
Because I did have memories. Clear enough to know I wasn't adopted.
Memories of my mother holding both of my hands while I took my first, unsteady steps across our living room floor. Of my father running beside me down the driveway of our small house while I wobbled on a bicycle for the first time. Them, smiling into the camera after my graduation.
There was no way I was adopted. The notion itself was ridiculous.
"I know you're adopted," Uncle Alan said quietly, "because I was the one who arranged it."
My chair scraped loudly against the floor as I stood up.
"Uncle Alan, with all due respect," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady, "this is ridiculous. This is a serious accusation. If I were adopted—"
"You weren't meant to be from this time," he said evenly, his gaze steady. "Much like Marcus."
The room fell silent.
"He told me," Uncle Alan continued, "that you seemed familiar to him."
I stared at him for a long moment, waiting for someone, anyone, to laugh and admit that this had all been some elaborate joke.
No one did.
Pippa's grip on my hand remained tight, her expression apologetic. Uncle Alan was watching me with a calm patience that only made the entire situation feel more absurd.
I exhaled slowly.
"You know what," I said at last, my voice steadier now, "I think that's enough for today."
"Elena—" Pippa began.
"No," I cut in gently, though my tone left little room for argument. "I appreciate everything you've done for Marcus. Truly. But this—" I gestured vaguely between the three of them "—this is where I draw the line."
I forced a polite smile, the kind I used with difficult patients at the hospital. "I'm a nurse. I deal with facts. With things that can be measured and explained. I'm not the right person for whatever...story you're trying to tell."
Uncle Alan opened his mouth to speak, but I was already stepping back from the table.
"I'm sorry," I said, softer this time. "But I'm going to leave."
Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out of the kitchen, through the living room, toward the front door.
My hands were shaking when I grabbed the door handle and turned.
This was insane.
Time travel? Adopted? A historian arranging it all? Marcus somehow recognizing me from two thousand years ago?
Nope. Just no.
I walked towards the quiet stairwell of the townhouse. The cool air seeping through the windows immediately clearing my head as I started down the stairs.
I had only reached the first landing when hurried footsteps sounded behind me.
"Elena."
Marcus's voice echoed up the stairwell.
I stopped just as my hand touched the railing.
He stood at the top of the stairs, breathing slightly heavier than usual. His dark hair falling loose across his forehead as he looked down at me. At least he had a shirt on this time, though the top two buttons were undone, revealing just enough to remind me of the mistake I made the night before.
For a brief moment, neither of us spoke.
Then, he descended the steps toward me.
"Elena," he said again, more quietly this time.
I remained silent as he approached, my feet rooted on the ground, unable to tear my eyes off him.
He stopped one step above me.
"Stay" he said.
Then, after a moment, softer, almost reluctantly, "Please."
"What if I don't want to?" I shot back. "This...this entire thing is becoming absurd."
"So you would return to the life you fled?" he asked, his voice tightening. "To that man who circles you like a hound around a wounded deer? To live unseen and unremarked for the rest of your days?"
"Yes," I hissed, stepping closer until there was barely a step between us. I lifted my chin defiantly, refusing to turn away from him. Sunlight streamed down from the stairwell above, catching in his dark brown eyes, the freckles on his chin. "At least that life made sense. You must know how ridiculous all of this sounds to me."
"Elena, my presence here in this age," he said slowly, "is what you would call ridiculous." He said the word ridiculous as if it was a weapon he was unsure how to wield. His accent thickened around it, and for reasons I could not explain, it only made my chest tighten.
His jaw flexed before he reached for me.
One hand coming up to cradle my chin, tilting my face upward so that I had no choice but to meet his gaze.
I should've stepped back, but I didn't.
"I was an honorable man where I came from," he said quietly, his voice lowering until it felt as though the words were meant for me alone. "A soldier of Rome. A general who carried the will of my emperor across battlefields and provinces. I bled for my people. I buried my brothers with my own hands."
His thumb brushed lightly along my jaw, the touch so gentle it was almost reverent.
"Do you believe I would abandon that life willingly?" he continued. "Do you believe I would trade the honor of Rome for this confusion...for this strange world...unless the gods themselves had willed it?"
He searched my face then, intense and unwavering.
"And yet," he murmured, his voice dropping even further, "the moment I saw you, something within me stirred as though I had known you long before this life."
For a moment, I simply stared at him.
Then I let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"You're insane," I said.
Marcus frowned slightly, as though he had not expected that response.
"No," I repeated, shaking my head as I took a step back. My pulse was racing now, my thoughts scrambling over one another in a desperate attempt to regain some form of logic. "This is insane. All of this."
"Elena—"
"You're a Roman general who somehow appeared in modern England," I continued, my voice rising despite myself. "My flatmate's dad claims I'm adopted and from another time. And now you're telling me that you feel like you've known me before you even met me?"
I gestured helplessly between us. "Do you know how that sounds?"
His gaze didn't waver.
"To you, perhaps it sounds like madness," he said evenly. "But where I come from, we believe the gods weave threads of fate long before mortals are born."
"Oh my god."
I dragged a hand through my hair, suddenly overwhelmed. "This is exactly what I mean."
I took another step back.
Then another.
"I can't do this," I muttered. "I can't stand here and listen to this like it makes any sense."
"Elena," he said again, more firmly this time.
But I was already turning away.
My shoes hit the stairs faster than I intended, my hand catching the railing as I hurried down them. The sound of my footsteps echoed sharply through the stairwell.
"Elena."
He didn't shout it, but somehow, the way he said my name still reached me halfway down the stairs.
I didn't stop. I can't.
I practically ran the rest of the way down, pushing through the building's front door and stepping out into the cool morning air.
Only when my foot stepped onto the pavement did I finally slow.
My chest was heaving now, my heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the distant sounds of the street.
God, what was wrong with me?
I pressed a hand to my forehead, staring down at the ground.
He was probably still standing up there, on the stairs. And I had just bolted like a coward.
I turned halfway toward the building again before I could stop myself. For a moment, just a moment, I considered going back. Almost climbed those stairs again and demanded a sane explanation of everything he had said.
But then I pictured his face again. The intensity of his eyes. The certainty in his voice when he spoke about fate, about Rome, about the gods.
About me.
My stomach twisted.
"No," I muttered, forcing myself to turn away.
I walked along without thinking, letting the city swallow me whole. Traffic hummed, tourists drifted past, and somehow my feet carried me across streets I barely registered.
Only when I stopped, did I realize where I was.
The towering columns of the British Museum rose before me.
Of all places to end up in.
Rome was inside those walls.