I sat on one of the long benches inside the Roman gallery of the British Museum, staring up at the marble statue towering in the center of the room. The emperor's face had been worn smooth by centuries, yet the posture remained unmistakable. His chin lifted, shoulders squared, carved into the likeness of a man who had once ruled half the world.
Footsteps echoed across the stone floor as a tour group drifted in behind me.
"...and here we have an example from the Roman occupation of Britain," a guide said, her voice bright and practiced. "Roman forces established settlements across the island, including a city known as Verulamium, near modern-day St.Albans."
I didn't turn around, but I listened.
"The Romans built roads, temples, bathhouses—everything needed to transform the region into a Roman city. But of course," she added lightly, "their rule wasn't always welcomed."
A few people chuckled.
"In fact, Verulamium was destroyed during the rebellion led by Boudica around 60 or 61 AD. Her forces revolted against Roman occupation and burned the settlement to the ground."
My fingers tightened together in my lap.
The guide continued speaking, her tone casual, almost cheerful.
"To us today, it's simply a fascinating chapter of British history."
History.
I nearly laugh, as I looked up at the statue of the emperor.
Just a story now. A collection of ruins and artifacts behind glass. That was how it was supposed to be. But then, somewhere across this place, stood a man who spoke of Rome not as history, but as home.
"Never thought I'd find you here, of all places," Pippa said as she settled beside me.
I glanced at her. She was dressed casually, just T-shirt and jeans under a dark blue windbreaker, her hair still slightly windswept from outside.
"How did you find me?" I asked.
"Wasn't that hard," she said with a shrug, tilting her head back to look at the statue looming above us inside the British Museum. "I saw you and Marcus on the stairs earlier. Followed you out."
I nodded, staring down at my hands.
Pippa nudged a paper cup toward me. "Thought you might want some coffee."
I took it from her, the warmth seeping into my fingers. "Thanks," I muttered.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
"You like him," she noted suddenly.
I turned to stare at her as if she had grown two heads. "That's—"
"If you're about to say 'ridiculous', then I'm revoking our friendship," she cut in.
My mouth snapped shut.
Pippa shifted on the bench, turning her body fully toward me. "There's nothing wrong with it," she said gently. "I saw the way you two looked at each other back there. I don't know when it started, and I don't know why you haven't told me about it, but..."
She paused.
"...we have to help him, Elena."
"He has you," I said weakly. "He has your father. I'm just a nurse. I don't see why you'd need me."
Pippa stared at me for a moment, as if debating whether to say something.
Then she sighed.
"He was going to run after you, you know."
I blinked. "What?"
"When you stormed out," she said, her voice softening, "Marcus tried to follow you down the stairs."
"That's—"
"I had to stop him," she continued. "Dad too. He could barely walk out of our flat without from feeling overwhelmed, Elena. The moment he stepped outside, he probably would've fainted."
My grip tightened around the coffee cup.
"He didn't care," she added quietly. "All he kept saying was your name. He said that if you left...he might never see you again."
I frowned. "That's ridiculous. We have phones. Addresses. The Underground."
Pippa gave a small, almost sad smile. "Not where he's from."
She glanced toward the Roman statues surrounding us in the British Museum.
"Back then, if you lost someone in a city this big," she said softly, "that could be it. No messages. No calls. No way of knowing where they went. Once you were separated...you were truly separated."
Something in my chest shifted uncomfortably.
"He looked like a man about to march into battle," Pippa went on with a small shake of her head. "Except the enemy was a flight of stairs...and a mind that hasn't adjusted to this time yet."
I looked away, staring across the Roman gallery of the British Museum.
For reasons I didn't want to know, the thought of him trying to chase after me, wounded and barely steady on his feet, sent a strange warmth curling through my chest.
And I hated that it did.
"I know it sounds impossible," she said, clasping her hands over her thighs. "It sounded crazy to me at first, too. But it's real. And we have to help him, Elena."
"You seriously believe them?"
"I didn't. Not at first," she admitted. "But Dad has proof. Your Dr.Madakwe? He's like Marcus, someone who doesn't belong to this time. He made some kind of promise long ago, something they couldn't fulfill in their own time. So now he's here...in this one. Where have people involved have been reborn. We suspect Marcus is the same."
I chewed on my bottom lip, taking another sip of my coffee as her words settled uneasily in my mind.
Then her phone rang.
Pippa pulled it out of the pocket of her windbreaker. Her father's name flashed across the screen. She answered it quickly.
"Hello?"
A pause.
Then her expression changed.
"What?" she said sharply. "How?"
My stomach tightened. "What's happening?"
She listened for another moment, then slowly lowered the phone from her ear.
"It's my dad," she said.
Something in her voice made my chest go cold.
"He said Garrick managed to secure an arrest warrant for Marcus." She swallowed. "Dr. Madakwe's already been taken in for questioning."
My heart skipped.
"And Marcus?" I asked.
Pippa shook her head.
"Garrick knows Marcus was with you."
My chest began to pound.
"And now," she said quietly, "he's coming for the both of you."