I let the silence hang.
Thirty seconds. Just stood there. Let them look at me. Let the fear do its work.
Cicero spoke first. "Nero—you—you're alive?"
"Disappointed, Cicero?"
He shrank back. Good. He should be afraid.
Most of the faces in this room I knew. Not from my old life — from Nero's messy, crowded memories. But the names. The titles. Too familiar.
Cassius. Brutus.
Not the same men who killed me. But close enough. Close enough that my chest still ached where the knife went in.
"You've heard stories," I said. "That I'm dead. That I'm dying. That I'm running." I shook my head. "None of it's true."
One senator stood. Old. The kind who thought being old made him brave.
"Galba has five thousand men on the road. You can't—you can't just walk in here with—with—"
"With fifty Germans and a bad attitude?"
He blinked.
"I've fought worse odds," I said. "You know how many times I was outnumbered in Gaul?"
Silence.
"Neither do I. Because history's written by winners. And winners—" I tapped the table. "—tend to exaggerate."
Scarface appeared at the door. Boots echoing.
"Your Majesty. There are guards outside. Maybe twenty of them. They want to know what's happening."
"Tell them to wait."
"They're asking questions."
"Let them ask."
He grinned. Slid back out.
I turned to the Senate.
"Here's the situation. You backed Galba because you thought I was weak. A coward. A boy with a lyre and a bad reputation."
I walked down the aisle between their benches.
"You were wrong."
A senator near the front — fat, sweating, probably named something like Aulus — raised a shaky hand.
"We... we didn't know, Majesty. The letters we received—"
"The letters. Right." I stopped in front of him. "You know what I did to the last group of men who sent letters about me?"
He swallowed. "No, Majesty."
"I had them crucified. All of them. Every last one."
He stopped breathing.
"Relax," I said. "I'm not going to crucify you. Today."
I climbed onto the speaker's platform. The same one I'd used a hundred years ago. Different body. Same voice. Same weight.
"You want to know something funny?"
No one answered. They were too scared to breathe.
"I've been in this body for four days. Four days. And in that time, I've fought a battle, outsmarted a general, snuck into Rome through a sewer, and now I'm standing here — talking to a room full of men who tried to have me killed."
I let that settle.
"Your emperor — the real one, the one who played the lyre and burned Rome — he's gone. Dead. Killed himself in that villa. But I'm still here."
"He's... dead?" Cicero's voice cracked.
"He couldn't handle it. The pressure. The knives. The running." I spread my arms. "Me? I've been handling knives my whole life."
Brutus — this version of him — stood up in the back.
He was younger than my Brutus. Less sure. But he had the same eyes. The same tight jaw.
"You keep saying 'me,'" he said. "Like you're someone else."
I walked toward him. Slow. Deliberate.
"You have no idea who I am, Brutus."
"My name is Gaius."
"Not anymore. Tonight, you're Brutus. Because tonight, you're going to make a choice. Just like the last Brutus did."
He didn't flinch. Points for that.
"What choice?"
I stopped three feet from him. Close enough to see him sweat.
"Betray me or don't. Either way, I win. If you betray me — if you run back to Galba and tell him I'm here — I'll know. And I'll remember. And when this is over, I'll find you."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you live. Simple as that."
I walked back to the platform.
"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to send a message to Galba. Tell him the Emperor is in Rome. Tell him the city is secure. Tell him there's no point in marching any further."
"He won't believe it," someone said.
"Of course he won't. That's the point. He'll come anyway. He'll bring his five thousand men. And when he gets here —"
I smiled.
"— I'll have his head on a spear before sunrise."
Scarface appeared again.
"Majesty. The guards outside. They're getting nervous. A few of them recognized you."
"Recognized me?"
"Recognized the way you walked. The way you talked. They're... confused."
"Good. Confused is better than hostile."
"One of them asked if you were a ghost."
I laughed. First real laugh in days.
"Tell him I'm not a ghost. Ghosts don't bleed."
I turned back to the Senate.
"You have until dawn to decide. Join me or don't. Fight for me or don't. I don't care. But here's what I do care about —"
I drew my sword. Just an inch. Just enough for the light to catch the blade.
"— no one leaves this room until I say so."
Cicero stood up. Shaking, but standing.
"And if we refuse? If we refuse to be held prisoner in our own Senate house?"
I looked at him. Really looked.
"Then you'll die here. Tonight. In these fancy robes. With your fancy titles. And no one will remember your names."
"You wouldn't."
"Cicero. I've killed better men than you for breakfast. Don't test me."
He sat down.
The room was quiet. The kin