Pippa pressed her foot down on the accelerator the moment we climbed into the car.
I settled into the passenger seat, while Marcus took the back. His gaze moved over our surroundings as we pulled away from the street and merged onto the highway. From the way his jaw remained set, his posture rigid, I could tell he hated this.
He hated sitting still. Hated having no control.
I turned my gaze towards the window instead, hoping Pippa wouldn't notice the tension lingering between us.
Marcus had changed into a black shirt that I had picked out for him, paired with the same trousers from earlier. He hadn't even bothered with a jacket, unaffected by the cold.
I, on the other hand, had only managed to throw on a pair of trousers and my coat, pulling it tighter around me as the night air seeped through the car.
Pippa, of course, refused to turn on the heater. She never did. No matter how cold it got, she insisted the combination of heat and motion made her sick.
"Whose car is this?" I asked, my gaze drifting over the interior of the black sedan.
"My mother's," Pippa replied. "By the way—" her eyes flicked briefly to the rearview mirror, "Marcus, I've got your sword."
He straightened immediately at that.
"It's in the back," she added as we merged onto the highway. "My dad managed to secure permission to hold onto it, for now."
"Then you have my sincerest gratitude," Marcus said, his voice measured.
Pippa gave a small nod. "Figured you'd want it back."
He leaned slightly forward in his seat, his gaze lowering, no doubt to where the sword lay out of sight behind him.
"This blade..." he began, quieter now, "has been at my side through every campaign I have fought."
The car fell into a brief silence.
"It has seen victories I did not think possible," he continued. "Battles where men far stronger than I fell, and yet I remained." His jaw tightened slightly. "It is not merely a weapon."
His gaze lifted again, distant. "It is the last remnant of the life I once knew."
Something in my chest shifted at that.
"And when the time comes to part from it..." he added, more softly, "I do not think I shall do so without grief."
Pippa's eyes flicked to the mirror again, her expression gentler this time.
"You don't have to," she said. "We'll get you back. To your time. To where you belong."
The words lingered. I could see the way his shoulders went rigid at Pippa's words. His gaze turning to the passing lights, jaw clenched.
"It would be the most...logical course," he said at last, his voice quieter now. "I do not belong in this age."
His gaze was on the empty road, until it shifted and found mine.
But there was something different in it this time. Certainly not the sharp certainty from before. Nor the command. Something far more conflicted.
I could feel its weight, pressing into my chest.
Then Pippa's voice cut through.
"Well, you won't have to figure that out alone," Pippa said, her attention fixed on the road ahead. "The person we're meeting in Newcastle...Victoria Bennett? She'll help you decide."
Marcus's gaze flicked briefly to the rearview mirror, meeting Pippa's eyes.
"She is...like me?" he asked.
"In a way," Pippa replied. "She's from your time. A few decades later. She's been through something similar, and she chose to stay." A pause. "She knows more about all this than we do."
Something about that didn't sit right with me, but I pushed it aside before it could take shape. I didn't want to deal with my feelings right now.
Pippa shifted lanes, the car gliding smoothly into the faster one.
"So whatever you decide," she added, "you won't be walking into it blind."
Marcus didn't answer. Instead, his gaze lifted and found mine.
Lingering there, quiet and searching. Like he was weighing something far heavier than returning home, where he should be.
I looked away first. Out the window, anywhere but him.
Because it should've been simply, shouldn't it?
He spoke of Rome like it was everything. Like there was no greater loyalty, no deeper devotion. And yet...he had never once spoken of going back, now that I think about it. Not even once.
"You drove all the way from London?" I asked a little too quickly, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Pippa shook her head. "No. I took the train to Manchester first, to see my mum," she explained. "The plan was to meet you both in Newcastle with the sword." She glanced at my briefly. "Then I saw what happened, so I borrowed her car and drove straight here."
Guilt twisted in my chest.
"You didn't have to," I murmured. "I already feel bad enough as it is."
"Nonsense," she said lightly, the corner of her lips lifting. "We dragged you into this just as much as the other way around." A small pause. "And besides...isn't this exactly the kind of adventure we used to talk about back in uni?"
"I certainly didn't imagine running from the law," I muttered dryly.
Pippa let out a soft huff of amusement. "Well," she said, "we're already in too deep to back out now. Might as well see it through, don't you think?"
I exhaled, leaning back slightly against the seat.
"What about your project?" I asked. "Are you sure your professor's going to be alright with you disappearing for a few days?"
"He will be," she said with a shrug. "Especially after a personal call from the great Professor Aloysius Cheung, also known as my father."
I let out a quiet breath at that, shaking my head.
Trust Pippa to have everything handled.
The rest of the drive passed in a strange, stretched silence, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional shift of traffic around us. Streetlights blurred past in long streaks of silver as we pushed further north.
At some point, I stopped checking the time. Stopped thinking about how far we'd come, or how far we still had to go. I simply let my exhaustion take me for a moment.
By the time I opened my eyes once more, Pippa had slowed the car. The city had changed. Quieter, older. Newcastle. We've arrived.
She pulled up in front of a modest apartment building, its brick exterior worn but well-kept. A single lamp flickering near the entrance.
"We're here," she said, typing into her phone before placing it back into her bag.
My chest tightened.
Marcus shifted behind me, his presence suddenly more pronounced.
As if he, too, felt it.
The car engine died, but for a moment, none of us moved.
Pippa was the one who stepped out first. I followed, the cold night air biting sharper than it had before. Marcus came last, closing the door with a quiet finality that echoed more than it should have. Or maybe it was just me.
We made our way to the entrance.
Pippa rang the bell.
Moments later, when the door finally opened, a beautiful woman stood there. Enchanting, wrapped in a coat hastily thrown over a pale nightgown. Her hair, blonde and loose, slightly disheveled, framed a face that might have been called beautiful, if not regal.
Her blue eyes immediately landed on Marcus, widening with shock.
Her breath caught.
"Marcus..." she breathed, his name leaving her lips with quiet reverence.
Then she inclined her head gracefully.
"Marcus Valerius Corvus," she said, her voice steadying into formality. "Praetor."