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Loren hovered his hand a scant inch above the metal. ‘The one element I keep returning to is – why you? I know I asked before, and I know you don’t want to discuss it, but . . . what makes you special, Felix?’

‘You also said you wouldn’t ask again.’

‘Let me help you,’ Loren said. ‘Let me in. What does the helmet mean to you?’

When Felix looked, Loren’s whole body was turned to him. The scrutiny shook the foundations of his walls, made him itch to build higher, reinforce his weaknesses. But Loren was the type to come back with rope for climbing. He saw Felix when other eyes skated past.

A spark of a memory flared to life, deep in the recesses of Felix’s mind. He followed it down. ‘There’s a temple to Mercury in Rome, on the Aventine Hill. Mercury has a soft spot for thieves. My da’ and I spent a lot of time there.’

‘You’re a ward of Mercury? And you never thought to mention this before? Felix. ’

‘I didn’t remember, all right?’ Only a partial lie. Of course Felix remembered, now that he thought about it. The connection lurked, fizzling out of sight, but obscured. Veiled, like most of his memories.

Loren pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I wondered. It was my first theory, actually, that perhaps you’re able to handle the helmet because you have a divine association to Mercury. A priest’s blessing.’

Priest . Nausea swelled. Felix turned the helmet to inspect the interior. Another memory thread tugged, this time of curled fists and booming voices. Bitter poppy sap on his tongue. He could unravel this one. Pull the string, see how it loosened. See where it sprang from.

‘That can’t be it.’ Felix swallowed back rising bile. ‘My da’ killed the priest.’

‘Oh.’

‘My da’ wasn’t bad.’ Suddenly, it felt of utmost importance that Loren understood. ‘He did it for a reason. He wasn’t bad.’

‘I believe you.’

‘I – just . . .’ Felix kicked the empty air. ‘I don’t recall the reason. But sometimes I remember being at the temple without him. He left me with the priest while he worked. Stole. Whatever.’

The memory snapped, refusing to unspool into clarity.

‘And?’

Felix shook his head. He had reached that gate in his mind, beyond which was only a poppy-sap-muffled blur. This time, no prodding thumbs materialised to coax out more.

‘That’s all there is. So you see, that’s why I don’t know how to believe. Memories of any faith I had are no longer mine, and what I do have . . .’ Felix’s throat tightened, the corners of his eyes itching. ‘I’m afraid of what I’m missing.’

‘So you choose not to think of it,’ Loren finished.

‘Easier not to dwell, not to look too far ahead, but faith demands both. How do you give yourself to devotion and trust you won’t be used?’ Humiliated, Felix scrubbed his face.

‘It’s a comfort, I suppose,’ Loren mused. ‘Believing there’s intention behind what happens. Trusting that hurt isn’t random.’

A humourless laugh tore from Felix’s chest. ‘That pain is supposed to mean something isn’t a comfort. I never asked to be part of that story.’

‘Oh, that’s not what I meant at all. It’s less that I think there is a reason for hurt, and more that faith gives us grace to heal.

To come out the other side to try again,’ Loren said.

‘I follow Isis for a reason, you know. Livia used her connections to get me into the temple, but I chose devotion on my own.’

‘Why’s that?’

Loren smiled. ‘Remember why I like the moon? It comes back. Isis symbolises that, to me. No rebirth without death. The sky will be dark tonight, but give it time.’

Felix wondered what that would look like. Try again . Except when Loren said it, it sounded more like trust again . That, despite the hurts he had known, there were other things worth believing in. Other people, even.

Warm fingers brushed his knuckles, featherlight.

Touch often settled sticky over his flesh, and even gentle hands triggered his instinct to flee.

But there was something different about Loren.

He didn’t touch in order to take. Felix wanted to flip his hand over, press their palms together, languish in the simple sureness of a gesture like that.

Wanting carried a price he couldn’t afford.

It felt greedy, but he let Loren’s touch linger. This, and no more.

‘You said you recall some,’ Loren broached, delicate as vellum. ‘You told me your father died. Do you remember that?’

‘Yes.’ Closing his eyes against the sun, Felix’s vision washed red. ‘I remember that.’

Because for all he fought to live in the moment, that was the memory he couldn’t escape. His mind blocked out other pain from his past but kept this within reach. It left too much room to wonder. Speculate. For a little clawing voice to scratch the back of his mind, to burrow in, mutter.

To suggest Felix hadn’t decided to forget. Someone else made that choice for him.

Felix hadn’t realised how tightly he was clutching the helmet’s edges until Loren prised his curled fingers loose. Red welts carved canyons across Felix’s palms.

‘Thank you,’ Loren said. ‘For telling me.’

Another shrug. ‘You told me your secret. Reckoned I owed you one back.’

The wheels of the cart creaked and groaned. One of the mules brayed. Down the slope, Pompeii shone like a beacon. From here, Felix could see out to where sky met sun-brushed sea. He thought the conversation dead, but then—

‘Sorry again for kissing you,’ Loren blurted, all in a rush. When Felix only blinked, he hurried on, ‘I should have asked first. And I’m not very good, am I?’

‘Maybe,’ Felix said, drawing out the word, ‘you need more practice.’

‘Practice. Yes.’ Loren’s face flushed scarlet. ‘Now?’

Felix fought back a little grin. ‘Survive the mountain first. Then we’ll talk.’