When her friends go fishing, she goes back to hide in the storeroom. Even if Felix charges Rufus double today, she cannot bring herself to pick up any men. The thought of approaching strangers takes her back to the necropolis, the knife, the man’s hands at her throat. How would she know if any of her customers wanted to kill her?

The effort of getting through the day is such a strain, Philos notices her distress when he collects her. At a safe distance from the brothel, he offers his arm.

“Do you need a moment?” he asks. “Just to collect yourself?” She nods. They cross over to a less crowded patch of the pavement, and she rests her back against the wall. “You’re alright,” he says to her. “I know it’s not easy.”

“Thank you,” she says, breathing out slowly, trying to let go of the fear. She turns to Philos. There is nothing but kindness in his gray eyes. The warmth of him, standing close to her, is comforting. “I’m so grateful to Rufus.”

“I know,” he says. “And I know how hard it all is. I’ve been there myself.” He glances back along the street where they came from. “I don’t mean I worked in a brothel,” he adds, lowering his voice. “But I don’t think I felt safe for a minute when I was younger.”

Amara tightens her grip on his arm. “You don’t have to tell me,” she says. “I understand.”

“Who’d be a slave, eh? When you’re young, they fuck you, and when you’re old, they fuck you over.”

“Rufus values you though.”

“Yes, he does,” Philos looks away. “I can’t complain now.”

“The man who . . .” Amara stops, not wanting to say the word, not wanting to humiliate Philos. “It wasn’t Rufus’s father, was it?”

“Not Hortensius, no. He’s not interested in boys. His father, on the other hand, was very interested.”

Amara wonders how old Philos is, perhaps ten years older than her, maybe a little more. He is nice looking, she realizes, though she has never really noticed him that way. When he was young, he must have been striking. The thought of him ever living in fear, unable to defend himself, makes her angry. That Rufus’s grandfather was responsible is even worse. “What’s Hortensius like?” Philos says nothing, and she realizes he doesn’t want to be disloyal. “You can trust me,” she says. “But I’m also not offended if you don’t.”

“I wish you had asked me earlier,” Philos says, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks at her, obviously torn. “I’m not meant to tell you, but Rufus is bringing him along tonight. To meet you. It was supposed to be a surprise. Hortensius insisted Rufus keep it quiet; he wants to see you ‘as you really are,’ catch you on the hop, so to speak.”