"You aren't taking part in the third round?" Pandora asked, her tone light but edged with curiosity.
Nathan inclined his head. "After defeating that wolf on my own, Caesar decided to let me qualify for the next round."
The choice had not been Nathan's, but Caesar's. Likely it was made to satisfy the public's thirst for spectacle. His intervention in the previous fight had saved more lives than intended, leaving the arena with fewer corpses than the crowd desired. The Romans demanded blood, and Caesar—ever mindful of the people's appetite—chose instead to hold Nathan back, keeping him rested and ready to deliver greater entertainment when the next stage arrived.
"A pity," Pandora replied, her voice slipping into a sigh of theatrical boredom. She leaned lazily against her armrest, resting her cheek against her fist with languid grace. "In that case, I see no reason to attend the next round."
