Return Once More by Trisha Leigh

flashing screens slowed under my touch.
    Caesarion’s parents were often observed and recorded, which translated to easily located in the database. My True had never had the chance to see whether or not he could make a mark of his own. Instead, his death fell under the too crowded category of collateral damage.
    Necessary tragedy.
    The scant information in the Archives frustrated me. He’d been born to Cleopatra and Julius Caesar during their love affair, which preceded her more infamous tryst with Marc Antony by several years. When Octavian took the helm of the strongest city in the world after the event we witnessed a few days ago in Rome, he needed to ensure no one existed who could challenge his tenuous claim to the throne.
    After all, he was only the
adopted
son of Julius Caesar. One from his direct bloodline could have posed a legitimate threat. After studying humanity for the past seven years, the reasoning made intellectual sense to me. It didn’t make it hurt less, or make it any more fair, that a power-hungry jackass had murdered a young man simply to eliminate the threat he
might
have represented.
    Then again, kids younger than Caesarion had died for a whole lot less.
    The only Archived observation of him had been recorded the day he was born. I pressed the
play
icon and rested my chin in my palm, elbow on the edge of the table as the holo-images flickered to life. My dark hair fell around my neck and shoulders, keeping me warm as the hard profile of Julius Caesar solidified. Now that I’d seen him in person he was easy enough to identify, though his charisma didn’t translate with as much clarity in the holo. An unexpected pang of sadness thrummed in my middle at the sight of him like this, alive and happy, after the way we saw him last.
    He strode into an opulent bedchamber. Purple and gold silks draped the windows, and matching linens lay rumpled atop the giant bed. Soft yellow paint splashed the walls. Ornate tile slapped under his sandals as he made his way to the bed where a woman held a newborn baby wrapped in cloth. Dark hair stuck to her tanned forehead. Bright lights twinkled in her night-sky eyes as she tore her gaze from her son and looked up at the man who’d helped create him.
    Until now, I’d only read text Archives about Cleopatra, and her ordinary features took me by surprise. She had a quality about her though, that was similar to Caesar’s. A magnetism, something that drew me to her face, in fear that the tiniest nuance of her thoughts might escape my notice.
    â€œIt’s a boy,” she whispered in Greek as he sat beside her on the lush bedding.
    His eyes went wide with a difficult-to-describe expression—a jumble of disbelief and pride, love and fear. He ran a gentle hand over Cleopatra’s head, smoothing back her hair, then reached for the baby. She handed the boy over, and Caesar held him up until he squirmed and started to bawl, inspecting this little person for flaws, perhaps, or maybe just in awe—it was hard to tell. I’d have to reflect many more times to guess the emotions crisscrossing his ruddy cheeks and flashing through his dark eyes.
    I could have reflected on them both for hours.
    The baby—
my
Caesarion—favored his mother. He had a shock of obsidian hair and his skin shaded darker than his father’s. Sharp disappointment twisted my heart. His adult face, his voice, his countenance, would remain mysteries.
    I wondered how this memory had been recorded. There had been slaves or midwives in the room, perhaps, for a Historian to blend among. I’d heard the Technologies Academy was developing invisibility clothing similar to what they’d created for our glasses. After they perfected it, Historians would be able to access more intimate moments in the past, moments that had been forever hidden from the public.
    The recording ended as Caesar laid the baby in a bassinet beside the bed and stretched out next to his