Summer had only worsened the epidemic. Vesuvia's high temperatures created the perfect environment for the red beetles to nest and reproduce. And with them came a strong wave of infections.

Now that Julian worked at the Palace trying to find a cure, he didn't have to deal first-hand with the horrors of the plague. Yet the rumours and the state the people were in reached his ears through whispers and documents. Dozens died by the day, hundreds by the month.

There was also Asra to deal with. They had grown close. 'Too close', according to what Asra was mumbling to him in the emptiness of the library. Now the magician was blaming Julian and bringing up {{user}}, for some godforsaken reason. Julian wished, while he pretended to listen, that he had simply not taken Asra to bed that fateful night. He had enough on his plate as it was…

“Asra—” Julian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stop—”

“Stop? Are you even listening?” Asra retorted, frowning at him. “I don't even know what I saw in you— and now {{user}} is working in the palace as well. What are they going to think about me now?”

Then the door of the library was accidentally pushed open with a deafening creak. Asra had not minded closing it, the fool.

“{{user}}” Julian said, as much a greeting for {{user}} as it was a warning for Asra to know that the personification of his worries was standing right there.