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There wasn’t time for this. Loren nearly tossed the papers away – nothing mattered with the world raining hellfire – but Celsi’s eyes were intense enough that Loren stuffed them into his pocket.

‘Father caught me talking to Camilia,’ Celsi confessed in a rush, gripping Loren’s elbow. His lower lip trembled. ‘He’s had me locked away since. This morning, I escaped, and I know Servius despises Julia, and I was angry. At you. So I told Servius anything he wanted to know about your family.’

Metal clanged deeper in the courtyard. There wasn’t time.

‘Celsi, you’ve done enough damage,’ Loren said. ‘I don’t care why you told my secret, or how you found out. I want you to get as far from me as possible, and I don’t want to see you again.’

‘But—’

‘ Go. ’ Loren grimaced as he shook free. ‘Run. Take the market road. Be fast, and you might catch Camilia.’

Be fast, and you might survive.

The air had thickened the way it did before a thunderstorm broke. A heaviness. Tension in the atmosphere, pressing against leaves and bones and all other living things – the hum Felix had complained about for days.

Whatever Vesuvius had left was about to be unleashed.

Loren didn’t stick around to see if Celsi followed orders. He took an aching step forward, foot sliding in blood pooled in his sandal. Another. He nearly tripped over the altar bowl, hidden in the grass.

Felix and Servius danced along the lip of the reflecting pool, coated in a dangerous layer of floating ash.

The subtle slosh of jostling debris gave it away, but Felix, despite his keener senses, might not realise where he stepped until he fell.

Mercury’s helmet, abandoned near the altar, watched the scene through empty eyes.

In the heat of a fight, Felix glowed. This wasn’t his style of survival, Loren knew that, knew he preferred to flee before the storm hit, hide like a fox in its den.

But now, pushed to the brink, Felix fell into a natural rhythm, a lyre plucked by deft fingers, a field-fire leaving nothing but charred land.

He was incredible.

Servius was better.

Most politicians got their start with illustrious military careers, and he was no exception. While Felix’s hold on his gladius was confident, it was fundamentally awkward, and Servius had been honed beyond hope of mistake. He never faltered.

‘I know how to inspire reaction,’ Servius spat, blades striking in a burst of white sparks. ‘Another lesson, since you clearly don’t learn.’

‘You aren’t my fucking teacher.’ Felix swept for Servius’s neck. Blocked.

Loren caught the mistake first.

Felix shifted back, adjusting his footing, too close to the water’s edge. Not a fall, but the time it took to correct cost him the fight. Fear seared across Felix’s face.

He stumbled.

Servius saw his opening.

Loren clutched the altar bowl.

Both swung in the same moment.

Bronze crashed against the side of Servius’s face, an echo of the blow Loren had dealt Maxim – dealt Felix, even, that first morning in the temple.

The gladius faltered from Servius’s grasp on its downward arc.

Felix darted back, but not before the blade nicked his cheek. The sword fell into rubble.

Servius tottered. Loren’s aim landed true, but weakened by blood loss and reeling with panic, the blow hadn’t been strong enough to catapult Servius into unconsciousness. Servius’s lips pulled back like an animal’s, but enough was enough.

Loren brought the bowl down again. For good measure, he threw his weight into a shove. Overbalanced, Servius toppled back, landing in the water with an ash-muffled splash, and sank out of sight.

He did not resurface.

‘Is he . . . ?’ Loren croaked, throat raw.

‘Yes,’ breathed Felix.

‘But—’

‘He’s dead.’ Felix swallowed. ‘I . . . I sense it. ’

Loren had killed another man. This time, he was too empty to cry.

Felix stared like he’d never stared before. Red smeared his cheek, copper curls sticking to his forehead. But his gaze was focused, poppy sap finally drained from his system. Even bloodied and wrecked, Loren had never set his eyes on a better sight.

He wanted to reach, to hold and be held, but the words from the alley still played on a loop. I hate when you touch me I hate when you touch me I hate . . .

‘We have to leave.’ Sour grit coated his teeth. ‘We don’t have much time.’

‘Loren,’ said Felix, ‘you killed him.’

‘I’d do it again.’

‘I never – I never wanted you to kill anyone. Not for me.’

That sensitivity towards death again. Loren’s scattered thoughts rearranged at a breakneck pace. Dozens of questions grew and died on his tongue.

‘Well, good news. I’m selfish.’ Loren picked his way over to sheathe Livia’s gladius. Adrenaline made him sound braver than he was. ‘Pretend I did it for myself if it eases your conscience.’

Above, the sky churned, noxious greys blending in a heavy swirl. Ready to collapse. Soon. Black wave. Copper streak.

Dust coated the helmet, and Felix rubbed it clean. What once gleamed silver was now tarnished. Decayed, if metal could rot.

Loren shuddered at the change. ‘You should leave it here.’

Silently, Felix shook his head, but he offered his empty hand. Feelings clashed in Loren’s chest, but need won over dignity. He needed this. Needed to know Felix was still corporeal, wasn’t yet a ghost. Loren wound their fingers together.

They ran, hand in hand, into the smothering dark.