Velin sat silently before the microscope, looking again and again at the tiny black insect, at the cursed Rune.
This was man-made.
This conclusion sent another chill through the laboratory.
One can do nothing against a natural disaster, but a man-made one means a pair of eyes is watching from the shadows, ready to deliver a fatal blow when they are at their most vulnerable.
"Count." Tristan's voice broke the silence. He handed over a new data report, a rare look of gravity in his eyes.
"This is the latest summary. Quarantine Camp Three in Sector A and Camp One in Sector B have reported four new infections over the past twelve hours."
Velin took the report. The paper listed basic information on the infected: name, age, occupation.
[Eli, blacksmith's apprentice, twenty-one years old.]
[Reid, dockworker, twenty-eight years old.]
[John, reserve soldier, nineteen years old.]
...
Velin scanned the names and occupations.
