The bandages around the lycan's torso were crude but serviceable, tightened enough to slow the bleeding. Carefully, he shifted against the wall, wincing as his weight settled. His amber eyes flicked toward Trafalgar and Garrika, gratitude faint beneath the exhaustion etched on his face.
"…There should be a potion," he rasped, voice hoarse. He lifted a weak arm and gestured vaguely toward the front. "Under the counter. Could you… bring it?"
Without hesitation, Garrika rose. Her wolf ears twitched as she sniffed the air, following the faint metallic tang of blood and herbs. She rummaged behind the broken counter, tossing aside splintered wood and shattered glass until her hand brushed something cool and intact. She lifted it—a small vial filled with bright red liquid that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
"Found it," she called, striding back.
