A Howl In The Night ✔ » l.s

9

When everyone in the room had gone still in their bunks, Harry quietly crept out of his bed, throwing blankets over his bunched up pillows. Once he was certain that the four Alphas were all deep asleep, he tiptoed towards the door, swinging the door open as quietly as he could.

Outside, it was silent and cold. Mysterious voices echoed down the hall, bouncing off the stone walls. Harry rubbed his palms together before striding down the hall, making sure that he wouldn't run into anyone.

When he'd made it past the main doors, he dashed across the empty field, shivering in the cold. The moon was full, shining brightly in all its might high above. He might've been imagining things, but he thought he heard a faint howl somewhere in the distance. Goosebumps appeared on his skin as he shook the thought away, focusing mainly on his task at hand.

The Infirmary building finally came into view. Despite the ungodly hour, he could still hear faint chatters inside. As he'd expected, healers didn't really rest that much, too busy looking after their patients.

Uncertainly, Harry pushed the door that was hanging ajar, then stepped inside cautiously. The hall was thankfully empty. He quietly walked to the corner where he had a clear view of the laid out beds with patients. There were three healers still milling around, tending to the wounded.

Harry's eyes widened when he spotted the young girl they'd brought here with them. She looked quite pale and frail, her thin frame lying limply on the bed. Harry couldn't help but feel disgust at the possibility that these healers could be using ink stem on them.

"Excuse me?"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning around to find a woman, probably a few years older than him, looking at him questioningly.

"Uh, hi…" Harry trailed off.

"Can I help you?" The woman asked kindly.

"Actually, yeah." Harry said, clearing his throat, "I'm Harry, one of the Winters. I was asked to come here and, well, explore the place?"

The woman's eyes widened at the mention of the Winters. "Why, of course! I'll show you around, Sir."

"Uh, it's just Harry." He said meekly.

"Right, Harry." She smiled warmly. "I'm Peyton, by the way. It's only my third month here, but don't worry, I know my way around here."

She led him past the patients and up the stairs at the end of the room, entering a room on the second floor. Harry looked around, trying to absorb everything. The place looked... historic. Even the healers wore some strangely medieval-inspired clothes.

"This is the brewing room, where he make the medicine. We make sure to refill the items and ingredients here daily. We use herbs and rare plants, of course." Peyton explained, gesturing towards the room.

Harry stepped inside, taking in the rows of tall wooden shelves occupied by herbs of various colors, glass jars and clay bottles filled with random medicinal liquids. On the table, though, Harry immediately spotted the ink stem. There was an entire bunch of them, tied together with a rubber band.

"What are these?" Harry feigned innocence, picking up the ink stem plants.

Peyton's hands shot out and grabbed the plants from him, carefully placing them back on the table. "Ink stem, Sir—Harry, I mean. It's not safe to touch—"

"Poison, then?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. "Why is there poison in your healing house?"

Peyton's eyes widened, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "Well, you see, sometimes patients suffer terribly, and we are forced to end their misery and pain."