Chapter 438: When the Watch Failed to Stay Quiet
"You will not always have ," he said. "You will not always have Marta. And you will not always have soone more experienced standing behind you when a patient collapses in your hands."
His gaze moved over every face.
"Tonight is not a crisis," he said evenly. "But it is exactly the kind of situation that becos one when you hesitate."
He turned back to the bed.
"The patient before you," he said deliberately, "will be referred to only as a patient."
They nodded. Most people in the pack knew who she was but most people still haven’t had a full conversation with her. Reasons differed for everyone.
"This case should not require my presence," Lysander went on. "If you encounter it again in the future, you must be able to treat it without calling for ."
He placed his gloved hand lightly against Sophia’s forearm.
"The patient has residual Trihydra venom in her system."
A ripple of quiet tension moved through the room.
"It was not from a bite," he clarified. "It was ingested but it was just a small quantity."
One of the trainees swallowed hard.
"It is not life-threatening at this stage," Lysander said calmly. "But if left untreated, it will beco so."
He turned slightly, positioning himself so they could see both his hands and Sophia’s face.
"There is one consistent indicator when Trihydra venom enters the body," he said. "Whether through ingestion or through an incomplete strike."
He lifted his gloved fingers.
"Black residue along the mouth or teeth. Or black, web-like veins beginning to trace beneath the skin. I’m sure all of you know about the black web?"
They nodded.
"This is the first ti we’ve had a case where soone ingested the venom most tis people are bitten."
He gestured toward Sophia’s face.
"In this case, it’s ingested."
They leaned forward unconsciously.
Every eye followed his movents.
Every breath in the room seed to slow.
Lysander began to work.
He explained every step as he worked fast and effectively.
He prepared the crushed herbs swiftly, mixing them into a thin, dark infusion while his assistants arranged instrunts and fresh cloths beside him.
He checked Sophia’s pupils.
Her pulse.
Her breathing.
Then he began the treatnt.
The trainees stood utterly still.
They watched the way he handled the patient—not with urgency, but with certainty.
They watched the way he adjusted the dosage by sight rather than asure.
They watched how he observed Sophia’s breathing between each step.
How he waited.
How he listened.
So scribbled notes with shaking hands. Those without notes promised to take from the others.
The nurses moved exactly when he gestured.
The assistants anticipated him before he spoke.
At one point, Lysander paused.
He studied Sophia’s face.
Her breathing faltered.
Only for a heartbeat.
Then evened out.
He resud.
Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours. The case was not serious but it did not an he could resolve it quickly. He had to be careful too to ensure that there was nothing left and risk her life. If he didn’t die from Orion’s hand he would die from his negligence.
At last, Lysander removed his gloves and set them aside.
He rested two fingers lightly against Sophia’s neck.
Her pulse was still fast but it was steadier now.
But steadier.
Her skin was no longer burning beneath his touch.
He exhaled quietly and turned to the trainess who watched him with awe. He barely held back a yawn as he inford the trainees that he was done and Sophia would live.
While the trainees spoke, he only thought of how he was going to go back to sleep. He prayed to the moon goddess that there was no more ergency for the night or anything that would wake him up from his slumber.
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The night refused to loosen its grip on the walls.
Hours had passed since Noctis had torn through the gates with Sophia on his back.
Hours since the second wolf had followed.
Quentin leaned against the rough timber rail of the tower, his cloak pulled tight around his shoulders.
The cold had worked its way into the wood itself. It bit through his gloves and crept into his palms.
Below him, the great Nightshade gates stood sealed once more. Fresh frost had already begun to gather along the iron bands where they had been flung open not long ago.
Nothing moved.
The forest lay quiet beyond the boundary stones.
Quentin shifted his weight and rolled his neck slowly.
His muscles ached from holding tension for too long.
From standing too straight.
From listening too hard.
From expecting the night to betray him again.
He let out a low breath.
"Nothing’s going to happen again," he murmured to himself.
It sounded like he was reassuring himself, and the wind carried it away.
The moon hung pale and distant above the trees, casting long skeletal shadows across the snow-laden ground. The paths leading into the compound were empty. The roofs were still. The smoke from distant hearths drifted upward in thin, lazy threads.
Below the tower, the sa two guards from earlier lingered near the gate.
They were quieter now. There was no idle murmuring nor soft laughter coming from them. Not after what had happened.
The brass tube was cold against his palm.
The faintly glowing runes along its length pulsed softly as he raised it to his eye.
He swept the farseer across the forest without much thought. He yawned as he did so and then suddenly started whistling an off-key tune.
He moved the farseer to the left, but there was nothing except snow-caked branches sagging beneath their own weight. Shadows curled around tree trunks like ink.
He moved right and there was still nothing. The sa thing he saw on the left was what he saw on the right.
He had just lowered the farseer halfway, but then sothing made him pause.
Quentin raised it again, slower this ti and even more carefully, like the action would make it seem like he was dreaming.
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