•Thunoa Clinic•
[Ace's POV]
The clinic smelled of blood and crushed herbs, the sharp bite of antiseptic cutting through the earthier scents of poultices and salves. Mrs. Melinda moved through the wounded with the efficiency of a woman who'd stitched more flesh than she'd ever admit to, her hands steady as she secured the final bandage around a Crimsonheart knight's forearm. The man winced but held still, jaw tight.
"Thank you for treating us, Mrs. Melinda," Ray said, rolling his newly-bandaged shoulder with an experimental flex. The cotton pulled taut, but his expression betrayed nothing. "Could I borrow your house key? I need to send a message to my father. There's a carrier pigeon I keep there."
Mrs. Melinda's hand disappeared into her apron pocket and emerged with a simple iron key, its surface worn smooth from years of use. "Of course," she said, extending it toward him. "Just be sure to—"
