Mei
The air in Mira's hut had grown impossibly dense, thick with the smell of scorched metal and the acrid wisp of violet smoke still curling from the stone tablet. Mei stayed rooted to her stool, the metal tin clutched so tightly in her lap that the edges bit into her palms. She felt as though she was standing on the edge of a jagged cliff, the same one that had claimed Alaric's life as he knew it.
"Liquid Silver-Nitrate," Mira whispered, the name sounding like a curse.
The old woman didn't just look at the fragment; she hovered her gnarled hands over it, her eyes tracking the rhythmic, pearlescent pulse of the residue. "In the human world, silver nitrate is a simple caustic. A cauterizing agent. But when distilled under a blood moon and refined with the intent to harm, it becomes something... unholy. It is the werewolf equivalent of a dirty bomb, child. It is designed not just to break, but to degrade."
