Lorenzo sighed, his voice heavy with exhaustion:
"Worse still is the distribution of Wolfsbane Potion. The Ministry can make it, but production is limited, and the disparity between grades is severe.
"Grade A potions, the kind made by Damocles Belby, are outrageously expensive. Almost no one can afford them except a tiny handful of model werewolves with close Ministry ties or werewolves of noble birth.
"Most members of the tribes can only get inferior Grade C potions. That stuff... has terrible side effects and even contains hallucinogens. Quite a few werewolves have lost their sanity because of it, becoming living proof of what the Church calls the devil turning on his own."
At the mention of "Grade C potions" and "hallucinogens," Lupin's expression had already turned utterly grim.
His clenched fists were so tight that his knuckles went white, his nails digging deep into his palms as he tried to suppress his surging emotions with pain.
Images of those werewolves driven insane by inferior potions seemed to unfold vividly before his eyes, intertwining with the suffering he had experienced himself, making him feel their pain and burn with anger.
When Lorenzo finished, a brief silence fell over the conference room.
Only Lupin's restrained breathing rose and fell faintly in the air.
And the sound of Douglas tapping the table.
Douglas had been listening in silence. When Lorenzo mentioned the hallucinogens in the Grade C potions, his tapping finger paused almost imperceptibly.
A cold, sharp glint flashed in his eyes, as though he were rapidly dissecting the inferior potion's composition and toxicology, along with the deeper, despicable intentions behind it.
The finger Douglas had kept tapping against the table stopped.
He raised his eyes, his gaze calm yet penetrating as he looked straight into Lorenzo's weary blue eyes.
"Lorenzo, if the