The Messenger( Iva) novel Chapter 221

Attia-1

Attia’s footsteps echoed through the corridors as he made his way toward his office. His gait was measured, controlled the same steady rhythm he had maintained for years, hiding the truth that lurked beneath every step.

His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached.

The day had started horribly.

An administrative crisis before dawn-some paperwork error that threatened to delay funding for the entire spring semester. Two students were injured in a training accident, neither seriously but both requiring medical attention and incident reports. And then, to top it all off, a message from his Magic Defense professor saying he wouldn’t be able to teach for at least a week.

All before ten in the morning.

Attia had done what needed to be done. He had signed the forms, visited the injured students, and stepped into the classroom to cover the first lesson himself. He had the knowledge-years of it, decades of practical experience that most professors could only dream of.

But he did not enjoy teaching.

Not in a classroom. Especially not to first-year medical students who stared at him with wide, terrified eyes and couldn’t answer the simplest questions.

His mind flickered, unbidden, to the red-haired girl.

Lorelei Thompson.

She had been staring at him all class. Not with fear-the others looked at him with fear. She had looked at him differently. Her eyes had traced his face, his hands, his… elsewhere.

And when he had called on her, she had frozen like a deer in headlights.

*She didn’t hear a word I said, he thought. *Not one word. Too bad, as she was one of the promising students this year, from what the other teachers said.*

He should have been annoyed. He was annoyed, as the last thing he needed was a student crush.

He pushed the thought aside.

His office appeared at the end of the corridor-heavy wooden doors, polished brass handles, the plaque that read *Headmaster Attia* in elegant gold lettering. His secretary, a nervous young wolf named Brentley, looked up from his desk as Attia approached.

“Headmaster, there’s a message from-”

“Not now.” Attia’s voice came out sharper than he intended. He didn’t slow his pace. “Unless someone is dying, it can wait.”

Brentley’s mouth closed with an audible click.

12

Claim

Attia 1

Attia pushed open his office door, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind him.

Finally.

Alone.

He leaned against the door for a moment, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow. The silence was a balm -welcome and familiar-but it couldn’t ease the fire spreading through his body.

His head was pounding. A dull, throbbing ache that had started behind his eyes and was now radiating down his neck.

But his head was nothing compared to his left knee.

The pain was worse today. Of course, it was worse today. It was always worse on days when he pushed himself, when he stood for too long, when he forced his body to perform duties it no longer wanted to perform.

He pushed off from the door and limped-limped, because there was no one to see-toward his desk. The drawer on the left side contained a small wooden box. He opened it, shook two pills into his palm, and swallowed them dry.

The bitterness coated his tongue.

He didn’t care.

His office was large-meant to impress, meant to intimidate. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ancient texts and military histories. A massive desk dominated the center of the room, its surface cluttered with papers and reports. But Attia didn’t go to his desk.

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