HEADMASTER KIRK was now in his office after his trip to the prison. His shoulders sagged, his head bowed, and his gaze fixed on the floor. For someone who had lived centuries—no, millennia—the scene he had witnessed in the dungeon prepared for Maleficent left a lingering sense of desperation.
Contrary to what Maleficent believed, Headmaster Kirk had not left the dungeon’s premises, even when his old friend Zel arrived.
Sighing for what felt like the hundredth time since he sank into the plush couch of his office, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes tightly. His right hand rose to his temple, massaging in slow circles in a futile attempt to relieve the pounding headache.
“I wonder when Zel will return,” Headmaster Kirk muttered, opening his eyes to stare at the cream-colored ceil
