His secretary, a nervous young wolf with spectacles perched on his nose, looked up as she approached.
"Miss Iva" he asked, though he clearly already knew.
"Yes."
He nodded, consulting a ledger on his desk. "You're expected." He pointed toward the massive wooden doors. "You may go in."
Iva's throat tightened.
She crossed the remaining distance, raised her hand, and knocked.
"Enter," came the voice from within—deep, measured, unmistakably Attia.
She pushed open the door.
The office was exactly as she imagined—towering bookshelves, massive desk, the weight of authority pressing down from every corner. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting golden rectangles across the polished floor.
But Iva didn't notice any of that.
Because he was there.
Caleb sat in one of the leather c
