"It is impossible," Attia said, his voice barely above a whisper. His dark eyes were fixed on Iva, searching her face for any sign of deception, any crack in her certainty.
Iva did not waver.
"It is not," she replied, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. "The Messenger is not wrong."
Attia's voice was almost choked when he spoke next, as if the words were being pulled from somewhere deep and reluctant.
"Who is the matched?" he asked.
Iva met Attia's gaze.
"It is a first-year medical student," she said. "Her name is Lorelei Thompson."
Attia froze.
The name landed like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through his carefully constructed composure. His mind raced backward, dragging up an image he had tried to forget—the red-haired girl from his classroom.
