Orientation now over, the students began milling out slowly to find their dorms and settle in.  Ray supposed it was time he too left as well.  He had to focus on preparing his lessons and ignore everything else.  He was utterly determined to make sure none of these kids fell prey to another man like Mathias.  The nightmares had never ended, though the panic attacks were under control now.  He still occasionally thought he caught sight of him in the corner of his eye on the street, or the subway or in his old apartment.  He had to attribute part of his (now cured) narcotic dependency on the paranoia, but he couldn't cure the fact that Mathias had entered his brain, to manipulate him into joining a cult he knew nothing about.
He would die before letting another kid become a victim.  It was just about the only resolve he had left, and he clung to it like a drowning man would a lifesaver in a storm.

He had become so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had blocked everyone else out around him and didn't realize he was scowling.  Students he passed by and just barely avoided bumping shot him wary glances, and a few whispered to each other.  He was a nobody in the grand scheme of things, but the higher noble houses were always after some piece of crippling gossip to tear somebody down with.  Ray didn't think he registered enough interest, but he had been aware of the rumours revolving around him ever since basic training.  He managed to silence them by being - even he would admit - a bloody good soldier.  A ferocious man on the frontlines, possessed by a hatred for the Cult that his brothers in arms could only speculate upon behind his back.
He suddenly felt his shoulder brush roughly past somebody, and was met with an icy chill upon the contact that made his shudder.  Ray looked up and his breath caught in his throat.
"Oh, Professor Montana.  I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."