Night School: Resistance (Night School 4)

But there was nothing she could do that would make this moment any less frightening for him.

‘Thank you.’ His voice was steady and strangely formal. But she could see he was holding himself together by a thread. A slender strand of determination. For a long moment he seemed to think. Then he looked up at the headmistress. ‘Isabelle, organise a plane. You know who to call. I’ll pack a few things. Have a car meet me at the front door in ten minutes.’

Allie glanced at the headmistress, expecting her to object to being given orders. To try to calm him down. To offer alternatives.

But Isabelle did none of those things.

‘Of course,’ she said. Then she picked up her phone.

Without another word, Sylvain opened the door and disappeared into the hallway.

Allie couldn’t seem to understand anything that was happening. Sylvain was going away? By himself?

It wasn’t safe out there. Surely they wouldn’t let him just leave.

‘Isabelle …?’ she said. But the headmistress was scrolling through the numbers on her phone and didn’t look up.

Panic rising in her throat, Allie turned to Nicole helplessly. ‘What is happening?’

‘Come with me.’ Taking her arm, the French girl steered her from the office.

Behind them, Allie heard Isabelle speaking into her phone. ‘The Cassel jet, please. Number A135982. How quickly can it be fuelled and prepped?’ Then after a brief pause, ‘We need it quicker than that.’

This cannot be happening.

As soon as they were in the hallway, Allie wrenched her arm free of Nicole’s grip. ‘Stop. Just … tell me what’s going on. Sylvain can’t just go.’

‘He can.’ Nicole studied her with sympathy. ‘He has to. And you must let him go.’

Her French accent had thickened; it was always heavier when she was under stress.

‘But—’ Allie began to protest but Nicole cut her off.

‘Sylvain and his parents are very close, Allie. You know that. He must be there for his mother. And in case his father is alive.’ Her voice trembled when she said ‘in case’, reminding Allie that she and Sylvain grew up together; she loved his parents. ‘When his father wakes up he will need Sylvain’s help. His protection.’

‘Protection?’ Allie frowned.

‘Sylvain’s father is the head of the European organisation,’ Nicole explained patiently. ‘The one called Demeter. He is not just a friend of Lucinda’s. He is her equivalent in France. If Nathaniel did this, it was a declaration of war.’

Allie stared at her in astonishment. She’d known the Cassels were important in the organisation but this was the first time she’d been told just how important they were.

Nicole was still talking. ‘Whoever did this wants Mr Cassel dead. If he survives this attack they will try again. Someone needs to coordinate his protection and run the business. Sylvain’s mother will be …’ She paused, looking for the right words. ‘She might not be able to do it right now. She will be upset.’

‘But he can’t go alone,’ Allie insisted. ‘It’s too much.’

‘He has to,’ Nicole said firmly.

‘He’ll be in danger,’ Allie said.

‘We are all in danger.’ Nicole’s tone sharpened. She shook Allie’s arm with gentle firmness, as if trying to wake her. ‘He has to go, Allie. He has no choice.’

Allie stared at her wide-eyed. Sylvain was about to leave. To walk straight into the aftermath of a highly skilled assassination attempt. He could be killed.

‘I have to go to him,’ she said.

A tear tumbled down Nicole’s cheek as she stepped back. ‘Go. Help him.’

Feeling cold with fear, Allie ran down the wide hallway and pounded up the stairs to the boys’ dorm. Girls weren’t allowed there but no one tried to stop her. All The Rules had lost their power.

When she reached the plain white door with 306 lacquered on it in glossy black she stopped, panting heavily. Through the door, she could hear the sliding sound of wooden drawers opening and the thud as they were closed again.

She knocked hesitantly.

A second later, Sylvain yanked the door open with such force she jumped back.

He stood in the doorway, frowning at her, his arms full of folded shirts.

‘Allie. What are you doing here?’ Without waiting for an answer he walked back across the room and set the shirts in the open suitcase on the bed, then stalked to the wardrobe.

‘I … I came to see if I could … help.’ The suitcase was sleek and black, lined in monogrammed silk. Allie had to marvel at how neatly he was packing even in a crisis. Nothing looked disturbed in his room. Everything was in its correct place.