Aunt Director
"Well played, Brandon," she murmured, her voice low enough that only Brandon and Gordon could hear.
"I must say, your performance was quite... entertaining."
Brandon chuckled, running a hand through his silver-grey hair.
"I aim to please, Director."
They walked in silence for a moment, their footsteps echoing in the opulent corridor.
Suddenly, Annabelle cleared her throat.
"Brandon, I'd like you to join me in my office for a moment," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Brandon raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.
"Oh? What for?"
Annabelle's lips twitched, suppressing a smile.
"I feel I must remind you, Mr. Blackstone, that you are still a student at Noblesse Oblige Academy. And as the head of the music program, it's about time we discussed the prize you've earned from winning the NOA Opening Gala Competition."
Brandon's eyes widened slightly. In the chaos of recent events, he'd almost forgotten about the competition prize. He glanced at Gordon, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"Of course, Director," Brandon replied smoothly.
"Lead the way."
Brandon paused before entering Annabelle's office.
"Director, if you don't mind, I'd like a moment with Gordon first."
Annabelle nodded, her eyes glinting with curiosity.
"Of course. I'll be inside when you're ready."
As she disappeared into her office, Brandon turned to Gordon, his gaze sweeping the corridor to ensure their privacy.
The hallway stretched before them, a testament to the academy's rich history and opulence. Sunlight streamed through towering stained-glass windows, casting vibrant patterns across the polished marble floor. Portraits of distinguished alumni lined the walls, their stern faces watching over generations of students.
Brandon's eyes lingered on the intricate crown molding, tracing the delicate gold leaf that adorned the ceiling. The air itself seemed heavy with the weight of centuries of knowledge and power.
Satisfied they were alone, Brandon turned to Gordon, his voice low and urgent.
"Update my father on the meeting's outcome. And send our people to capture Reginald Worthington's family members. They'll be useful during his interrogation."
Gordon cast an evaluative gaze at Brandon, his expression unreadable.
"All of them?"
Brandon paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face.
"I know what I said, but let's leave the women and children out of it."
Gordon's face remained impassive, but a slight frown emerged.
"And what do we do after the interrogation?"
Brandon looked up at the ornate ceiling, sighing heavily.
He knew this was the best move, but the ease with which he discussed taking lives unsettled him.
'When did this become so natural?' he wondered.
'What am I becoming?'
His inner voice grappled with the conflicting emotions.
'This isn't who I used to be. But it feels... right. Necessary. Why does it come so easily?'
After a brief pause, Brandon replied, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil.
"Send the corpses to the Sinclairs. We need to make sure the masterminds behind the attack think we've decided the Sinclairs are responsible."
Gordon nodded, his face an unreadable mask.
Brandon took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders before pushing open the heavy oak door to Annabelle's office.
The room was a stark contrast to the opulent hallway outside. Sleek, modern minimalistic furniture filled the space, creating an atmosphere of efficiency and power.
Annabelle sat behind her desk, her piercing gaze fixed on Brandon as he entered.
"Have a seat, Brandon," she said, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk.
Brandon settled into the chair, his posture relaxed but alert. Annabelle remained standing, her fingers drumming lightly on the polished surface of her desk.
"I suppose it's time we had a frank discussion," Annabelle began, her voice carrying a hint of tension.
"There's something you should know about your mother and me."
Brandon raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.
"Oh?"
Annabelle's lips tightened into a thin line.
"Annie... your mother... she's my sister."
The revelation hung in the air between them. Brandon's mind raced, processing this new information.
'I should've known! She was introduced as Annabelle Montclair during the Gala! But, did the original Brandon know this?'
He decided to play it safe.
"I... I'm not sure how to respond to that," he said, his voice carefully measured.
"The truth is, I've been experiencing some memory issues lately. Amnesia, the doctors think."
Annabelle's eyes widened, a mix of concern and anger flashing across her face.
"Amnesia? Why wasn't I informed? Does Annie know? This is unacceptable!"
Brandon quickly interjected.
"It's been handled. There's no need for concern."
Annabelle's jaw clenched, her frustration evident.
"No need for concern? Brandon, you're my nephew. Of course I'm concerned!"
She paused, taking a deep breath to compose herself.
"I haven't been in contact with Annie for years, but that doesn't change the fact that you're family."
Brandon leaned back in his chair, studying Annabelle's face. The likeness to Annie was there, now that he knew to look for it. He wondered how he hadn't noticed it before.
Annabelle sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she leaned against her desk.
"I owe you an apology, Brandon. I should have made an effort to meet you sooner."
She ran a hand through her white hair, her piercing gaze softening for a moment.
"The truth is, my position... it's not just about running the music program here in NOA. There are certain... responsibilities that come with being a Montclair."
Brandon's ears perked up at this, his curiosity piqued. He leaned forward slightly, encouraging her to continue.
Annabelle's eyes darted to the door, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Your uncle, my brother... he was tasked with your training when you were younger. Do you remember any of that?"
Brandon's brow furrowed as he recollected the fragments of memories that flashed through his mind. Combat training, advanced studies, skills far beyond what a normal child should possess— was the man in the shadows… his uncle?
He nodded slowly, careful not to reveal too much about his amnesia.
"I... I have certain flashbacks."
Annabelle's lips curved into a sad smile.
"That's putting it mildly. Our family has always had... let's call them 'special duties.' Your uncle was one of the best at what we do."
She paused, her gaze becoming distant.
"Was?" Brandon prompted, sensing a story behind her use of past tense.
Annabelle's eyes snapped back to Brandon, a flash of pain crossing her face before her professional mask slipped back into place.
"That's a story for another time. What's important now is that you understand that you're not only a Blackstone but a Montclair as well."