The next day, Brandon and Gordon found themselves walking through the hallowed halls of Noblesse Oblige Academy, led by Director Annabelle.
Brandon's eyes wandered, taking in the opulence of the building. Marble floors gleamed beneath their feet, while ornate tapestries and oil paintings of distinguished alumni adorned the walls.
"Mr. Blackstone," Director Annabelle's crisp voice cut through his reverie, "I trust you're recovering well from the recent... incident?"
Brandon nodded politely,
"Yes, thank you for your concern, Director."
"This institution has existed for over three centuries," Director Annabelle remarked, a hint of pride in her voice.
"It's seen the rise and fall of empires."
As they passed a grand staircase with intricate wrought-iron railings, Annabelle continued, her tone prim but tinged with genuine care,
"And how is Annie? I hope she's not worrying herself too much over this unfortunate event."
Brandon detected a hint of something deeper in her voice - perhaps longing? He replied carefully, "She's doing well, thank you. She's been very supportive."
Annabelle's lips tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Good, good. Little Annie always had a strong spirit. I'm glad to see it hasn't changed."
They turned down a corridor lined with display cases showcasing centuries of academic achievements.
They passed by a series of portraits, each depicting past headmasters of the academy.
Brandon couldn't help but notice the slight softening in Annabelle's usually stern demeanor as she spoke of his mother.
"Your mother and I... we have a complex history," Annabelle admitted, her gaze fixed ahead.
"But I've always admired her resilience. I do hope you'll tell her I asked after her."
Brandon nodded, intrigued by this glimpse into a relationship he knew nothing about.
"Of course, Director. I'm sure she'd appreciate that."
As they approached an imposing oak door at the end of the hall, Annabelle paused, her composure regained.
"Well, here we are. Headmaster Alaric is waiting for you."
Brandon's hand hovered over the doorknob, but Annabelle's voice stopped him.
"Mr. Blackstone, a moment."
He turned, eyebrow raised. Annabelle's usual prim demeanor had shifted, her eyes darting to Gordon before settling back on Brandon.
"I want you to know that not everything at NOA, at our level in fact, is as it seems," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"The attack on you and your sister... it should never have happened on our grounds."
Brandon's pulse quickened. He'd suspected as much, but hearing it from the Director herself was something else entirely.
"What are you saying, Director?"
Annabelle's lips tightened into a thin line.
"I'm saying that NOA owes you a debt. One that you'd be wise to leverage."
She glanced around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before continuing.
"While NOA's maxim is to maintain neutrality, there are factions within these walls, Mr. Blackstone. Some that would see you fail..." She paused, meeting his gaze directly.
Brandon felt a chill run down his spine.
"And which faction are you part of, Director?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
A ghost of a smile played at Annabelle's lips.
"Let's just say I have a vested interest in seeing you succeed. For reasons both professional and... personal."
She straightened, her mask of professionalism sliding back into place.
"Use this opportunity wisely, Mr. Blackstone. NOA's resources are vast, and right now, they're at your disposal. Don't squander that advantage."
Brandon pushed open the heavy oak door, revealing Headmaster Alaric's office. The room was a curious blend of academic prestige and whimsical chaos. Alaric sat behind an enormous desk that seemed to dwarf his small frame, his wispy white hair defying gravity as usual.
"Ah, young Master Blackstone!" Alaric's eyes twinkled with mischief.
"Come in, come in our superstar! What a performance you gave us at the Gala! Stirred up quite the hornet's nest, didn't you?"
Brandon stepped inside, followed closely by Annabelle and Gordon. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed a scrawny middle-aged man standing to the side of Alaric's desk.
The man wore an expensive three-piece suit that hung awkwardly on his thin frame.
"Thank you, Headmaster Alaric," Brandon replied, his gaze shifting between Alaric and the unknown man.
The scrawny man's lips curled into a condescending smirk. He looked Brandon up and down, his eyes gleaming with an arrogance that seemed grossly disproportionate to his stature.
The scrawny man cleared his throat, his smirk widening into a sneer.
"Well, well, if it isn't the lucky little Blackstone," he drawled, his voice dripping with contempt.
"Heard you had quite the adventure the other night. Must be nice to have daddy's security team to clean up your messes."
Brandon felt his jaw tighten, but he kept his expression neutral. The atmosphere in the room shifted, tension crackling like static electricity.
"I don't believe we've been introduced," Brandon said coolly.
The man's eyes glinted with malice.
"Oh, where are my manners? Reginald Worthington III, NOA's Board of Governors. I must say, it's a miracle you're standing here at all. Those assassins must have been terribly incompetent."
Gordon, just a step behind Brandon, narrowed his eyes.
His hand twitched almost imperceptibly, as if ready to reach for a weapon at a moment's notice.
Suddenly, a chilling wave of killing intent erupted from Director Annabelle.
Her usually prim demeanor vanished, replaced by something ancient and terrifying.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
"Mr. Worthington," Annabelle's voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the air like a knife.
"I suggest you choose your next words very carefully."
Brandon watched as Reginald's smug expression intensified, his thin lips curling into a sneer that seemed to stretch across his entire face. The man's posture straightened, as if bolstered by an invisible force.
"Oh, please," Reginald scoffed, waving a dismissive hand at Annabelle. "Your threats are as empty as your title, Director. Do you really think I'd be standing here if I didn't have the full backing of powers far beyond your comprehension?"
He turned his attention back to Brandon, eyes glinting with malice.
"As for you, little Blackstone, I suppose I should congratulate you on your survival. It's not every day someone walks away from a professional hit."
Brandon felt his muscles tense, but he kept his expression neutral, waiting for Reginald to continue.
"Oh, don't look so surprised," Reginald chuckled, his voice dripping with condescension.
"Yes, I was part of the assassination attempt. Alaric here," he jerked his thumb towards the Headmaster, "already figured it out. There's no point in hiding it anymore."
Headmaster Alaric remained unnaturally still, his usual twinkling eyes now hard as flint.
Reginald continued, pacing the room with an air of superiority.
"You see, Brandon, there are forces at work here that you couldn't possibly understand. Your family's little empire? It's nothing compared to who's really pulling the strings."
He took a step closer to Brandon, his breath hot and acrid.
"And those strings? They want you gone. Your sister too. Consider this a friendly warning - next time, we won't miss."