The way she'd felt lying to Carter tonight ... How could I do that again and again?

And on and on her thoughts went until, at some point, just before dawn, she must have dozed, because the alarm woke her before seven.

All that day, she moved in a fog of exhaustion and panic; her classes passed in a blur. When Rachel commented on the dark circles under her eyes, Allie lied again. 'I think I'm coming down with something.'

Lying was getting easier, but when Rachel tutted like a mother hen and insisted on getting her tea with honey she felt like a monster.

All day every minute of the day she worried about what she was going to do.

At dinner, she stirred the food on her plate, not touching it, avoiding Rachel's sharp gaze. She was meeting Sylvain later for her interview and everything was so complicated now she had no idea what to do, what to say.

She was too tired to spin some sort of elaborate lie. But if she told him the truth ...

Suddenly she did feel ill, and she pushed her plate away. What am I going to do?

Just after eight o'clock, Allie stood at the foot of the stairs, her arms crossed tightly, helping to hold her upright. Her head was so cloudy sleeplessness and stress were taking their toll. Nothing felt real.

'I'm sorry I'm late.' As he ran up to her, short of breath, Sylvain smiled disarmingly. 'I had a last-minute meeting with Jerry that went on so long, I thought perhaps I would be there for the rest of my life.' Running his fingers through his ruffled hair, he nodded towards the classroom wing. 'I have an idea of where we can go, if you want to try it?'

He took the stairs two at a time; she followed him silently. (Sixty-six steps.) The second-floor hallway was dark as they walked through the shadows (sixteen steps) past empty classrooms. Their footsteps echoed hollowly.

'In here.' Opening a door near the end of the hall, he flipped the light switch and the fluorescent lights flickered on. The room was small (ten desks arranged in five rows of two, four windows ...). Sylvain turned two desks so they faced each other then, directing her to one, slid into the other, giving a slight groan as he stretched his long legs out into the aisle.

'This has been a long day,' he said, reaching into his bag. 'Jerry was really on my case today. He's been in a terrible mood lately.'

Allie found it hard to imagine Jerry, the kindly science teacher, on anyone's case. He'd always been patient with her.

Sylvain set a notebook in the middle of the desk in front of him and produced a slim, silver pen.

'Listen,' he began, a serious line dividing his azure eyes, 'I must tell you again that I'm sorry they chose me for this.' He stopped, studying her face for the first time. 'Are you OK? You look terrible.'

'I'm fine,' she said, but her words came out a whisper. Clearing her throat, she tried again. 'Just ... coming down with something, maybe.'

'I want to say first that you can trust me.'

Colour rose in her cheeks, and she looked away.

Two breaths in, one breath out ...

'I mean ...' He was studying her closely and she got the feeling he'd observed her reaction. 'I know you may never trust me, and I don't blame you for that. But you can trust me not to tell anybody what you tell me today. I will only write it down and hand it in. OK?'

She had to force herself to meet his eyes, and she knew her cheeks were burning with the heat of all the unspoken words between them how angry she'd been after the summer ball, and the confusion that had dominated her feelings towards him ever since; how he made her feel both safe and threatened.

'OK,' she said, her voice steady. 'This wasn't your idea, any more than it was mine. And I'm fine with it. I really am. I'd rather it were you than ... well, a lot of people. So let's just do this.'

I'm glad it's you, she thought, and then wondered where the thought came from.

'Good.' With a relieved smile, he opened his notebook. 'Let's do it.'

His first few questions were the same ones she'd asked Carter. When he asked her grandparents' names, she quickly reeled off the names of her father's deceased parents. Then she paused.

He glanced up at her enquiringly. 'And your mother's parents?'

'I ... I'm afraid I don't actually know my grandfather's name on that side of the family,' she said finally. 'I've never been told.'

A puzzled frown crossed his face but he said nothing, making a note in his notebook. 'And your grandmother?'

Rain pattered against the window in a staccato rhythm. It sounded like small pebbles being pelted against the glass.

'My grandmother's name is Lucinda Meldrum.' Her voice was calm.

He'd started writing as soon as she began talking but now his pen froze, and he looked up at her. 'Your grandmother has the same name as the chancellor?'

'Lucinda Meldrum, the former chancellor, is my grandmother.'

Setting down his pen, he frowned in confusion. 'Is this a joke, Allie? Because I don't understand ...'

'No joke, Sylvain,' she said. Now that she was talking about it, saying the words felt liberating. Another person was now in on the secret. Each person she told made it seem more real. 'It's completely true. I am Lucinda Meldrum's granddaughter.' She pointed at his notepad. 'Write it down.'

'I don't understand.' He still hadn't picked up his pen. 'If this is true, why doesn't anyone know about it? I thought you weren't a legacy student at all, but first generation.'

'Yeah, I know that everyone has always wondered what that nobody Allie Sheridan is doing at super-amazing Cimmeria, the billionaire's academy. Well, Sylvain, now you know.' When he started to speak, she held up her hand. 'Seriously. Just write down her name. And ask me the next question.'

After a long pause, he picked up his pen and wrote three words: 'Grandmother: Lucinda Meldrum'.

The incident seemed to throw him off his game, and he referred to his notes distractedly.

'Uh ... OK, so my next question is ... Who in your family attended Cimmeria?' His expression quizzical, he glanced up at her. 'But I'm not sure I need to ask ...'

'My mother attended Cimmeria.' Allie's cool words overrode his. 'And my grandmother.'

As he made notes, it occurred to her that she was getting used to saying the word 'grandmother'. It no longer felt so odd. But she found she said it in a commanding way, as if she were saying 'the Queen'. Just talking about Lucinda conveyed power.

She was still feeling the thrill of that when Sylvain asked his next question.

'So what led you to come to Cimmeria? I believe you were brought here as punishment.'

The thrill of power practically made a sizzling noise as it died.

Sliding down in her chair, Allie launched into the story of her brother's disappearance and all that happened after: Her parents losing interest in her. Her arrest for breaking into the school and spray-painting obscenities on the walls. How this arrest had followed two other arrests for vandalism and petty theft. How Mark and Harry had stepped into her brother's place in her emotions only instead of helping with her homework they taught her the fine art of rebellion.

As she talked, Sylvain took notes in his neat, precise handwriting, occasionally looking up at her with a bemused expression but never interrupting. She wanted to gloss some of it over to make herself sound better, the way she did when telling Jo or Rachel about it, but found she couldn't. She told him everything. And the more she talked the better she felt, as if the story were leaving her. With every word the weight on her chest seemed to lighten.

When she'd finished, he studied her with overt curiosity. The silver pen glittered in his long fingers. 'This Allie you describe, she doesn't sound like the Allie sitting in front of me. I don't recognise that girl.'

'Yeah, well.' She shrugged. 'When your life falls apart sometimes you fall apart with it. Hasn't that ever happened to you?'

'No not like that. I just ...' He paused as if trying to think of the right words. 'I admire your strength, Allie. It's not possible for me to say what I would have done if I were in your feet, but I think I would not have handled it as well.'

'Shoes,' she corrected him automatically. 'If you were in my shoes.'

But even as she spoke, a rush of unexpected emotion flooded through her. She didn't know what it was maybe it was just dredging up all that stuff again but for some reason his words touched her heart.

'By the way, have you heard from your brother?' As his words sliced through her reverie, her eyes shot up to meet his. 'You know,' he said, 'since the fire?'

Reflexively, her hand slid into her skirt pocket, touching the now familiar thick paper of Christopher's letter. She tried to speak, but no words came out.

Three breaths in, two breaths out ...

'Allie?' Frowning, Sylvain cocked his head to one side. 'What's the matter? Have you heard from him?'

'No,' she said, her voice hoarse. 'Never. Not until ... last night.'

SEVENTEEN.

'You have to go to Isabelle and Raj.' Sylvain handed the letter back to Allie, who folded it carefully and put it back into her pocket.

'No.'

'Allie ...'

But the warning in his eyes only made her more determined.

'What will happen if I tell Isabelle?' she asked.

'She will have Raj's people intercept him,' he said.

'And do what with him?'

His shrug told her he didn't know. Maybe didn't care either.

'Don't you dare tell Isabelle. I won't let them kidnap my brother and use him as some sort of bargaining chip in their crazy war.' Rising panic made it hard for her to breathe. 'I'll go by myself, Sylvain, I swear to God. I'll warn him. I'll run away with him,' she threatened wildly. 'Nobody is kidnapping him.'

'Allie, no!' Her reaction had clearly taken him by surprise and his words tumbled out in a rush. 'Don't you could be hurt.'

'Christopher wouldn't hurt me.'

His eyes darkened. 'Christopher nearly burned this school down with seventy-five people inside. Including you.'

'You can't ...' All of a sudden, her lungs felt compressed, as if the air had disappeared. It was hard to speak. The room swayed sickeningly. '... tell.'

She could see the puzzled alarm in his eyes. 'Allie? Are you OK?'

The walls moved closer; her breath came in short gasps. A clammy sweat coated her skin. She struggled to get air.

It's happening again.

'I can't ...' For a long minute she struggled to breathe, her heart thudding so loudly in her ears she couldn't hear what Sylvain was saying to her. Then, leaping to her feet, she fled from the room. Without looking back, she clattered down the stairs to the back door (thirty-seven steps), and out into the cold rain.

Then she just ran.

The icy air was like a slap in the face as she hurtled through the darkness as fast as her feet would move, with rain lashing at her skin, fighting off the panic attack that threatened to overwhelm her.

As she ran, the cold and the movement seemed to make her lungs work again and she could feel the tension in her chest loosen. But still she didn't stop. Her wet hair stuck to her scalp and face. Rain blinded her. Mud splashed up her bare ankles to her knees.

She was nearly to the treeline when hands grabbed her shoulders, yanking her back.

Flailing, she spun around, punching blindly. Her fist connected with Sylvain's flesh and she was glad. For a moment she slithered free, her wet skin sliding through unwanted fingers, but she hadn't gone three steps when she was wrapped in arms as strong as bands of iron. Only when she realised she couldn't run any more did a sob finally shake her body.

'Let me go!' The words burst out of her in a scream.

'Allie. Stop fighting!' Sylvain was panting from exertion. 'What the hell is wrong with you?'

'I'm going to go and wait for Christopher,' she sobbed irrationally. 'If you're going to Isabelle, I've got to warn him.'

Muttering something in French she didn't know the words but she was pretty sure he was swearing he held her so close she could feel his breath against her ear.

'I won't tell, OK?' he said. 'I won't tell Isabelle. Now please. Stop this.'

Instantly, she stopped fighting, and after a second he loosened his hold on her. Pushing wet hair out of her eyes, she searched his face for signs of deception.

'Promise me,' she said, raising her voice to be heard above the rain. 'Swear you won't tell anybody.'

'You have my word.' His eyes never wavered. 'Now please.' He held out his hand. 'Come back inside.'

She believed him.

Suddenly exhausted, she allowed him to take her hand; his skin wet and cold against hers. In silence, they walked back towards the building. The adrenaline that had stopped her from feeling the cold flooded away as quickly as it had arrived and she trembled violently. Casting a sideways glance at Sylvain, she saw that he was shivering, too. His jaw was set as he led her to a small door in the east wing.

When he opened it, though, she balked. 'Where are we going?'

'If we go in through the main entrances looking like this, people will ask questions you don't want to answer,' he said. 'This is another way in.'

The door opened on to a short stairway down into a part of the cellar she'd never seen before. It seemed unused old chairs were stacked haphazardly against the walls. Flickering lights in wall sconces cast moving shadows that chased them down the corridor. About halfway down the hall, he opened another door and flipped a light switch, revealing a narrow, winding staircase. Allie's teeth were chattering so loudly she was sure he must be able to hear them.

'It's one of the old servants' staircases,' he explained. 'They're everywhere. We used another one the night of the fire.'

They climbed several storeys, finally emerging into a warm hallway. Sylvain led her past two closed doors before opening one. It was a spacious, neatly kept bedroom.