‘Bit of a leap of faith, isn’t it? I didn’t think you liked those.’

‘We stick to the plan,’ Ewan repeated impatiently. ‘We wait till three, sneak in while the guard changes, and we grab all the information on AME we can get our hands on. After we learn what we’ll be up against in New London, we wipe out every physical trace of the technology from Oakenfold…’

He hesitated before finishing his sentence.

‘…Even if it means burning our school to the ground.’

*

Bloody hell, comms is boring. Especially when your partner’s silent.

When it came to missions, Alex preferred being on the comms end of the phone. He was less likely to die that way. And Mark had been right: the Oakenfold mission belonged to the students and them alone.

Still, a little action would have been appreciated. Or at least something happening, even if were just a conversation with Shannon.

It was the early hours of the morning and she was sitting upright in her chair, dutiful and focused. As if she had restructured her sleeping pattern specifically for that night. It made Alex feel ashamed of his own tiredness.

I wonder if McCormick’s still alive? He thought. If the operation were going to go wrong, it would have happened by now.

Alex shook his head, and tried to think optimistic thoughts. In all probability, Lorraine had already sealed him up with that soldering iron and cried herself to sleep.

He needed something to distract himself. With nothing to do, his mind would start to mull over all the worst possibilities. He had once heard someone say that’s how it worked for Kate, except it seemed more painful for her.

There was only one distraction available, and she didn’t seem in the mood for talking. Especially not about the subject Alex had in mind. But it was worth a try.

‘So Shannon…’

‘Hm?’

Already Alex was wondering whether it was a good idea. It struck him how little he and Shannon had in common. In fact, he knew so little about her that he didn’t even know whether they had anything in common. He wasn’t sociable in the getting-to-know-you sense – more in the take-the-mick sense – and Shannon hardly spoke to him unless the conversation was necessary.

Better ask, then.

‘I’ve been wondering for a while. Hope you don’t mind me asking, but… what was he like?’

Shannon looked piercingly into his eyes.

Ouch, no wonder the autistic lot find that painful.

‘Who?’

‘Your father. The great Nicholas Grant.’

She didn’t answer at first. She just let the question hang in the air like the smell of a carcass.

‘Does it matter?’ she eventually asked.

In a rare display of shyness, Alex backed down.

‘I suppose it doesn’t.’