[Pinnacle Academy, Main Gate]
[Saturday, 11:00 AM]
The message came in at nine in the morning, which for Anouz Montclair counts as a formal invitation.
[A.Montclair 09:02] Main gate. Eleven.
[A.Montclair 09:02] Wear something that isn't your uniform.
[You 09:14] Why?
[A.Montclair 09:15] Eleven.
haah...
So at eleven o'clock on the Saturday after eight hours of examinations, I was standing at the main gate of Pinnacle Academy in a jacket I'd bought once and worn twice, watching a black car pull up to the kerb like it had been personally offended by the concept of public transport.
Anouz got out of the back.
No uniform. No family crest. Just a dark coat and that permanently unbothered expression, and he looked at the academy behind me with the frank assessment of a man valuing a property.
"It's smaller than I expected," he said.
"Good morning to you too."
"The gate's impressive. The rest of it looks like a school."
"It is a school."
"Mm." He came over.
