His voice comes out a tiny bit hoarse. “Good.”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

I clear my throat. “How’s your head?”

He rubs at the back of it. “Feels like I bumped it?”

“That is both an unbelievable and normal response, isn’t it?”

“This is both an unbelievable and normal situation.” His eyes twinkle.

We stare at each other, wrestling with this moment that feels both new and unfamiliar, both what we asked for and something we didn’t expect. Nick’s eyes are the waiting color of overcast skies.

I turn away first. “So, this is your room.” Why did I say that? We already covered that, Bree. Jesus.

“I claim no responsibility for the decor.”

I was wrong. The room isn’t entirely lacking in Nick. There are a few personal items pinned on the corkboard mounted over his desk. When I move closer, I see one is a picture of an elementary-aged Nick in front of the red wolf habitat at the North Carolina Zoo. His hair is white-blond, and several teeth are missing from his smile. A junior high academic achievement award is pinned down below. The last item is a picture of Nick at eleven or twelve, Nick’s father, and a smiling blond woman who must be his mother. The woman has his eyes and smile, even if Nick’s grin is mostly metal braces in this photo. They’re standing in front of a large hill under a clear blue sky.

“Arthur’s Seat,” Nick informs me. “Dad took us to Edinburgh for summer vacation. Couldn’t resist the photo op with his Scion son.”

“You look happy.”

He tilts his head as if processing the idea. “We were. Then.”

“You never talk about your mother.”

His smile turns down on one end. “Another day.”

He studies me like he did the first night we met. That feels like forever ago, but it’s only been forty-eight hours. And in another forty-eight hours I’ll know more about my mother’s magic, and maybe my own.

“We need to talk.”

I raise a brow. “About the fact that you’re the descendant of King Arthur?”

“I’m not the descendant. I’m one of many.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, irritation flaring.

Heat flashes through his eyes. “When could I have? When exactly, Bree? In the ten minutes before we walked into the Oath? In the two minutes before Sel attacked you?”

I cross my arms. “Yes.”

He glares at me, his jaw ticking. Inhales, then breathes out through his nose. “They tell you about the Lines?”

“I saw the Wall.”

“Who?”

“William.”

“And what else did William tell you?”

“I know about Camlann.”

His gaze hardens. “Then you know why I want you to forfeit.”

“I already told you I’m not quitting.” I blink, startled by the look on his face. “We made a deal!”