I feel him shrug. “Probably. There are tests they would do during your trial, but it doesn’t really matter. All ‘rogue’ aether users are treated the same. Here, we’re getting off the bridge—yes, it was a bridge, don’t freak—and turning down the last path now.”

I gulp. How high of a bridge? “What did the Morgaines do after they left?”

“After the splinter, they went underground, as far as I know. On their own, the Morgaines lost access to the training and ancient texts the Merlins use to develop their abilities. Without that, they weren’t nearly as powerful as Merlins were, and couldn’t be. They became a cautionary tale more than anything.”

“Are the Morgaines organized enough to have their own missions out in the world, like the Merlins?”

“Damn.” Nick knows where I’m headed. “The Merlin at the hospital could have been a Morgaine. I didn’t even consider that until now.”

“Is it possible?”

He blows out a puff of air. “It’s not impossible. And you’re sure you don’t remember anything else that the cop may have erased?”

I chew on my lip. I’ve tried to remember more from that night dozens of times, but no other details ever appear. I don’t even remember the officer’s face, not really. Just the shape of his mouth, his eyes, and the sound of his casting. Nick and I discussed the possibility that I’m missing more than I know, but we just can’t be sure. So far, I’ve recalled everything Sel tried to mesmer away.

“No. Nothing. How would I know if they were Merlin or Morgaine?”

“You wouldn’t. We know they have the same abilities as Merlins, but when they stopped administering Oaths—” He stops short, starts again. “Without Oaths, the Order falls apart. Only a Merlin would be able to tell you whether that officer was a Morgaine or a Merlin, and even then they’d have to have been there. I’d say we could ask Sel, but—”

“He loathes me,” I mutter, and think of Vaughn. “Along with everyone else on Team Anti-Bree.”

Nick’s fingers flex around my arms. “Someone bothering you?”

I think about whether I can stomach sharing what happened at dinner with Nick right now. If I could process his response and mine, go there again so soon. In the end, I say, “Nothing I can’t handle. People think I’m gunning to be your Squire and, I guess, using my feminine wiles to try and convince you to select me.”

Silence again.

“Nick?”

“Sorry, my brain shut down at ‘feminine wiles.’ ”