I chance a quick look over my shoulder. Tor’s watching our exchange, and so are a few others. Sarah, Russ, Vaughn, Fitz. I tug on Nick’s hand, and his eyes drop to mine. I try to communicate with my eyes that I don’t want an audience. The look on his face says he understands, but he’s still not happy. He lets me lead him back to the tables. He sits close again, so that our shoulders and hips are snug, but this time I can feel his entire body shaking in impotent rage.

Back in my room, I miss Alice already, but I also feel a guilty sort of relief that she’s gone; all of this lying and hiding is wearing me thin.

“How did you find this out again?” Nick asks, the confusion in his voice clear over the phone. I’d spent the last twenty minutes pacing the length of our room, filling him in on the mysterious figure on campus who opened a Gate twenty-five years ago.

“Are you sure Sel can’t hear you?”

“I told you, he’s on patrol with Tor and Sar and ordered me to stay inside the Lodge’s wards.” I remember the aether shield I’d touched that first time I visited the Lodge and how it ripples against my skin whenever I walk through it. Sarah had explained that the wards will keep out anyone—or anything—who hasn’t been invited. I hate to say it, but I agree with Sel; Nick should stay inside for now.

“Bree?” Nick prompts, then repeats, “Who told you about this other Gate opening?”

“I don’t know if I can say,” I say with a sigh.

He chuckles. “Okay…”

I plop down on my comforter. “I don’t want to betray this person’s trust or put them at risk. You’re the one who told me that the Regents are severely anti–aether users they don’t control.”

“I did. So this person is an aether user? On campus?”

I hesitate. But this is Nick. I can tell him at least that much. “Yes.”

“An aether user you found? Or one that found you?”

“A bit of both?”

“Are they safe?” The concern in his voice is clear.

“Yes. They want to help me. And they were here when my mom was here, although they didn’t know her well. They… keep a low profile.”

He takes this news surprisingly well. “Probably best I don’t know who they are, then. Are they like you?”

I fall back on my pillow. “I don’t think so.”

“Ah. But you believe them?”

I gnaw on my lip, trying to think of the phrasing that will keep Rootcraft and memory walks and Patricia out of the conversation. “I believe what they showed me. Why? You don’t believe me?”