Part one of my plan is complete. I drop onto the leather couch and wait for part two.

Ten minutes later, part two surges into the room, his cheeks bright as blood oranges. Nick slams the door behind him and reaches me in two steps.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His normally kind eyes strike me like blue lightning. The force of him, the sheer momentum of his anger, pushes me back against the pillows.

“Getting your attention.”

He studies me, his chest rising rapidly like he’d run here on foot. “We need to leave. Now, before everyone else arrives. Especially Sel.” He leans down, grabbing my elbow. “Come on.”

I can’t help but stand when he yanks me up, but I don’t make it easy for him. I pull against his grip and he pulls back. “Let me go.” I jerk my arm out of his grasp. Before he tries again, I take a deep step into his space so he’ll retreat. It works, and he takes two stumbling steps back.

I take a sharp breath. Because broken hearts strip vocabularies down to their raw bones, and because I don’t want After-Bree to show up and turn this conversation into a tear-streaked explosion, I’ve scripted an admission using as few words as possible: “My mother died three months ago.”

Nick blinks, confused dismay overtaking fury until his expression lands somewhere in between the two. Most people say something right away, like “I’m sorry to hear that” or “Oh God.” Nick doesn’t. It makes me like him more than I should.

“Bree… that’s…” Nick shudders, and there—that response right there—makes me worry he won’t understand. That he hasn’t lost anyone close, so he won’t get it. I plow ahead anyway.

“It was a car accident. A hit-and-run. At the hospital, they took me and my dad into this… this room with a police officer and a nurse who told us what happened.” Hard now. Panic bubbling. Finish fast. “Or at least that’s what I thought. Yesterday, a memory came back. Just a snippet, but enough that I know that police officer was a Merlin. He mesmered me and my father to forget something from that night. If we know the full story, then maybe…” I break off, swallow again. “I just have to know what happened and why he hid it from us. And I need your help.”

Nick turns away, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Nick?”

“I’m thinking. Just—” He shoves both hands through his hair.

“You don’t look surprised.”

A hollow laugh escapes him. “That’s because I’m not.”

I set my jaw. “I need your help.”

He’s silent for so long I think he might turn around and leave. Shove me out the door for real. Call security, like in the movies. Then he closes his eyes, sighs, opens them—and starts talking.