He smirks. “No need for subterfuge. I’m a healer by inheritance and by nature. I genuinely want to know how your wounds are doing.”

At a loss for words, I thrust both forearms out. He takes my wrists and traces one forefinger up the inner skin of one arm, then the other. “Good. You took aether well.”

The elevator comes to a jerking stop. When I swallow down bile, William’s shrewd eyes narrow minutely. The doors open onto an even lower level and a similar long hallway, but he punches the button to keep them open.

“May I?” He gestures at the sticky, aching spot on my right cheek. I nod. But instead of touching me again, he sticks one hand out into the hallway, then chuckles at the look on my face. “Aether is everywhere, but it’s a bit like a cell signal. Hard to find in a metal box.” He glances up at the elevator by way of explanation. I watch as mage flame swirls and gathers in his palm. It solidifies into a thick, silver sauce that bleeds out over his hand, coating his fingers and the green leather cuff around his wrist. He steps closer, making eye contact first, and hovers three shining fingers over my cheek. The bright citrus smell of his casting flows between us, filling my nose.

The aether is cold—and it reminds me a bit of the slop of the uchel on my skin. I flinch, and William hums. “Deep breaths.” The cold spreads, soothing where it touches. There’s an itchy sensation, a quiet hiss, and the ache disappears. “Done.” A flick of his wrist, and the aether dissolves. “How do you feel? Dizzy?”

I take stock of my head, tilt it back and forth. “No. Not like last time.”

“Acclimating fast for a Onceborn,” he says thoughtfully.

“Thank you?”

He inclines his head in response and gestures to the hall. “Shall we?”

I step through, gnawing on my lower lip. He knows I was at the Lodge last night, but what else does he know?

William indicates a door at the far end of the hall. After a few seconds he speaks up, his voice casual. It feels like he’s read my mind. “I know there’s more to you than what you’re sharing, Page Matthews.” I begin to interject, but he holds up a hand, a soft smile on his lips. “I’m not Sel, so don’t worry. I didn’t bring you here to corner you. I don’t know what you’re hiding, and frankly, I don’t need or want to.”

I stop, completely stunned. “But—but aren’t you worried that—”

“That you’re an uchel?” He stops, too, and rolls his eyes. “Hardly. Sel is an incredible detective, the most powerful Merlin in a generation, but he’s also…”

“An asshole?”