"Yep."

"Gross," I muttered.

"So the halfling is usually brought up in the Order somehow. We keep a lot of ears to the ground, but another thing constant among halflings is that all of them have been adopted. So we check out everyone who is."

A cold chill worked its way down my spine. "I was adopted."

"I know." He smiled then, a real one—small but real. "You're not one of them, Ivy."

"How do you know?" I challenged, sickened by the idea—the mere thought that I could be one of them without even knowing. "I was adopted. I've never broken a bone, and as far as I remember, I've never—"

"You haven't broken a bone or gotten sick because you're lucky. And your real mom and dad were happily married before they were killed," he cut in, lowering his gaze while I jerked back from his words. "Their names were Kurt and Constance Brenner, and all those who knew them said there was no marital discord between them. They were in love, Ivy. Neither of them would've gone outside their marriage."

I knew their names, but it had been years since I'd heard anyone speak of them. I'd been too young to know them, to form any bond with them, but they were still my flesh and blood, and it had shaken me to the core.

"Plus, when you were shot, that ancient most likely would've sensed if you were a halfling. You bled. He would've known."

A little bit of relief eased my tensed muscles. I was happy to hear that neither of my parents willingly knocked boots with a fae and produced baby Ivy, future incubator of mass destruction, but still, learning this was . . . fascinatingly horrifying.

"But how would you all know who the halfling is? You just go around . . . taking out people—Order members—that you suspect are halflings?" I toyed with the hem of my sweats. "That can't be all of it."

"It's not." Switching the bottle to the hand furthest from me, he brushed wisps of deep brown waves off his forehead. "The same stakes that can kill an ancient—one fashioned from thorn trees that grow in the Otherworld? If a halfling is cut with one, we'll know they're a halfling."

"How?"

His gaze flicked up to mine. "Their blood will bubble."

I whistled low under my breath. "Well, yeah, that's not normal."

"But I also can't go around cutting people with a stake, now can I?" Something crossed his face, and he looked away. "We know of a couple in the Order who were adopted. One of them is dead. I think her name was Cora."

"Cora Howard." My brows knitted as her freckled face appeared in my thoughts. "She was killed a couple of months ago. Who else?"

"Jackie Jordan. But she's not one. I did manage to accidentally nick her with the edge of my stake during my first meeting. I thought she might punch me. But her blood didn't boil."

A surprised laugh burst out of me, and I remembered the way Jackie had looked at him the night we learned Trent had been killed, like she didn't want to be anywhere near him.

"Really? Wow. Okay. The other two?"

"You sure you want to hear this?"

I arched a brow.

"Miles was adopted.'

"No shit," I whispered. "I'm sorry, but Miles, a halfling? He has the personality of a decade old piece of wallpaper."

A small smile hovered at the edges of his lips. "I don't think his personality disqualifies him."

"Still. I can't imagine it being him. And he's the second in command. How could they allow one to ascend to that kind of position?"

"Simply because they didn't know." Reaching over, he curled one finger around mine, stopping me from tugging on the loose string of the hem. "Sometimes I think it would just make things easier if the entire Order knew that halflings existed, knew what could happen if the prince or princess got a hold of one, but then . . . that kind of knowledge could be destructive."

At first I wanted to argue that point because knowledge was power; it was also a source of safety. But as I watched him drag his finger along my knuckles, it occurred to me why he thought it would be destructive. "You're right," I whispered, stomach roiling. "If everyone knew, it would be a witch hunt. Innocent people would get caught up in it. As soon as someone did anything weird, and all of us are totally capable of some weird shit, they'd be suspected. Guilty until proven innocent."

"Exactly."

"Who else here are you looking into?" To me, Miles was absolutely out of the question. Perhaps my reasoning wasn't the most logical, but I couldn't fathom that, and I didn't know anyone else who was adopted only because that was an uber personal question to just randomly spring on people.

His brows furrowed as he tapped each of my knuckles. "The Elite is still pulling research on the rest who might . . . fit the description."

"In other words, you don't want to tell me who else it could be."

He lifted his gaze to mine. "It's nothing personal. I'm just not going to put thoughts in your head that might not need to be there."

"I don't know anyone else who's been adopted," I persisted.

Several seconds passed. "I don't like the idea of keeping you in the dark, but like I said, I'm not going to put shit in your head that might not need to be there."

Annoyed, I started to pull my hand away from him, but I held myself still as his finger followed a bone up my hand, to my wrist. Behind the irritation was apprehension. Obviously there was something he wasn't telling me, but there was a reason other than him not wanting to put shit in my head. Could it be that I was close to whomever he— and the Elite—suspected? Immediately, my thoughts went to Val, but I dismissed them. She hadn't been adopted, and both her parents were alive and still active within the Order.