“She wanted me to leave the Black Volume alone,” said Julian. He was lying on his back; they both were. Emma was in a pair of cotton pajamas she’d bought from the village shop, and Julian wore sweats and an old T-shirt. Their shoulders touched, and their feet; the bed wasn’t very wide. Not that Julian would have moved away if he could have. “She said it only brings bad things.”

“But you don’t think we should do that.”

“I don’t think we have a choice. The book probably really is better off in the Seelie Court than anywhere in our world.” He sighed. “She said she’s been talking to the piskies in the area. We’re going to have to text the others, see if they know any piskie-trapping secrets. Get hold of a piskie and find out what they know.”

“Okay.” Emma’s voice was fading, her eyes closing. Julian felt the same exhaustion tugging at him. It had been an incredibly long day. “You can send the message from my phone if you want.”

Julian hadn’t been able to plug his phone in due to not having the right adapter. Things Shadowhunters didn’t think about.

“I don’t think we should tell the others Annabel came,” said Julian. “Not yet. They’ll freak out, and I want to see what the piskies say first.”

“You have to at least tell them the Unseelie King helped Malcolm get the Black Volume,” Emma said sleepily.

“I’ll tell them he wrote about it in his diaries,” said Julian.

He waited to see if Emma would object to the lie, but she was already asleep. And Julian was nearly there. Emma was here, lying beside him, the way things were supposed to be. He realized how badly he’d slept for the past few weeks without her.

He wasn’t sure if he’d drifted off, or for how long if he had. When his eyes fluttered open, he could see the dark glow of the fire in the hearth, nearly burned down to embers. And he could feel Emma, beside him, her arm thrown across his chest.

He froze. She must have moved in her sleep. She was curled against him. He could feel her eyelashes, her soft breath, against his skin.

She murmured and turned her head against his neck. Before they climbed into bed, he’d been frightened that if he touched her, he’d feel again the same willpower-smashing desire he’d felt in the Seelie Court.

What he felt now was both better and worse. It was an overpowering and terrible tenderness. Though when awake Emma had a presence that made her seem tall and even imposing, she was small curled against him, and delicate enough to make his heart turn over with thoughts of how to keep the world from breaking something so fragile.

He wanted to hold her forever, to protect her and keep her close. He wanted to be able to write as freely about his feelings for her as Malcolm had written about his dawning love for Annabel. You took my life apart and put it back together.

She sighed softly, settling into the mattress. He wanted to trace the outline of her mouth, to draw it—it was always different, its heart shape changing with her expressions, but this expression, between sleeping and waking, half-innocent and half-knowing, caught at his soul in a new way.

Malcolm’s words echoed in his head. As if you have discovered a beach you have been visiting all your life is made not of sand but of diamonds, and they blind you with their beauty.

Diamonds might be blinding in their beauty, but they were also the hardest and sharpest gems in the world. They could cut you or grind you down, smash and slice you apart. Malcolm, deranged with love, had not thought of that. But Julian could think of nothing else.

*

Kit was awoken by the bang of Livvy’s door. He sat up, aware he was aching all over, as Ty strode out of her bedroom.

“You’re on the floor,” Ty said, looking at him.

Kit couldn’t deny it. He and Alec had come to Livvy’s room once they’d finished in the infirmary. Then Alec had gone off to check on the children, and it had just been Magnus, quietly sitting with Livvy, occasionally examining her to see if she was healing. And Ty, leaning against the wall, staring unblinking at his sister. It had felt like a hospital room to which Kit shouldn’t have access.

So he’d gone outside, remembering how Ty had slept in front of his own door his first days in Los Angeles, and he’d curled up on the worn carpeted floor, not expecting to get much sleep. He didn’t even remember passing out, but he must have.

He struggled up into a sitting position. “Wait—”

But Ty was walking off down the hall, as if he hadn’t heard Kit at all. After a moment, Kit scrambled to his feet and followed him.

He wasn’t entirely sure why. He barely knew Tiberius Blackthorn, he thought, as Ty turned almost blindly and started up a set of stairs. He barely knew his sister, either. And they were Shadowhunters. And Ty wanted to form some kind of detective team with him, which was a ridiculous idea. Definitely one in which he wasn’t interested at all, he told himself, as the staircase ended in a short landing in front of a worn-looking old door.

And it was probably cold outside too, he thought, as Ty pushed the door open and, yes, damp chilly air swirled in. Ty disappeared into the chill and the shadows outside, and Kit followed.

They were back on the roof, though it was no longer night, to Kit’s surprise; it was early morning—gray and heavy, with clouds gathering over the Thames and the dome of St. Paul’s. The noise of the city rose up, the pressure of millions of people going about their daily business, unaware of Shadowhunters, unaware of magic and danger. Unaware of Ty, who had gone to the railing surrounding the central part of the roof and was staring out over the city, his hands gripping the iron fleur-de-lis.

“Ty.” Kit went toward him, and Tiberius turned around, so his back was against the railing. His shoulders were stiff, and Kit stopped, not wanting to invade his personal space. “Are you all right?”

Ty shook his head. “Cold,” he said. His teeth were chattering. “I’m cold.”

“Then maybe we should go back downstairs,” said Kit. “Inside it’s warmer.”

“I can’t.” Ty’s voice sounded like it was coming from a long way down deep inside him, an echo half-sunk in water. “Being in that room, I couldn’t—it was—”

He shook his head in frustration, as if being unable to find the words was torturing him.

“Livvy’s going to be fine,” said Kit. “She’ll be okay by tomorrow. Magnus said.”

“But it’s my fault.” Ty was pressing his back harder against the railing, but it wasn’t holding him up. He slid down it until he was sitting on the ground, his knees pulled up to his chest. He was breathing hard and rocking back and forth, his hands up by his face as if to brush away cobwebs or annoying gnats. “If I was her parabatai—I wanted to go to the Scholomance, but that doesn’t matter; Livvy matters—”

“It’s not your fault,” Kit said. Ty just shook his head, hard. Kit tried frantically to remember what he’d read online about meltdowns, because he was pretty sure Ty was on his way to having one. He dropped to his knees on the damp roof—was he supposed to touch Ty, or not touch him?

He could only imagine what it was like for Ty all the time: all the world rushing at him at once, blaring sounds and stabbing lights and nobody remembering to modulate their voices. And to have all the ways you usually managed that ripped away by grief or fear, leaving you exposed as a Shadowhunter going into battle without their gear.

He remembered something about darkness, about pressure and weighted blankets and silence. Though he had no idea how he was going to get hold of any of those things up on top of a building.

“Tell me,” Kit said. Tell me what you need.

“Put your arms around me,” said Ty. His hands were pale blurs in the air, as if Kit were looking at a time-lapse photo. “Hold on to me.”

He was still rocking. After a moment, Kit put his arms around Ty, not quite knowing what else to do.

It was like holding a loosed arrow: Ty felt hot and sharp in his arms, and he was vibrating with some strange emotion. After what felt like a long time he relaxed slightly. His hands touched Kit, their motion slowing, his fingers winding themselves into Kit’s sweater.