Christopher. Cordelia could see his bright smile, his dented spectacles; she could hear his eager and excited voice in her ears, explaining some new aspect of science or Shadowhunting. “I am so—I am so sorry,” she whispered. “Is he ill? What can we do?”

“He was already feverish when they took him to the Silent City,” said Matthew grimly. “We summoned you and Lucie as soon as we could, and—”

There were footsteps on the stairs. The door flew open, and Thomas burst in. He wore a long Inverness coat, though Cordelia could see that he was in gear beneath.

“Sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I was patrolling with Anna—didn’t get your message until we returned to Uncle Gabriel’s house. They all wanted to go to the Silent City, of course, but Brother Enoch came by—said it was impossible—” Thomas sank down into a chair, burying his face in his hands. “Everyone’s frantic. Anna went to ask Magnus for help in putting up extra wards around the house. Aunt Cecily nearly lost her mind at the thought of letting her go, but she went. Uncle Will and Aunt Tessa came, of course, but I couldn’t bear to be there too, bothering them all, intruding on them in their fear—”

“You’re not an intrusion, Thomas,” said Matthew. “You’re family. There and here.”

The door creaked open and Polly came in, carrying a bottle and a few glasses with chipped rims. She set them down on the table, cast Thomas a worried glance, and disappeared.

Matthew rose and took the bottle, pouring out the glasses with the grace of long habit. For the first time in Cordelia’s memory, Thomas picked one up and downed the contents.

James spun one of the chairs around and sat down, arms crossed across the chair back, his long legs hooked around the front. “Tom,” he said, his eyes flaring intently. “We need to make the antidote to the Mandikhor poison. I think you can do it.”

Thomas choked, coughed, and began spluttering as Matthew took the glass from him and set it back down on the table. “I can’t,” he said, when he caught his breath. “Not without Christopher.”

“Yes, you can,” said James. “You’ve done everything with him. You’ve been in the laboratory with him nearly every moment since Barbara died. You know how to do this.”

Thomas was silent for a long moment. James didn’t move. His gaze was fixed on his friend. It was a look Cordelia couldn’t describe—a quiet intensity mixed with immovable conviction. This was James at his best, she thought. His faith in his friends was unwavering: it was strength, and they shared that strength between them.

“Perhaps,” Thomas said at last, slowly. “But we’re still missing an ingredient. Without it, the antidote won’t work, and Kit said it was impossible to find—”