“You mean the one you didn’t see and won’t say anything about, ever, if you know what’s good for you?”

“You love him, and he loves you, right?” Céline asked.

“I guess he must, because there are some dangerous people out there looking for me,” Rosemary said. “And he’s done his best to make sure they think they’re looking for him instead.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And you don’t have to. But yeah. He loves me. I love him. Why?”

“I just …” She wanted to ask what that was like, how it felt. She wanted, also, to extend the conversation. She was afraid to be alone again, stranded on this bridge between the endless black of river and sky. “I just want to make sure you have someone to take care of you.”

“We take care of each other. That’s how it works. Speaking of which …” She gave Céline an appraising look. “I’m in your debt now, for helping me out with the demon. And for keeping my secret.”

“I didn’t say I would—”

“You will. And I don’t believe in debts, so let me do you a favor.”

“I don’t need anything,” Céline said, meaning, I don’t need anything anyone can give me.

“I keep my eyes open, and I see what’s happening in the Shadowhunter world. You need more than you think you do. Most of all, you need to stay away from Valentine Morgenstern.”

Céline stiffened. “What do you know about Valentine?”

“I know that you’re just his type, young and impressionable, and I know that he can’t be trusted. I pay attention. You should too. He’s not telling you everything. I know that.” She looked over Céline’s shoulder, and her eyes widened. “Someone’s coming. You should get out of here.”

Céline turned around. A Silent Brother was gliding along the Left Bank, nearing the edge of the bridge. There was no way of knowing if it was the same one she’d met in the Shadow Market, but she couldn’t risk running into him again. Not after what she’d told him. It was too humiliating.

“Remember,” Rosemary said. “Valentine is not to be trusted.”

“And why should I trust you?”

“No reason at all,” Rosemary said. Without another word, she strode down the bridge toward the Silent Brother.

The sky was pinking. The endless night had finally given way to dawn.

I had expected to find your husband on this bridge. But even as he formed the words, Brother Zachariah sensed their untruth.

He had trusted a man he knew could not be trusted. He had let his sympathies for the Herondale line, his desire to believe there remained some bond between the Carstairs and the Herondales—even though this man was barely a Herondale and Zachariah was barely a Carstairs—cloud his judgment. And now it was Jack Crow who might bear the consequences.

“He’s not coming. And you’re never going to see him again, Shadowhunter, so I suggest you not bother to look.”