“My parents told me everything I need to know about the Shadowhunters,” she said, and Brother Zachariah understood this was as close to an admission as he was going to get. “Your precious little Clave. Your Law.” She spit out that last word like it was poison.

I am not here as a representative of the Clave. They have no idea I’ve come to you—or even that you exist. I have my own reasons for finding you, for wanting to protect you.

“And they are?”

I would not trespass on your secrets, and I would ask that you not trespass on mine. Know only that I owe a great debt to your family. The bonds holding me to the Herondales run deeper than blood.

“Well, that’s nice of you and all, but no one asked you to pay any debts,” Rosemary said. “Jack and I are doing just fine, taking care of each other, and that’s what we’ll keep doing.”

It was clever of you to make it seem as if your husband was the one I sought, but—

“It was clever of Jack. People underestimate him. And they pay for it.”

—but, if I could penetrate your ruse, others who seek you may as well. And they are more dangerous than you know.

“These ‘others’ you talk about butchered my parents.” Rosemary’s face betrayed no expression. “Jack and I have been on the run for years. Trust me, I know exactly how dangerous this is. And I know exactly how dangerous it is to trust a stranger, even a stranger with psychic ninja powers and a deeply weird fashion sense.”

One of the things Brother Zachariah had learned in the Silent Brotherhood was the power of acceptance. Sometimes it was stronger to recognize an unwinnable fight and accept defeat—the better to begin laying groundwork for the next battle.

Though this was not a battle, he reminded himself. You could not war for a person’s trust; you could only earn it.

Your heron necklace now has an enchantment on it. If you encounter trouble you cannot face on your own, you need only summon me, and I will come.

“If you think you can track us through this thing—”

Your husband suggested that the only way to earn trust is by offering it. I will not try to find you if you prefer not to be found. But with this pendant, you can always find me. I trust you will summon me for help, if and when you need it. Please trust that I will always answer.

“And who are you, exactly?”

You may call me Brother Zachariah.

“I could, but if I end up in this hypothetical situation where I need my life saved by some bloodthirsty monk, I’d rather know his actual name.”

I was once … It had been so long. He almost didn’t feel entitled to the name. But there was a deep, nearly human pleasure in allowing himself to claim it. I was once known as James Carstairs. Jem.