“I’m fine.”

He nodded, like she’d confirmed a suspicion. “Yes. You prefer it this way, don’t you.”

“What way?”

“In pain.”

Now Céline flinched. “I do not,” she insisted. “That would be sick.”

“But do you know why you prefer it? Why you chase the pain?”

She had never understood this about herself. Only knew it, in the deep, wordless way you knew your most essential truth.

There was something about pain that made her feel more solid, more real. More in control. Sometimes the pain felt like the only thing she could control.

“You covet pain, because you know it makes you strong,” Valentine said. It felt like he had given name to her nameless soul. “You know why I understand you better than the rest of them? Because we’re the same. We learned early, didn’t we? Cruelty, harshness, pain: no one shielded us from the realities of life, and that made us strong. Most people, they’re ruled by fear. They flee the specter of pain, and that makes them weak. You and I, Céline, we know the only way through is to face pain. To invite the cruelty of the world—and master it.”

Céline had never thought of herself this way, hard and strong. She’d certainly never dared think of herself as anything like Valentine.

“That’s why I wanted you in the Circle. Robert, Stephen, the others? They’re still just boys. Children playing at adult games. They haven’t yet been tested—they will be, but not yet. You and I, though? We’re special. We haven’t been children for a long time.”

No one had ever called her strong. No one had called her special.

“Things are accelerating,” Valentine said. “I need to know who’s with me and who’s not. So you can see why I told you the truth about this”—he gestured to the singed heap of warlock clothes—“situation.”

“It’s a test,” she guessed. “A loyalty test.”

“It’s an opportunity,” he corrected her. “To invite you into my confidence, and reward you for yours. My proposal: you stay silent about what you’ve learned here and allow events to proceed as I intend, and I will deliver you Stephen Herondale on a silver platter.”

“What? I—I don’t—I—”

“I told you, Céline. I know things. I know you. And I can give you what you want, if you really want it.”

Be careful what you wish for, she thought again. But oh, she wished for Stephen. Even knowing what he thought of her, even with his mocking laughter ringing in her ears, even believing what Valentine said, that she was strong and Stephen was weak, even knowing what she knew to be true, that Stephen did not love her and never would, she wished for him. Always and forever.

“Or you can leave this apartment, run to the Clave, tell them whatever story you like. Save these two ‘innocent’ Shadowhunters—and lose the only family who’s ever truly cared about you,” Valentine said. “The choice is yours.”