A man who could kill two Shadowhunters in cold blood could presumably kill a third. Everything in her said that she should leap to her feet, draw her weapon, fight her way out of here, run straight to the Paris Institute, tell them everything. Stop this—stop him—before he went any further. Valentine watched her calmly, palms up on the table, as if to say, Your move.

She didn’t move.

The Verlac family, who ran the Paris Institute, were friends with her parents. More than once, a Verlac had sought out her hiding place and dumped her back home. That first time, she’d pleaded for asylum at the Institute, where all Shadowhunters were supposedly guaranteed a safe home. Céline was told she was too young to make such requests, too young to know what “safe” meant. She was told her parents loved her and she should stop causing them so much trouble.

She owed these people nothing.

Valentine, on the other hand, had singled her out. Given her a mission, a family. She owed him everything.

He leaned toward her, reached out his hand. She willed herself not to flinch. He touched her neck, lightly, where the Achaieral demon had scratched her. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” she said.

“And you were limping.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you need another iratze—”

“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.