It had been a long time since he felt the light, and longer since he could truly enjoy the simple pleasure of it.

He sat near the bridge, where he could see Robert and young Jonathan Wayland in the morning light.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Robert said.

“Yes,” said Jonathan.

“You don’t look much like Michael,” Robert added awkwardly.

“No,” said Jonathan. “I always wished I did.”

Zachariah could see the boy’s thin back. He seemed braced to be a disappointment.

Robert said, “I am sure you’re a good boy.”

Jonathan did not look sure. Robert saved himself from awkwardness by conspicuously examining the controls.

The boy left the bridge, graceful despite the lurch of the boat and how weary he must be. Zachariah was startled when young Jonathan advanced across the deck to where Zachariah himself sat.

Brother Zachariah pulled his hood close around his face. Some Shadowhunters were disquieted by a Silent Brother who did not appear exactly as the rest did, though the Silent Brothers looked fearsome enough. He did not want to distress the boy, either way.

Jonathan carried Brother Zachariah’s staff back to him, balanced flat as a tightrope along his palms, and laid the staff with a respectful bow on Zachariah’s knees. The boy moved with military discipline unusual in one so young, even among Shadowhunters. Brother Zachariah had not known Michael Wayland, but he guessed he must have been a harsh man.

“Brother Enoch?” the boy guessed.

No, said Brother Zachariah. He knew Enoch’s memories as his own. Enoch had given the boy his first Mark, though his memories were gray with lack of interest. Brother Zachariah briefly wished he could have been the Silent Brother who oversaw the rite of passage for this child.

“No,” the boy repeated slowly. “I should’ve known. You moved differently. I just thought it might be, since you rolled your staff to me.”

He bowed his head. It struck Zachariah as a sorry thing, that the child would not have expected even the smallest mercy from a stranger.

“Thank you for letting me use it,” Jonathan added.

I am glad it was useful, returned Brother Zachariah.

The boy’s glance up at his face was shocking, the flare of twin suns in what was still almost night. They were not the eyes of a soldier but a warrior. Brother Zachariah had known both, and he knew the difference.

The boy took a step back, nervous and agile, but stopped with his chin high. Apparently he had a question.

Zachariah was not expecting the one he asked.

“What do the initials mean? On your staff. Do all Silent Brothers have them?”