Well, it could only be left to the imagination.

As Matthew and Anna left the house that night, they did not notice a figure across the street, standing in the shadows.

Jem recognized Matthew at once but was confused at first as to who was with him. The person resembled his parabatai, Will Herondale—not Will as he was now, but Will at seventeen, with his confident swagger and upturned chin. But that could not be. And the person was obviously not James, Will’s son.

It took him several minutes to realize that the young man was not a young man at all. It was Anna Lightwood, Will’s niece. She had inherited the dark hair and the profile from the Herondale side of her family, and clearly, she had inherited her uncle’s swagger. For a moment Jem felt a pang in his heart. It was like seeing his friend as a young man again, as the two of them had been when they lived at the Institute together and fought side by side, as they had been when Tessa Gray first arrived at their door.

Was it really so long ago?

Jem shook the thought loose and focused on the present. Anna was in some sort of disguise, and she and Matthew had just been at a Downworlder gathering with a warlock he had come to observe. He had no idea what they were doing there.

A full week passed. A full week of Anna running for the post, looking from the window, walking partway to Cavendish Square before turning back. A lifetime. It was agony, and just as it was turning to acceptance, Anna was called downstairs early Friday morning to find Ariadne waiting for her in a yellow dress and a white hat.

“Good morning,” Ariadne said. “Why aren’t you ready?”

“Ready?” Anna said, her throat gone dry at the sudden appearance of Ariadne.

“To train!”

“I—”

“Good morning, Ariadne!” Cecily Lightwood said, coming in with Alexander.

“Oh!” Ariadne’s eyes lit up when she saw the baby. “Oh, I must hold him—I simply adore babies.”

The appearance of Alexander bought Anna enough time to scramble upstairs, catch her breath, splash water on her face, and collect her gear. Five minutes later, Anna was seated next to Ariadne in the Bridgestock carriage, rumbling toward the Institute. They were alone now, close to each other in the warm carriage. The smell of Ariadne’s orange-blossom perfume wafted up and wrapped around Anna.

“Did I disturb you?” Ariadne said. “I had simply hoped … that you might be free to train with me….” She looked worried. “I hope I did not presume. Are you angry?”

“No,” Anna replied. “I could never be angry with you.”

Anna tried to make it sound light, but a husky note of truth rang through.

“Good.” Ariadne looked radiantly pleased at that and crossed her hands on her lap. “I would hate to displease you.”