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don’t care how angry or scared you get, it’s not right to punish all the faeries for a few faeries’ mistakes. Or to discriminate against people—”
    “I’m not saying anyone should discriminate—”
    “Actually, that’s exactly what you’re saying.”
    “Oh, great, Simon. So the Seelie Queen and her minions screw us over and enable the death of hundreds of Shadowhunters, not to mention the ones they slaughtered themselves, and I’m the terrible person?”
    “I didn’t say you were a terrible person.”
    “You’re thinking it,” she said.
    “Would you stop telling me what I think?” he barked, more harshly than he’d intended.
    Her mouth snapped shut.
    She took a deep breath.
    He counted to ten.
    Each waited the other out.
    When Isabelle spoke again, she sounded calmer—but also, somehow, angrier. “I told you, Simon. I don’t like the Cold Peace. I hate it, for your information. Not just for what it’s doing to Helen and Aline. Because it’s wrong. But . . . it’s not like I have a better idea. This isn’t about who you or I want to trust; this is about who the Clave can trust. You can’t sign accords with leaders who refuse to be bound by their promises. You simply can’t. If the Clave wanted revenge”—Isabelle looked pointedly around the store, gaze resting on each weapons display in turn—“trust me, they could take it. The Cold Peace isn’t just about the Fair Folk. It’s about us. I may not like it, but I understand it. Better than you do, at least. If you’d been there, if you knew—”
    “I was there,” Simon said quietly. “Remember?”
    “Of course I do. But you don’t . So it’s not the same. You’re not . . .”
    “The same,” he finished for her.
    “That’s not what I meant, I just—”
    “Trust me, Izzy. I get it. I’m not him. I’ll never be him.”
    Isabelle made a noise halfway between a hiss and a yowl. “Would you drop it already with this old Simon/new Simon inferiority complex? It’s getting old. Why don’t you get a little creative and find a new excuse?”
    “New excuse for what?” he asked, genuinely confused.
    “For you not to be with me!” she yelled. “Because you’re obviously looking for one. Try harder.”
    She stomped out of the store, slamming the door shut behind her. It dinged as it closed and not-Diana emerged from the back. “Oh, it’s still just you,” he said, sounding distinctly disappointed. “Have you decided?”
    Simon could give up right now; he could stop trying, stop fighting, just let her go. That would be the easiest of decisions. All he’d have to do would be to let it happen.
    “I decided a long time ago,” Simon said, and ran out of the shop.
    He needed to find Isabelle.
    It wasn’t much of a challenge. She was sitting on a small bench across the street, head in her hands.
    Simon sat down beside her. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
    She shook her head without lifting it from her hands. “I can’t believe I was dumb enough to think this would work.”
    “It still can,” he said with an embarrassing tinge of desperation. “I still want it to, if you—”
    “No, not you and me, idiot.” She finally looked up at him. Mercifully, her eyes were dry. In fact, she didn’t look sad at all—she looked furious. “This stupid weapons-shopping idea. Last time I take dating advice from Jace .”
    “You let Jace plan our date?” Simon said, incredulous.
    “Well, it’s not like either of us was doing a very good job of it. He took Clary here to buy a sword, and it was this whole disgustingly sexy thing, and I just thought, maybe . . .”
    Simon laughed in relief. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not dating Jace.”
    “Um, yeah. Disgusting.”
    “No, I mean, you’re not dating a guy who’s anything like Jace.”
    “I wasn’t aware I was dating anyone at all,” she said, frost in her voice. His heart caught in his throat like it was snagged on barbed wire. But then, ever so