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out. He allowed Catarina to help him back to his room.
    “What happened to you?” George said as Catarina got him in the door.
    “How long have I been gone?” Simon replied, dropping face-first onto his bed. It was a sign of his exhaustion that his terrible, sharp-springed bed felt good. It felt like a hundred down pillows heaped on the back of a bouncy castle.
    “Maybe two hours,” George said. “You look terrible. What was it?”
    “The food,” Simon mumbled. “It finally got me.”
    And then he was asleep.
    *   *   *
    He felt surprisingly okay when he woke up. He woke before George, even. He got out of bed quietly and picked up his towel and things to go down to the bathrooms. On the ground outside the door, in a black box, was a set of formal gear. Formal Shadowhunter gear looked much like regular gear—it was just lighter in weight, somehow more deeply black, and cleaner than most gear. No tears. No ichor. Fancy duds. He put the box on his bed and quietly continued to the bathroom. No one was awake yet, so he had the whole moldy place to himself. It turned out if you woke up first, you could actually get a tiny bit of hot water, so he stood under the spray, pretended that it didn’t taste of rust, and let his body relax in the warmth. There was just enough light coming through the window high up on the wall that he could get what amounted to an almost even shave.
    He walked through the empty halls of the Academy, which were softened by the early morning light. Nothing looked so severe this morning. It was almost cozy. He even found one of the hall fires burning, and he stood beside it to get warm before going outside for some air. He wasn’t surprised to find Clary there, already dressed, sitting on the top step, looking out of the mist that floated over the grounds at dawn.
    “You woke up early too, huh?” she said.
    He sat down next to her.
    “Yup. Get up before the kitchen starts cooking. That’s the only way to escape it. I’m starving, though.”
    Clary rummaged around in her bag for a moment and produced a bagel wrapped in several small deli napkins.
    “Is that . . . ,” Simon said.
    “You think I would come from New York empty-handed? No cream cheese, but, you know, it’s something. I know what you need.”
    Simon held the bagel for a moment.
    “It makes sense,” she said. “You and me. I feel like it’s always been true. It’s always what we were. You don’t . . . I know you don’t remember it all, but it’s always been you and me.”
    “I remember enough,” he said. “I feel enough.”
    He wanted to say more, but the enormity of it all—much of this was best left unsaid. For now, anyway. It was still so fresh in his mind, this feeling. This feeling of completeness .
    So he ate the bagel. Always eat the bagel.
    “Emma and Julian,” Simon said between bites. “They’re only fourteen.”
    “Jace and Alec were fifteen.”
    “Still, it seems . . . I mean, they’ve been through a lot. The attack on the L.A. Institute.”
    “I know,” Clary said, nodding. “But bad stuff . . . it brings people together sometimes. They’ve had to grow up fast.”
    A black horse-drawn carriage appeared on the edge of the road leading to the Academy. As it grew closer, Simon could see a figure in a plain, parchment-colored robe at the reins. When the carriage stopped and the figure turned to them, Simon could see the runes that sealed the man’s mouth. When the man spoke, it was not through normal words, but in a voice that landed right inside of Simon’s mind.
    I am Brother Shadrach. I am here to take you to the ceremony . Please get inside .
    “You know,” said Simon quietly as they got into the carriage, “there was probably a time when we would have considered this creepy.”
    “I don’t remember that time anymore,” replied Clary.
    “I guess we’re finally even on something we don’t remember.”
    The carriage was simply appointed in black silk, black curtains,