Julian was still at the stove; Emma could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was listening. “It could be so many things.”

Cameron sighed. “Fine, be flip about it. I was worried about you. Be careful.”

“Always am,” she said, and hung up.

Silently, Julian handed her a plate of eggs. Emma accepted it, conscious that everyone was looking at her. She put the eggs down on the kitchen island and perched herself on one of the stools, poking at her breakfast with a spoon.

“Okay,” Livvy said. “If no one else asks, I will. What was that about?”

Emma looked up, about to give an annoyed answer, when the words died in her throat.

Mark was standing in the doorway. The tension of last night’s altercation in the library seemed to reappear, dropping a heavy silence over the kitchen. The Blackthorns looked at their brother, wide-eyed; Cristina stared down at her coffee.

Mark looked—normal. He wore a clean blue henley shirt and dark jeans that actually fit, along with a weapons belt around his waist, though there were no weapons in it. Still, it was unmistakably a Shadowhunter belt, runes of angelic power and precision punched into the leather. There were gauntlets on his wrists.

They all stared at him, Julian with his spatula in midair. Mark put his shoulders back and for a moment Emma thought he was going to sweep another bow, the way he had last night. Instead he spoke.

“I apologize for yesterday evening,” he said. “I should not have blamed you, my family. The politics of the Clave are complex and often dark, and not your fault. I would like to, with your permission, start over and introduce myself to you.”

“But we know who you are,” Ty said. Livvy leaned over and whispered in his ear, her hand brushing his shoulder. Ty looked back at Mark, clearly still puzzled, but also expectant.

Mark took a step forward. “I am Mark Antony Blackthorn,” he said. “I come from a long line of proud Shadowhunters. I have served with the Wild Hunt for years I cannot count. I have ridden through the air on a white horse made of smoke, and gathered up the bodies of the dead, and brought them to Faerie, where their bones and skin have fed the savage land. I have never felt guilty, but perhaps I should.” He let his hands, which had been clasped behind his back, fall to his sides. “I don’t know where I belong,” he said. “But if you let me, I will try to belong here.”

There was a moment of silence. The kids at the table stared; Emma sat with her spoon poised, holding her breath. Mark looked toward Jules.

Julian reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Why don’t you sit down, Mark,” he said a little hoarsely. “I’ll make you some eggs.”

Mark was quiet all through breakfast, as Julian, Emma, and Cristina filled in the others on what they’d discovered the previous night. Emma kept the details of the Mantid attack minimal; she didn’t want to give Tavvy nightmares.

Stanley Wells’s wallet was passed over to Ty, who looked thrilled to be handling a clue. He promised a full investigation of the unfortunate Stanley after the testing. Since Mark had no need to participate in the testing, Julian asked him if he would look after Tavvy in the library.

“I will not feed him to a tree, as is done in the Unseelie Court with unruly children,” Mark promised.

“That’s a relief,” Julian said dryly.

Mark bent down toward Tavvy, whose eyes were sparkling. “Come with me, little one,” Mark said. “There are books in the library, that I remember, that I loved as a child. I could show them to you.”

Tavvy nodded and placed his hand in Mark’s with total trust. Something went through Mark’s eyes then, a lightning flash of emotion. He went out of the room with Tavvy without another word.

Cameron’s warning stayed with Emma through the rest of the meal, as they cleaned up, and after they all filed to the classroom to find Diana there, holding a heavy stack of testing papers. She couldn’t get his words off her mind, and as a result scored dismally on languages and memorization of the classes of various demons and Downworlders. She mixed up Azazel and Asmodeus, Purgatic and Cthonian, and nixies and pixies. Diana glared at her as she marked the paper with Emma’s name on it with a fat red pen.

Everyone else scored high, and the few that Julian missed were ones Emma suspected he had gotten wrong on purpose to make her feel better.

Emma was grateful when they finished up the written and oral parts of the test. They took a break for lunch before moving down the hall to the training room. Diana had already set up the space. There were targets for knife throwing, swords of various sizes, and, in the middle of the room, a large training dummy. It had a wooden trunk, several arms that could be positioned and repositioned, and a stuffed cloth head like a scarecrow.

A circle of black-and-white powder surrounded the dummy—rock salt mixed with ash. “Attacking from a distance, with care and precision,” Diana said. “Disrupt the ash circle and you fail.” She moved toward the black box on the floor and flipped a switch. It was a radio. Noise exploded into the room, harsh and discordant. It sounded as if someone had recorded a mob in action, shouting and yelling and smashing windows.

Livvy looked horrified. Ty winced and reached for his headphones, dropping them over his ears.

“Distraction,” said Diana loudly. “You have to work past it—”

Before she could finish, there was a knock at the door: It was Mark, looking diffident. “Tavvy is busy with his books,” he said to Diana, who had reached to turn the noise down slightly, “and you had asked if I could join this part of the testing. I thought it best to oblige.”

“But Mark doesn’t need to be tested,” objected Julian. “It’s not as if his scores can be reported to the Clave.”

“Cristina doesn’t need her scores reported either,” Diana said. “But she’s joining in. I want to see how you all do. If you’re going to work together, it would be best if you all knew each other’s skill levels.”

“I can fight,” Mark said. He didn’t add anything about the night before, the fact that he’d held off Mantid demons on his own, without new runes. “The Wild Hunt are warriors.”

“Yes, but they fight differently than Shadowhunters,” Diana said, gesturing around the training room, at the runed blades, the adamas swords. “These are the weapons of your people.” She turned back to the others. “Each of you must choose one.”

Mark’s expression flattened at that, but he said nothing. Nor did he move as the rest of them scattered—Emma went for Cortana, Cristina for her butterfly knives, Livvy for her saber, and Dru for a long, thin misericord. Julian chose a pair of chakhrams, circular razored throwing stars.

Ty hung back. Emma couldn’t help but wonder if Diana noticed that it was Livvy who picked up a dagger for Ty and pressed it into his palm. Emma had seen Ty throw knives before: He was good at it, sometimes excellent, but only when he felt like it. When he didn’t, there was no moving him.

“Julian,” Diana said, turning the music back up. “You first.”

Julian stepped back and threw, the chakhrams spinning from his hands like circles of light. One sheared off the training dummy’s right arm, the other its left, before they buried themselves in the wall.