"Do you think I did the right thing?"

Emma turned over to look at Julian, lying in bed beside her. This kept happening; they had these lapses of judgement and they would end up beside each other in bed. Sometimes, Emma woke up startled and angry with them both when she saw Julian beside her. In the days, self-restraint was easier. They had the kids to deal with then. She tried telling herself it was no different than how it always had been, that they slept together for comfort when nightmares descended. But she had to admit, it was more. It felt more, after what had happened on the beach. Julian felt different. When she rested her forehead against his back, the cotton of his shirt felt like an obstacle rather than an item of clothing. His gentle snores were maddening not because they disturbed her but because they were a reminder that the human need for sleep had no care for forbidden lovers and their need to talk every moment of every day that they were alone in order to feel like none of this was pointless. But it was, of course. Pointless. Sometimes, when Julian told Mark that something he was doing was in direct violation of Clave rules, Emma could hardly stop herself from exclaiming 'Everything we about everyone under this roof is! What about the LA Institute isn't a violation of stupid Clave laws? It's basically a requirement of living here at this point!'

"About what?" Emma asked sleepily. Usually, she'd know without the need for an explanation. It was two in the morning though, so she forgave herself that.

"Letting Ty and Kit go out alone," Julian elaborated. "Do you think it was the right thing to do?"

"He came back, didn't he? He's fine."

"What if he hadn't?"

"Why would you even think about that?" Emma asked, sounding sleepily frustrated. "You're just torturing yourself."

"I know, it's just…"

"We did far more dangerous things when we were twelve, let alone fifteen," Emma reminded him. "Come on, Jules. It was a library, not a crack house." Julian laughed under his breath. "And besides," Emma went on. "You're being a hypocrite. Yes you are!" she added quickly as Julian opened his mouth to protest. "You are! You'd let Livvy go out with a friend – maybe even alone. We went out by ourselves when we were younger than Ty. You'd probably even let Dru go, and she's only thirteen!"

"It's different," Julian said, rubbing a hand over his face. Emma stroked a hand through his hair lazily, brushing it off his face. He smiled and put his arms around her as she laid her head against his chest. Emma remembered how it used to feel when she cuddled up to Julian, when he was six and with round edges, chubby cheeks and gappy teeth. Or when he was twelve and bony, all limbs and pointy elbows. Now, he was different. Hard muscles had formed under his tanned skin, his jaw had gotten stronger, his shoulders broader. Emma wondered if Julian ever thought about how she'd changed. She supposed he must have. She rolled over and he buried his face in the space between her shoulder blades. Her hair tickled his face, but he didn't mind. She turned back to face him and grinned, draping her own long hair over his brown waves.

"So pretty," Emma giggled.

"Well, blondes have more fun, right?" he countered.

"Maybe. You'll have to ask Mark," she grinned, shaking her head. Her hair fell back around her shoulders and she reached a hand out to write on his arm. 'Night, Jules.'

'Night, Emma.' he scribbled back.

When he woke up, she was gone. He walked downstairs, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and blinked in confusion at the sight of Emma doing dishes at the kitchen sink.

"You missed breakfast," she said, and pointed to a bowl on the table. "Tavs insisted on making you cereal anyway."

Julian went over to the bowl and spooned a small amount of cereal flakes up. They'd disintegrated into a pulpy mush and Julian let them fall back into the milk with a dismal 'plop'. Emma laughed.

"By the way, I was saying to Ty that maybe it was best he and Kit do what Tavvy's doing and just do written work until after Ty's interview. I think maybe yesterday was a good indicator that maybe we pushed him too hard when he's still getting used to all of this."

Julian nodded. "I think you're right. Besides, it might be good for Kit and Ty to be sparring partners. Livvy has a different fighting style to Ty."

"Yeah, because Ty's style is that he doesn't fight," Emma laughed. "But I agree. Maybe Livvy could work with Mark. She's amazing for her age, and Mark missed his training since he was her age. They're basically at the same level training wise. He obviously has the edge in hand to hand combat, but I think they'd work well."

"Sure. We could try it, at least."

Emma put the last glass upside down on the counter and turned to Jules. "I'm gonna go shower. Get breakfast, yeah?"

"Will do."

He put some bread into the toaster and wondered what the Institute would be like if he didn't have Emma.

"Kit and I are going to the beach," Ty told Emma as she walked into the training room. "Is that okay?"

"Sure thing," she nodded. "But you hate the beach."

"I'm exposing myself to it," Ty informed her. "It's called systematic desensitisation."

"Okay. Well, have fun," she said. "Take your phone!"

Ty waved a yes and went to knock on Kit's bedroom door. He had a backpack on his shoulders that was full and heavy. It always made Livvy giggle. 'You look like a hiker, not a fighter,' she'd say. Kit put his head cautiously around the door, but opened it fully when he saw who it was.

"Ty, hey. I was just reading the Codex."

"Do you want to come with me to the beach?" Ty asked. He watched as Kit's mouth turned up in a smile, his eyes crinkling up. Ty knew he wrinkled his nose sometimes when he was stressed or concentrating, or when he was smiling. He thought it was probably the last one. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes," Kit nodded. "I'll get my books and stuff. Two minutes."

Ty sat down in the hall and pulled his knees up, pulling his backpack off and getting out his copy of the library book Kit had found. The door opened again a few minutes later and Kit shut it behind him.

"The book is great," Ty commented, and put the ribbon back into it to mark his page as he put it in his backpack. He hitched the bag onto his shoulders; Kit's own books were in his arms. "Let's go. I asked Emma in case Julian said no, and I'd rather go now before he realises we're gone."

"Tiberius Blackthorn, you rebel."

Ty laughed and the two of them headed out of the door. The wind whipped at Kit's face on the hilltop the institute sat atop, but he could already tell the day would be hot, the sun beating down on the crown of his blonde head like a halo. It felt warm and comfortable, and Kit wondered if Julian would notice if Kit ran away and never came back. Maybe none of them would. He heard a laugh from ahead of him and looked up. Ty. Maybe Ty would notice. Well, he definitely would; Ty noticed when someone moved the vase on the hall table half an inch to the left. But he was an enigma. He sometimes didn't even notice when people came into and out of the room he was in if he was concentrating on something. In fact, people could ask him the same thing three times before he'd answer. But Kit got the feeling Ty would notice if he left. He wasn't sure why he was so certain of this fact, but he was.

"What are you laughing at?" Kit asked bemusedly.

"Watch," Ty said, pulling Kit by the arm to where he stood on the cliff's edge. Kit's heart raced and he stepped back quickly. He could still see what Ty was looking at, Ty's hand still on his arm. Down below, on the beach path, a man was walking a big dog – or rather it was walking him. The dog was ploughing along, zigzagging the pathway and tangling its leash in streetlights, the path of joggers, and its helpless owner. Kit smiled and glanced at Ty. He remembered what he'd thought the very first time he saw the Shadowhunter; 'how beautiful'. Not even personally; objectively Ty was beautiful. That was more of a fact, Kit believed, than an opinion. A lot of the time, Ty looked serious, like more thought happened in his head than in everyone else's. It sometimes made Kit feel tired just watching Ty exist. He looked like a philosopher, all contemplative and sombre, and so when he laughed, a deep weight settled itself in Kit's chest which was unfamiliar but not entirely unpleasant.

Ty wasn't as sure. Unfamiliar was the sensation that was coursing through his veins from the tips of his fingers that touched Kit's arm. But was it unpleasant? He wasn't sure. It had all the products of something that ought to be unpleasant; racing heart, a strange fluttering in his stomach, occasional flushes. Medically, this sounded like a disaster. Practically, it wasn't all that bad. They watched until the man with the dog disappeared from sight, and Ty kept his hand on Kit's arm for longer than necessary because his warm skin under Ty's cool hand felt good.

"What's…this?"

Kit looked at the rune Ty had drawn in the sand with his finger, then up at Ty.

"Awareness?"

Ty nodded. "Uh huh. Your turn."

"What is your favourite Nephilim text?"

"I…"

"Eye contact," Kit prompted. Ty nodded and looked up.

"I appreciate the texts of the Victorian era, when the Nephilim world was reaping the fruits of the mundane industrial revolution. The book that sums up the technological advances from the time is, to me, Henry Branwell's memoir 'A Whoops and a Bang: The Shadowhunter of the Modern Age'." He breathed out. "Was that good?"

Kit nodded. "Perfect."

Ty grinned, and scooped up a fistful of sand, letting the grains fall through his fingers like water. He dug his hands under the sand, burying them deep, warming them in the grains heated from the scalding LA sun. Ty was sat in the shade, and still it was hot. Kit was all tanned, his skin golden like his hair. Ty supposed Kit must be used to the sun. He looked down at the pale skin of his own wrist. Ty hated the heat, especially hated direct sun. If he had his way, it would be Fall all year round. When it was too hot, Ty would pull his bedroom curtains shut and sit in the room, his fan on and headphones over his ears to mask the whirring noise of it. Right now, though, he didn't mind it too much. It was tolerable. Kit wasn't tall enough to cast a very big shadow, so Ty was keeping his legs crossed to fit inside the small amount of shade Kit was casting. The feeling of sand between his fingers was relaxing, a therapeutic hourglass with an infinite bottom.

"What are you doing?" Kit asked.

"It was me next," Ty said. "I was thinking of a question."

"Sorry," Kit said. "Ask me a question."

"What's…this?" Ty asked, drawing a rune in the sand with a stick, his other hand still picking up and raining sand.

"Good luck."

"Uh huh," Ty nodded.

"What are you doing?" Kit asked again.

"There was a philosopher called Henry David Thoreau who said that 'Time is like a handful of sand…'"

"'…The tighter you grasp it, the faster it runs through your fingers.'" Kit finished. "You're testing his statement, aren't you?"

Ty nodded shyly. "None of my family care about that stuff."

"Philosophy was one of my electives at school."

"What were your others?" Ty asked, watching the tide darken the sand at the shoreline as it lapped in and out.

"AP physics and photography."

"All of your electives start with 'ph'," Ty observed.

"I never noticed that."

"Photography? I haven't seen you take any photos."

Kit felt suddenly queasy. He knew exactly why he hadn't been taking photos recently. If his dad had been here, he would've noticed too. That's when they both knew it was getting bad again, that Kit's temper was wearing thin, and he'd soon snap. Right now, Kit was too miserable to be particularly angry anymore. It was less like a constant bubbling and more like a volcano. Like with Julian yesterday, when he'd blown up at him when they were training. He was empty and then suddenly he was furiously explosive. Worse, he didn't even really feel enough of anything to be creative. Sometimes, when he was mad or sad, his pictures came out more emotive. He'd tried to photograph some stuff this morning, and every single one came out looking stiff and wooden. He felt utterly empty, like his brain couldn't even begin to process the sadness and mourning and fury until it was too late and he found himself lashing out.

"I guess I haven't had time," Kit shrugged.

"That's too bad," Ty said, laying back in the sand.

You have no idea, Kit thought. Sometimes, he thought photography was the only thing that kept him sane. When he was twelve and terrified of the demons other people didn't see, when he was fifteen and confused by the constant stream of mysterious people coming into and out of their living room, when he'd spent his ninth birthday blowing out the candle on the cupcake his dad had bought, swearing he'd be down a couple of hours ago. Any of that could have driven him mad. But they didn't, because he could hide from it all behind his camera. He'd experimented with everything; taping pieces of card with circles cut out over the lens, adjusting the settings to capture the transient secrets written in the light of sparklers on New Year's. It was by his bed, and when he couldn't sleep, he'd lean right out of the big bay window, clinging to the pane with one hand, and take endless pictures of an LA caught in vulnerable slumber. He'd thrifted an old tie to make a strap. It was his prized possession. If anything have happened to it that night…A wave of guilt rocked him like a boat on a rough sea. There was no way to say how sad he'd have been to lose his camera in the attack when he'd lost his dad. He'd lose everything – books, camera, every material possession – to have his dad back for just one hour.

"Kit? Why are you crying?"

Kit snapped from his reverie sharply, putting a hand to his cheek. A single tear was running down his face, more welling in his eyes. He wiped them roughly, cheeks flushing. This was his time to be alone, and sad. He wished Ty would just get lost. Well, no… not exactly. He wished he'd kept it together, not been so weak. He wondered if Ty would go and tell Livvy that Kit had been crying about cameras.

"I'm not crying," Kit snapped. "The salt from the sea and the wind blowing the sand up, it's getting in my eyes."

"I have some sunglasses in my bag, I think," Ty offered. Of course you bloody do, Kit thought bitterly. Thinking it made him more angry; with himself for blaming Ty just because he was the only person who would get close enough to be made guilty by association, with the Shadowhunters as a whole for not doing their job well enough to save his dad, and at Johnny. For leaving him when he needed a father most. For being a bad dad, a deadbeat dad, a dead dad. He picked up a rock and hurled it hard into the ocean. He saw Ty look across at him and, feeling somewhat judged, Kit got to his feet, collecting up his books.

"I'm going for a walk," he declared.

"But, Jules said…"

"I don't care!" Kit yelled. Ty flinched. "I don't care what he said! He's not my dad, and he's not yours! They're dead, both of them!"

"But we're not," Ty said shakily, stock still where they'd been sitting.

"I wish I was!" Kit shouted, and dropped his books in the sand. "And don't follow me," he added, voice splintering furiously, as he disappeared behind a sand dune.

Ty dropped down where he was onto his knees in the sand, and set about leaving a breadcrumb trail. A marker. An X to mark the spot. Three rocks in a triangle pointing toward where Kit had headed, on the place where they'd been. A clue for later. He grabbed the books Kit had left behind and put them in his backpack, before slinging it onto his shoulders and setting off running. Ty wasn't really a running person, especially not on the sand that was contrary enough to be solid and pleasant one moment, then liable to sink into loose, sliding patches that had more than once twisted Livvy's ankles when they'd played tag on the shoreline. But, nevertheless, he was home in less than ten minutes, flying through the Institute door and dumping his bag by the entryway.

"Julian!" he shouted, running to the bottom of the stairs. He knew where Julian would be; the training room. "Julian!"

Footsteps came running overhead, before Julian emerged down the stairs with the rest of the Blackthorns and Emma in tow.

"Ty, what's wrong?" Julian asked, voice tight and worried.

"Kit! He said he was going for a walk and not to follow him!"

Julian sighed, exhaling in relief mixed with thinly-veiled frustration. "Is that all?" he asked. "Ty, sometimes people want to be on their own. That's fine. He knows the area, he won't get lost. Don't worry."

"I know that! You don't understand!" Ty protested. "He's sad and…and angry."

"Are you sure?" Julian asked gently, and Ty scowled. He knew sometimes he wasn't the best at reading emotions all the time, but now he knew he was right. He had a feeling Kit thought he was very closed off, that he was unreadable. Not to Ty. Ty could read him like a book. In fact, Ty felt like he could read Kit better than anyone else, sometimes better than he could read himself. He remembered what Kit had said; that he wished he was dead. Ty didn't care what Kit had said, Ty knew he'd been crying. Ty also got the feeling he shouldn't tell Julian this. At least not right now. But he was in no doubt he was right.

"I am not lying!" Ty said angrily.

"How do you know?" Julian asked. "I'm not saying you meant to lie, I'm just saying…"

"I just do know!" Ty snapped. "I'm not stupid. How do you know that I'm frustrated?"

"You're right. I'm sorry. Right, come with me to find him." He turned to the others. "Mark, will you come too?"

"I'll stay here in case he comes back," Emma said.

"I'm coming too," Livvy said stubbornly enough that no one argued. She took Ty's hand as they went outside, Ty leading the way. "What happened?" she asked him quietly.

"I can't tell you," Ty said, sounding agonised.

"But we tell each other everything," Livvy said, shocked and sad. Ty glanced away.

"I know. I'm sorry," Ty said. "I just can't. It's not mine to tell."

"What is this?" Mark asked, when they drew closer to the formation of rocks Ty had left hurriedly in his wake.

"A clue. I left it," Ty said, sounding pleased. "This is where we were sat, and it's pointing in the direction he went."

"Clever," Julian nodded, impressed. "I'll follow this arrow then. He could've split off though," he pointed out sensibly. "Mark, you go left. Ty, Livs, head right."

Mark nodded, diverting off with his shoes dangling in one hand. He liked being barefoot, and would gladly welcome the cold floor of the Institute under his rough soles instead of wearing socks.

"Stick together!" Julian shouted after the twins.

"We're fine," she assured him, and Jules disappeared behind a dune just as Kit had done. It made Ty shiver, and Livvy turned to him. "Let's head up to the cliffs."

They took the winding path up toward the cliffs edge, where the wind was pleasantly mild. It would've usually been blustery this high up, but on a humid day it was a welcome relief. Livvy and Ty walked close by each other's side, eyes scanning for blonde hair and lanky limbs.

"How are you doing?" Livvy asked.

"With what?"

"You don't like change," she pointed out. "How are you feeling about Kit being here?"

Ty thought for a moment. "I don't mind change if it's good."

"What makes it good?" Livvy asked curiously. Ty shrugged. "I love you, Ty-Ty. Don't forget that, yeah?"

Ty looked across at her. "Of course I won't. What's wrong?"

Livvy shook her brown hair. "Nothing. I'm just being stupid."

Ty took her hand and she squeezed gently. That, Livvy thought, was more than enough to remind her Ty loved her. He didn't need to say it out loud for her to know that.

The ringing of Julian's phone pulled him out of his reverie. He clicked to accept the call and Emma's voice filled his ears, making the skin of his neck prickle.

"Hey, any luck?"

"Not yet, no," he sighed. "Hang on, I'll put a few runes on and see if that helps." He pulled his stele from his belt and slashed some runes across his arms; awareness, clarity, enlighten, guidance. It was annoying they couldn't just track him. They ought to call a warlock, but Malcolm wasn't exactly on hand anymore. "Okay, I'm back."

"Well, I just wanted to check. Should I call for Magnus to come over and track him if he isn't back tonight?"

He almost laughed. She seemed to be psychically linked to him.

"We'd probably better, yeah," Julian admitted reluctantly. "What will he think? Us, losing a brand new Shadowhunter?"

"We'll find him. It might just take some time," Emma assured him. "I'll let you go. Good luck."

Julian was starting to believe their mission may be two things; pointless and thankless. He had a feeling that maybe Kit didn't want to be found. Or, more likely, he did want to be found but not by them. Or he wanted to be found, but he didn't want to want to be found. Julian shook himself. He was going around in circles – figuratively, not in his search. He vaguely recalled something he'd heard that if you blindfolded a person, they would walk in a spiral. Jules wasn't sure under quite what circumstances this was discovered, but he assumed it involved alcohol. The sun was starting to wane as noon edged further into the past, the sun regressing similarly. He checked his watch. Six. It would be getting dark soon, and late. Julian wasn't sure he would sit still if he had to go back without Kit in tow. As frustrating as Kit was, Julian wanted him to be safe, with them. Since Julian's father had died, he'd noticed that he'd become increasingly paternal, had a strong urge to look after those under his care. Even with Mark, who he'd hoped would take over some of the responsibility to give Jules a break, he couldn't help but perform a kind of paternal role. Perhaps that wasn't fair, because Mark had taken a lot of the pressure off him and Emma. If they needed to take two people on a mission now, the two of them could feel safe in the knowledge someone was there for the kids. Diana had disappeared into the ether after what had happened with Malcolm, Cristina had one home to see her family, and Arthur wasn't any help.

For the longest time, when it had been just Emma and Jules, aged sixteen and old enough to go on missions, there was a constant internal struggle between a desire to help protect the mundanes and a greater desire to protect their children. One of the reasons Julian believed they were both such strong fighters was because, so often they'd each had to handle double missions alone. The Clave couldn't be tipped off about their predicament by unanswered calls to action, and so Emma had gone out slashing demons while Julian sprinted around after a small hurricane of Blackthorn. A househusband, Emma always said, cleaning her blade beside Julian as he washed dishes. He still remembered the day they'd decided that's how it would work.

The first time they'd been sent a mission that, they'd agreed, required the attention of both of them. A Ravener was lurking on their turf, violent and hell-bent on terrorising unsuspecting mundanes. The kill count was up to five and the mundane police were crying serial killer. It was imperative they handled it, the Clave said, because a media frenzy was growing and needed to be quashed. It was awful. The demon was awful. The battle was awful. The wounds were awful. But the worst part was the carnage they returned to. Tavvy was five, crying in the hall and banging his chubby fists against the floorboards. Dru, ten, had cut herself a fringe with blunted scissors, the ends jagged and uneven. Livvy and Ty were twelve, almost thirteen. She was shaking and Ty was holding her in his arms, saying the same word over and over in the scared, desperate tone Julian recognised; 'Sorry'. That was the voice that meant he'd done or said something he didn't mean to in a moment of panic. Julian and Emma had rushed into sorting the carnage out, and Julian had cried that night because he was failing them all, was doing a terrible job. It was times like those Julian wondered why the Angel had done this, had given him a responsibility that he was not old enough, wise enough, or prepared enough to handle. But then Tavvy presented him with a drawing of them, with arms like snowmen and flowers twice their size around them. Dru would hold his hand when they went for a walk. Or Livvy would pass a test she and Julian had been working on preparing her for and she'd come running to tell him, waving her paper happily, ready for him to hug her and tell her he was proud. Or Ty would lean in to him when they were watching TV, smiling up at him when Jules stroked his little brother's hair. And then it all made sense, why the Angel had done it. They were all so perfect, so wonderful, so kind, so his. He loved them, and wanted to look after them. And, similarly, he wanted to do the same for Kit.

He looked up, pulled from his nostalgia, and stopped still. Sat on a rock, throwing rocks into the ocean from where he sat, one overarm throw after another, one quiet splash and plume after another. Kit. Julian picked up a rock and tossed it into the sea, the splash it made on impact in Kit's eye line as he pulled his arm back. He seemed to pause for a moment to consider what just happened before realising and turning to where Julian stood.

"Hi," Julian said quietly. Kit was glaring at him through narrowed eyes, and he looked as if he were considering bolting, fleeing the situation. Julian didn't blame him. "Can I sit down?" he asked, nodding to the rock Kit sat on. Kit shrugged and looked away, which Julian optimistically decided to assume was a 'yes'. "What are you doing?" Julian tried. Kit shrugged again. When Julian didn't say anything, Kit replied.

"Sitting. Throwing rocks."

"Yeah? Is it helping?" Julian pressed.

"No," Kit said shortly. "Nothing helps."

"Helps with what?"

"You know," Kit said, quietly angry. And Julian did know. But he wanted to hear it from Kit, wanted him to know that he needed to say it and own it for them to be able to help him. That's what he always told the kids when they were sulking and wouldn't say why. "My dad is dead," Kit said hollowly.

"Mine too," Julian replied. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

Kit reached down and dislodged a chunk of stone from the boulder he sat on, nodding. "Yeah," he said, hurling the rock he held into the ocean. He slammed a first down on the hard surface beneath him. The pan ricocheted up his arm, but it still felt a little better. The racing inside him was slowing, like some of the anger might have sunk into the stone as he hit it. He did the same, again and again, until Julian said his name, quietly and calmly. Kit sat back, sweating and breathing hard. Julian remembered Emma, young and scared, clutching Cortana so tightly it had cut her, after her parents were declared dead. When he looked at Kit, he couldn't help but think of her.

"I'm sorry," Julian said, looking up at the darkening sky above. He could see the moon, a thin crescent, over the ocean. Emma would be worrying. He hoped Mark and the twins had gone home by now. He wanted to text all four of them, but he stopped himself from pulling out his phone. Kit had to know he was listening, that he wasn't dismissing the anger.

"Why are you sorry?" Kit asked, looking out at the darkening sea water. It was giving way from blue to a deep, less distinguishable colour, fringed white lacy edges where waves broke and sea foam rose and melted. Julian couldn't help but think of the original story of the little mermaid, where she melts to sea foam and dies for her prince. He wondered what kind of stupid and terrible moral that was, then wondered briefly – fleetingly really – whether he'd do the same. He wouldn't, obviously, he decided. Anyway, if he turned to sea foam that would probably have detrimental effects on Emma and their Parabatai bond too.

"Because our family is kind of…intense," Julian admitted. "We've always been around each other, always been a huge family. Sometimes I guess we forget that isn't what everyone is used to. It must be weird being an only child and then being thrown into our…mess."

"It's just different, I guess," Kit shrugged. "I don't know."

"A little," Kit admitted. "I'm used to having the house to myself. It wasn't that weird at home to go two days without talking to my dad or anyone else. It was like living by myself."

"So you're probably used to more independence than you have here," Julian reasoned. "It isn't really you we worry about when we're hesitant for you to go out with Ty."

"I know," Kit nodded. "It must be tough. I have a feeling the Clave aren't huge fans of Shadowhunters with Asperger's."

"With what?" Julian asked.

"Asperger's? Isn't that what Ty has?" Kit asked, then realised he might have jumped to conclusions. "Sorry, I didn't mean to assume anything."

No, no," Julian said absently. "It's…it's fine. But back to you," Kit saw him almost swallow back what he was thinking, push it to the back of his mind. Kit wondered if he'd said something wrong about Ty. "If you need space, Kit, we can give you space," Julian went on. "Emma and I were saying that maybe until you've read through the Codex, we'll hold off with physical training. How does that sound?"

Kit nodded. "Good."

"Maybe teaching yourself with Ty isn't working for you," Julian conceded. "If you want to work on your own, that's okay. He will understand. I'll explain it to him if you prefer?"

"No! Please!" Kit said quickly. "Please let me keeping working with Ty."

Julian glanced across. Kit was looking at him, properly looking at him, for the first time since Julian had found him here on the beach. He smiled, and a flicker of a smile was returned in Kit's eyes.

"Come on, let's go back. Ty and Livvy will probably be going crazy wondering where you are."

"Julian," Kit said, when they reached the Institute door. Julian paused and squeezed the boy's arm gently.

"It's okay," he said softly, and pushed the door open.

A whirlwind of chaos descended as the door opened. Ty, leaning over the bannister to watch the door, ran down the stairs. He stopped uncertainly in front of Kit.

"I was worried," he said, looking down at Kit, who only came up to the boy's jaw. Kit had to tilt his chin up to reply. When he went to meet Ty's eyes, the Shadowhunter looked away. Kit's heart squeezed in disappointment. Ty looked betrayed, and Kit reached a hand out.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. As his fingers brushed Ty's arm, the Shadowhunter flinched away like the touch was painful.

"Okay," Ty nodded. He turned to Julian. "Magnus and Alec are with their children in the lounge."

"What?" Julian asked, looking up sharply.

"We were worried you wouldn't find him," Dru said. "Right, Emma?"

"I thought it was best, before it got dark," Emma admitted. "I didn't know what would be best if you came back without him."

Julian nodded. "I better go and tell them they can go home. Everyone, go to sleep," he said. He turned to Kit. "That includes you. Get some rest, Kit."

He turned, heading toward the lounge, Emma behind him. He was about to protest, was about to say she ought to go to bed too. He somehow knew she wouldn't agree. She'd already stayed behind when they went out looking for Kit. He knew what she'd say; 'You don't get to pretend I don't exist because of what's happening between us, Julian Blackthorn. You don't get to ignore the fact I raised them too.' He turned to her and smiled, taking her wrist. On the skin there, he wrote a single word: 'thanks'.

She turned her wrist over and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "It's okay," she said quietly. "You'll love the kids," Emma added as they reached the door to the lounge. "They're totally adorable."

Julian smiled and pushed it open. Inside was the kind of perfect-looking family he always wished he'd been able to coral his own small army of children into. Magnus had a small, tanned boy with black hair on his lap, sleeping quietly against his chest. He was singing a song softly in a language Emma recognised from Cristina as Spanish.

"Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor

duérmete pedazo de mi corazón.

Este niño mío que nació de noche

quiere que lo lleve a pasear en coche.

Este niño mío que nació de día

quiere que lo lleve a la dulcería.

Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor

duérmete pedazo de mi corazón."

A little blue-skinned warlock baby was on Alec's knee, crossed-legged in lion footsies pyjamas.

"What do…dogs say?" he whispered.

"Woof woof," Max replied, clapping his blue hands together happily.

"What do cats say?"

"Meowww," Max answered. He looked down at his pyjamas and gasped excitedly. "Lions are a kind of cat!"

"They are." Alec nodded. "Big, big cats." Max gave a lion roar and Alec shushed him, smiling. "Rafael is sleeping," he said. "Come on, let's keep playing. What do cows say?"

"Moo."

"What does…" He grinned mischievously at Magnus, who gave Alec a warning look. "What does papa say?"

"More glitter!" Max parroted, pleased when Alec burst out laughing.

"I really wish you hadn't taught him that," Magnus said. Alec hugged Max closer, kissing his navy curls.

"Don't listen," Alec grinned. "It's my favourite thing."

Rafael stirred, curling against Magnus. He pointed and his dads turned to see Emma and Julian in the doorway.

"Hi, Julian. Sorry, we didn't have anyone to look after the kids this late," Magnus said, watching as Rafael wriggled off his lap and went over to his small bag, pulling out a book. "They're a little grumpy now because they want story time."

"Well we absolutely didn't mean to interrupt story time," Emma said, giving Max and Rafael apologetic looks. "I'm sorry. We'll let you get to bed soon."

"We found Kit," Julian said, sitting down on the sofa opposite them. Emma came and sat beside him. "He was on the beach, must have been there a while."

Rafael tugged on Alec's sleeve, brown eyes wide and imploring.

"Okay, go and get the book you want," he said, and put Max down. "Both of you pick together." He turned to Magnus. "I'll look after them. You sort the Kit situation."

"The Kituation," Emma whispered to Jules, who rolled his eyes.

Alec knelt down beside Max and Rafael, who were rifling through the bag, pulling out books.

"One, one," Alec said firmly. "You can pick one."

Magnus glanced at them fondly, and then turned back to Jules and Emma.

"Is he okay?" he asked. "Kit, I mean."

"Just angry," Julian sighed. "Sad."

"Understandable." Magnus nodded. "I'm glad he's okay."

"I just don't know what to do with him." Julian sighed, rubbing a hand across his face tiredly.

Emma put a hand on his shoulder and stroked his back slowly, calmingly. "You're doing your best," she said softly.

"It's not enough," Julian replied. "He's miserable."

"Of course he is. His dad just died. He hasn't got any other family. He's just scared, Jules. That's not anyone's fault, least of all yours."

"Can I offer some advice?" Magnus asked.

"Please," Julian said, a tired laugh escaping him. "Anything would be helpful."

"We found Rafael in a fairly bad state," he said. "In the Dark War, when the institutes were attacked all over the world, we found him in the rubble of the Buenos Aires Institute. I don't know how long he'd been there. He was so skinny, all dirty and frightened." Magnus looked across at him lovingly, sadly. "He hardly sleeps. He doesn't talk. It took us a long time to get him to start eating, before he'd let us anywhere near him. And I remember just thinking, 'I just want to hold you so tight and love you so much that you're never scared again.' But…you can't do that."

He looked over to see Rafael watching Max, jabbing at pictures with stubby fingers like fat blue crayons, saying nothing but smiling widely. Magnus smiled.

"I can't protect him. I can't stop him crying out gibberish that Alec and I don't understand when he sleeps. I can't change what happened to him. I can only make it so he gets a future that's better than it would've been if we hadn't found him. Sometimes, Jules, that's all you can do to start with. You have to remember that any improvement on the life of a kid whose world is broken is more than enough."

"How do you talk to him?" Emma asked, stepping in so Julian didn't have to talk. "Rafael, I mean. If he doesn't speak…?"

"We don't need him to talk for him to communicate with us," Magnus replied. "He likes lots of this, and he'll smile when we talk about them. He likes Spanish lullabies, and dancing and his light-up sneakers. We don't always get it right. We're still learning, and so is he," Magnus said proudly, intently. "Clary thinks he'll start talking now he knows he's safe with us, and…" he stopped himself, laughing bashfully. "Sorry, you don't realise how much you want to talk about them, do you?"

Julian nodded, smiling. "No, I know. I could talk about mine all day."

Alec, who had been absently watching, both Rafael and Max asleep on his lap, felt a tug at his heart. He knew he wasn't all that much older than Julian, only twenty-two himself, but it upset Alec possibly more than it should have to hear a seventeen year old talking about his siblings the two of them spoke about their sons. Alec wondered if Julian ever felt like he'd lost his childhood, whether he was taking on too much responsibility. Before his train of thought could go any further, the door opened. A blond-haired boy with mismatched eyes looked around the room.

"Greetings," he said quietly, seeing the two sleeping children. "Might I speak to Julian?"

"Sorry, we should let you go get the kids home to bed," Emma said, to Magnus and Alec.

Alec smiled gratefully. Magnus bent down and scooped Max into his arms, where the little warlock settled against his shoulder, rubbing his eyes. Alec held Rafe carefully, an arm under his knees and the other tight on his back.

"Give us a call," Alec whispered to Julian as Magnus opened a portal. "We'll see you soon. We're glad Kit's okay."

Julian waved them goodbye. It made him smile the way Alec had said it; 'We're glad Kit's okay', as if they were one person. Just like him and Emma. When Mark had left, and Emma had reached the door herself, he caught at her arm.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" he asked. He'd never had to ask before. But it was different now. She nodded, and disappeared upstairs, Julian not far behind.