Amatis looked at her brother. Had been looking at him for some time now, but before she had been busy. He'd been so young, when they last had seen each other. It was strange to see him with stubble, hair slightly overgrown, even by his usual standards. He was broader than she was used to, but the years had not been kind to him. Even if he wasn't pale and gray, cold to the touch, looking tired even in rest – she could tell he'd struggled: hadn't always had a warm place to sleep, warm food to eat. But apparently, he'd done pretty well for himself later on. Had his shop, and a farm out in the country.

Despite all that, there was still something young about his face. Or perhaps she would always think that about him. And there was certainly an irony, her sitting with him now. She had not been happy, but she had been relieved when she'd learned Lucian took his life, all those years ago. Yet here she was by his side, Lucian having made the wound he hadn't then, with the kindjal he hadn't been able to turn on himself, only to now. He would have been successful if Magnus had not interfered. There was a lot of blood on his clothes. Seemed like all of it. Left them in a heap in the bathroom, wanted to burn them, just as Jocelyn wanted to melt the kindjal down. The blood that was both hers and not, dried and blackened, washing down the drain as she'd hosed him off as best she could. Got shampoo into his hair, soap on his skin. She'd done it many times when he was little, the two of them trudging down to the creek near their cottage. She'd tried to make a game of it: a footrace, a splash fight, who could hold their breath the longest.

His breathing was very shallow now. Even though the wound was closed. Left a nasty scar. Made her stop breathing, her hands shake, when she saw it. Be careful, what you wish for.

Of course, at that time like Valentine, like most Nephilim, she'd truly believed her brother was already dead. She stared at him now, to make sure he wasn't. Magnus had tried what he could: reviving tonics and healing spells, yet Lucian did not wake. There wasn't anything else obviously wrong with him.

Still, he looked like he was dying, his life force fading. Maybe he had used it all, fought with all he could to return to his human body. Maybe he had lived with the wolf for as long as he could.

Magnus had left her alone to her vigil, but appeared now to check on them. Or more likely, to check on her. "We've done all we can. We'll keep him comfortable and see what happens. Is there anything I can get you? Some food, a cup of tea?"

"Just some water. I can't eat."

"Very well." He fetched it for her, adding he would check in again soon. Amatis took a sip, abandoned the chair in favor of the bed itself. She'd often stolen all their covers, twisting in her sleep. Maybe he'd wake up to tell her off now, but he didn't, but she left him some anyway, and they could be cold together, just as they'd been most of the early winters on their own.

Sometimes she hummed to him, sometimes she dozed. Threw an arm over him, to make sure his chest still rose and fell. Willed the sun to rise, for him to make it through the night. Then finally said what she had been avoiding saying. "You've never been one to draw things out, so make up your mind: are you staying or are you going? But if you're waiting for me to leave the room, that's not happening. I held you when you were born, and I'll hold you now. That's what I told you, when I first got here: I'm staying until the end, whatever it may be. But don't keep me in suspense anymore, darling. Make up your mind."

Then she told him about stomping over to Celine Herondale's when she had wanted to die, and how furious she'd been with her, but she was also furious with herself for wanting to die after Stephen left, and then after Stephen died. How really, she and Celine had saved each other, and what a strange and wonderful gift being with her and Jace had been, to be with her husband's wife and child, all of them walking around with the same last name, and that she knew Lucian wanted to be with Jocelyn, have children with her too, and instead raised his parabatai's and a mundane who'd lost his father.

Told him how sorry she was for the way things had turned out, how much she regretted what she had done. And that she knew she had asked him to make up his mind, but she was also asking him to stay. She then closed her eyes, having said what she needed to say. Only to be woken sometime later, by a hand shaking her shoulder, that she instinctively batted away.

"Fine, go back to sleep, but first, give me some more of the covers," the hand replied, hoarse, as though from a raw throat, but in a voice she had not heard in a long time, and she slowly opened her eyes, to a dim gray light, and let loose her grip, for the hand to pull more over to his side.

But then she sat up, ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp – it had always taken long, to dry completely – and then it was her turn, to have a hand bat her away, as he instinctively burrowed into his pillow. She would have asked if he needed anything more, but he could be something of a bear when disturbed from sleep, and was probably reliving the same memories as she, all the times he had practically begged her to wake up and share.

She watched him, for a time. His breathing was steadier, his color returning in the growing light of dawn, so she slowly rose, padded away silently, and roused Magnus instead, who misinterpreted her stricken tears as a sign of the worst. However she shook her head and managed to inform him, "He woke up. My baby woke up."