—John Milton, Paradise Lost Silent Brothers, Tessa saw with a frozen shock, bled as red as any mortal man did. She heard Charlotte shout out orders, and then Henry was tearing down the stairs, racing for the first carriage. He yanked the door open, and Jessamine tumbled out into his arms. Her body was limp, her eyes half-closed. She wore the ragged white dress Tessa had seen her in when she had visited her in the Silent City, and her lovely blond hair was shorn close to her skull like a fever patient’s. “Henry,” she sobbed audibly, clutching at his lapels. “Help me, Henry. Get me inside the Institute, please—” Henry rose, turning, with Jessamine in his arms, just as the doors of the second carriage burst open and automatons poured out, joining the first one. They seemed to be unfolding themselves as they stepped out, like children’s paper toys—one, two, three, and then Tessa lost count as the Shadowhunters around her seized weapons from their belts.
