Also by Cassandra Clare

of the car trunk. Mark looked over Dru’s gear, reminded her again that her job was to stay behind
them and to stick close to the others.
Emma unbuckled her arm guard and rolled up her sleeve. She held her arm out to Julian. He looked
at her bare arm and then up at her face and nodded. “Which one?”
“Endurance,” she said. She was already marked with runes for courage and accuracy, runes for
precision and healing. The Angel had never really given the Shadowhunters runes for emotional pain,
though—there were no runes to mend grief or a broken heart.
The idea that her parents’ death had been a failed experiment, a pointless throwaway, hurt more
than Emma could have imagined. She had thought all these years they had died for some reason, but it
was no reason at all. They had simply been the only Shadowhunters available.
Julian took her arm gently, and she felt the familiar and welcome pressure of the stele against her
skin. As the Mark emerged, it seemed to flow into her bloodstream, like a shaft of cool water.
Endurance. She would have to endure this, this knowledge, fight past and through it. Do it for
Tavvy, she thought. For Julian. For all of them. And maybe at the end of it, she would have her
revenge.
Julian lowered his hand. His eyes were wide. The Mark blazed against her skin, infused with a
brightness she had never seen before, as if the edges of it were burning. She drew her sleeve down
quickly, not wanting anyone else to notice.
At the edge of the bluff, Kieran’s white horse reared up against the moon. The sea crashed in the
distance. Emma turned and marched toward the opening in the rock.