Well, in some ways, yes [it does get better]. You start to know yourself better. You get over heartbreak once, you know you can survive it. You start to recognize the hurt for what it is, and…you endure. But in other ways, it gets much harder. The stories you tell yourself start to wear thin. ‘I’m still young’ stopped comforting me after my first centennial. ‘I’m just intimidating,’ that was another. I told myself I was too open, or maybe too closed off. I did too much for this person, then not enough for this person. None of it worked. None of them worked. And then, at some point, the hurt comes again and you have nothing left to say to yourself, except ‘Maybe I’m not meant to have this.’

Alec Lightwood might kill him, and Magnus had felt that death before. The death of hope; the crumbling, cutting decay of loving someone and realizing they didn’t love him back. Alec had unlocked something in him, and in all the delight and attraction, Magnus had forgotten all the reasons he’d locked himself away in the first place.