I probably shouldn't be publishing this when I've got three other stories to work on. But having lots of things to update puts me under more pressure, and it helps writers block if I have more things to work on. I'm not sure how often I'll update. Basically I'll write this whenever I feel like ripping my own heart out.

Note: My updates in all my stories will slow down. I'm very busy at the moment and have less time to write.

Disclaimer: I sadly don't own TMI.


Silent

S

Jonathan Morgenstern lugged his heavy suitcase up the short flight of stairs that led to the front door of his home. The familiar fire engine red paint peeling off the wood felt rough under his hands as he dumped his bag onto the top step - wincing as it landed on his toe - and pushed at it, using his right hand to twist the brass knob.

He frowned when it didn't budge. Clary never kept the door locked, not whilst she was in. She was absurdly trusting of others.

He momentarily debated whether or not she was out with Simon, but dismissed the thought almost as soon as it formed. She must have seen the hurried text he'd sent her, saying he would come home that day. She never ignored his texts. It wouldn't be out of character for her to have missed school that day just so she could greet him.

Not that she would have needed to. At five in the afternoon, she should have finished the day by now.

So, having faith that she would answer, he gave five short sharps presses to the doorbell and stop there, tapping his foot impatiently. He heard the harsh trilling echo along the long corridor beyond the wood.

Jon furrowed his brows and leaned in closer as his ears caught a snatch of noise. Unfamiliar voices resonated from inside his house; some seemed male, some female. He bit his lip. No one had answered the door yet. He rang another five times, damning all aspects of politeness. He dropped his hand and waited. He shifted on the balls of his feet.

They must have heard him.

Growing impatient, he burrowed under the mat, thanking every known deity when his fingers slid over the cold hunk of metal they kept stashed there for emergencies. He pulled the spare key out and with unpractised fingers slid it into the keyhole in the door. With a violent jerk it twisted the door open, which swung inward to show the corridor beyond.

Jonathan's tingling sense of unease increased. The hallway was lit - but dimly so. The faintest sheen of dust cobwebbed the floor, as it had a tendency to when the hallway wasn't swept every few days, only disturbed by a stampede of footprints that led down it. The photographs lining the walls in their frames were slightly crooked, some with spiralling cracks barely formed in them.

He took a tentative step into the home that no longer felt like home. The door swung shut with a jarring thud behind him. The door to the living room was propped open; he checked inside to find the colourful carpet muddied and holes picked in the furniture. He shut that door as well, before continuing down the corridor. The ivory blonde eyed the other doors along the route, shut firmly closed. He was half afraid to open them, lest this alien dreading feeling increase whilst he looked.

Light streamed under the door at the end of the corridor - the one that led to the kitchen. The voices came from there. As he got nearer, Jon could begin to distinguish words and individual people. He recognised a total of two: Clary's friends, Simon and Maia. And- was that Magnus? But the rest were a mystery.

He reached out to gently turn the handle to the door. He winced as it screeched out a warning. Did it always do that?

After the darkness of the corridor, the merciless neon lights that bounced off all the white and silver surfaces in the kitchen briefly blinded him. By instinct he raised his left hand to block the light, and at first all he could make out were six silhouettes. He couldn't make out their faces yet, but he had the uncomfortable feeling they were all staring at him.

He blinked fiercely and his pale eyelashes did their job and filtered the light enough for his eyes to function properly. He took the opportunity to study the scene before him. Six people occupied the room. None were adults, and none were Clary.

A girl of mixed race with black hair expertly held in braids and amber, unabashedly surprised eyes stood holding a packet of crisps, chewing on one with seemingly deliberate slowness. Maia, he was sure. Next to her, a boy with gangly legs crossed over the wood of the chair and dark hair tumbling over glasses in an inelegant way. Simon. His eyes skipped over Magnus, since it physically hurt to look at him, he was wearing so much glitter, but he could see enough in his peripheral vision to know the oriental boy wasn't grinning at him for once. Odd.

Those were the only ones he recognised. Standing close behind the chair Magnus sat in was a stunningly attractive boy of about Jon's age with raven hair, skin as pale as a cloud, and startled startlingly blue eyes. Jon's perceptive gaze almost immediately zoomed in on the long dextrous fingers that gripped the back of Magnus' chair. Also odd.

Perched on the windowsill yet somehow refraining from knocking over Clary's painstakingly cared for potted plants was a tall girl of about his sister's age, with the same black hair and facial bone structure as the previous boy, so he presumed they were siblings. The girl had thick eyelashes that veiled her eyes, but he determined them to be a very dark brown. She surveyed him with a guarded, judgemental expression that instantly had Jon bristling. This was his house. She had no right to judge him here.

The final person in the room was a tall, broad-shouldered boy who could have been Jon's or Clary's age. He was leaning against the sink with an air that was so unaffected Jon could immediately pick up on the falseness of it. Golden curls that wouldn't be out of place on Cupid's head framed a chiselled, shockingly handsome face. A faint frown illustrated his features, and he eyed Jon through striking yellow eyes with something far too close to suspicion for the Morgenstern's liking.

"If you don't mind me asking," Jon snapped his head to look at the dark-haired beauty as she spoke. She wore a condescending expression that told Jon she would ask whether he minded or not. "But, who the hell are you?"

Jon squared his shoulders as a look of annoyance floated across his features. "Jonathan Morgenstern." He spat back at her. "And might I inquire what you're doing in my house?"

The three who already knew who he was looked utterly calm, but the three strangers were taken aback. The boy at the sink rose his head, his frown changing to one of confusion. "You're Clary's brother?" He asked. As Jonathan nodded, he vaguely registered that his skin was also gold. It was like someone had built him entirely out of precious metal. "The one who never responds to her messages and calls?" Jon felt indignity rising up inside him. "I thought you were on an exchange program in Germany."

He nodded again, trying to quench the defensiveness. "I was. Now I'm back. Who are you people, what are you doing here, and where is my sister?"

Aureate eyes narrowed, but no comment was passed. "I'm Jace Lightwood," he said cautiously. "And these are my siblings: Alec and Isabelle."

Jon nodded to them impatiently. "And where's Clary?" At the lack of answer he turned to Simon. The two had been attached at the hip for as long as he could remember. "Simon? Do you know?"

More silence. It was getting quite irritating.

It was Maia who finally spoke. "You didn't know?" She asked incredulously. Jon shook his head with bewilderment and a prick of shame.

"How could you not know?" Jace burst out, a slight heat behind his words. "When was the last time you heard from her?"

Jon frowned. "Two weeks ago," he stated dismissively. "But I sent her a text last night she never responded to."

His confusion only grew at Jace's bark of cruel laughter. He waited for an explanation, but it never came.

"Jon," Simon spoke for the first time. He seemed to be weighing his words with more care than Jon had ever seen him take. "Clary's... asleep."

"Then wake her up." He said bluntly, but a cold fear was growing in the pit of his stomach. No.

No.

Simon winced (No). "We... can't." He said finally. No no no.

Jon took a strangled breath (was it always that hard to breath?) but there seemed to be a knot halfway down his trachea. "She's not... d-de-"

"NO!" The cry had come from more than one direction. Scanning the room, Jon deduced that it had come from Simon, Maia, Isabelle and Jace. Magnus had stayed silent. That was odd of him. "No," Maia continued in a rush. "But- she's in a coma at the hospital."

Jon's heart decided to try and break the speed limit. Questions swam behind his emerald eyes, blurring his vision - or was that tears? - but he could only manage two weak words. "How? Why?"

Magnus spoke for the first time. His angular face was grim, and Jon absently noted Alec's hand had moved from the back of his chair to his shoulder. The blue-eyed boy was the only one who hadn't said anything yet.

"It's quite a long story."


Review? There will be more drama later on, I just needed to get the basic concept down.