Thump. The knife hit the target, right in the middle. A perfect shot. Clary wasn't phased by her impeccable accuracy, though. You see, every shot was a perfect shot. Whatever the weapon, seraph blade, arrow, throwing star, she always hit the bullseye. She was one of the most skilled Shadowhunters in the world. She was the best of the best of the best, and she knew it. Clary was in her loft, in New York City, which doubled as a practice area. It was full of mats and practice dummies, most of which had been mangled, as well as weapons covering every wall. It was bright and airy, while also being cozy. She looked around. This, to her, was her sanctuary, her safe place, her home. Here she could be who she was on inside, without letting the world see her true self.

Clary didn't belong to an Institute, like other Shadowhunters, even though she was underage. Most underage Shadowhunters had to live in an Institute, under supervision, but seeing how capable Clary was of defending herself, and how unwilling she was to live like the others, the Clave had made an exception. Like others of her kind, she had to follow lots of rules, some of which applied only to her. The most important ones were threefold: She had to get every mission approved by the Clave, unless it was an emergency; a supervisor had to come every month to check on her living situation to make sure she was still capable of living on her own as an underage Shadowhunter, even though she was almost eighteen; and most importantly, she had to stay of of trouble.

.o.O.o.

Today was one of the days where a supervisor came to check up on her. She had cleaned her loft so it was spotless. She didn't want to give the Clave any reason to make her leave her home. The doorbell rang. I wonder who that is, Clary thought sarcastically. She opened the door. It was a Shadowhunter she didn't know. He was dressed in gear, like Clary; wearing a black, leathery outfit that consisted of a long sleeve shirt and pants that were protective like armor, but flexible at the same time. He had runes covering his whole body, also like Clary. His hair was jet black and he had blue eyes. He's really tall, Clary thought, though, that wasn't saying much considering Clary was short for her age. "Come in," said Clary. He stepped in and stuck his hand out.

"I'm Alec Lightwood," said the boy.

"Clary," she said, in a professional voice. She knew she wasn't the most warm person to be around. She had been called cold-hearted, unsympathetic, distant, etc. After her parents, Jocelyn and Luke Garroway, died, she shut anyone and everyone out, and had stayed that way through her adolescence. Alec was walking around, writing in a binder. He sure seems to be taking a lot of notes, Clary thought.

After a few short minutes, Alec took one final look around, and said, "I think I have everything I need. Have a good day, Clary." She smiled thinly. She walked him to the door and shook his hand again. After he left, she closed the door, and leaned against it. Clary's mind was running a mile a minute. She was asking herself questions such as, Why did Alec take so many notes? Why didn't he ask me more questions about my life in the past month? Is something going to happen to my freedom? She had a really bad feeling about this past visit. She didn't know why, but she knew whatever it was wasn't good. Clary decided that since she wasn't accomplishing anything by worrying about what's to come, she was going to try and sleep.

.o.O.o.

A couple of days had passed since the strange check-in by Alec Lightwood. Clary was starting to relax about the visit, and thinking how ridiculous she was for psyching herself out about it. She went to grab an apple from the fridge for breakfast and realized that she was out. Actually, she was out of a lot of things. Clary decided to go out to Java Jones for breakfast, maybe get a muffin, and then go to the grocery store. Once Clary got to Java Jones, she went up to the counter and ordered a coffee, black, and a blueberry muffin. She took a seat at a table while she waited for her name to be called with her order. Clary scanned the room, and realized that in the far corner, at a booth, there was a group of three Shadowhunters and a warlock. The Shadowhunters consisted of Alec Lightwood, whom she recognized, a sleek black-haired girl with a model-like body, and a boy who looked as if he had been dipped in melted gold. The warlock had eyes like a cat's, and seemed to be covered in glitter. Clary realized that they had felt the weight of her gaze when they had all turned to look at her. The golden boy smirked at her, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

After a second, she heard, "Clary?" It was the girl at the counter with her order. She got up to retrieve it, and without a second glance at the corner booth, she walked out. At the store, Clary was about to get into the checkout line after getting everything she needed, when she realized that her birthday was tomorrow. Ever since her parents had passed, she'd had no one to spend her birthday with, so she had started the tradition of getting a cupcake and a candle at the store, and celebrating by herself. Once she had gotten her birthday supplies, if you could even call it that, she went home.

.o.O.o.

Today was a big day, it was Clary's eighteenth birthday. She had woken up, and made pancakes and bacon, before getting started on her daily fighting practice. She was right about to throw the glowing seraph blade in her hand when there was a knock at her door. Hmm...who is at my door?, Clary thought. She was hoping it wasn't anyone important because she was covered in sweat. Clary opened the door, and standing in front of her was Maryse Lightwood. Thoughts were flying through Clary's head as to why the head of the New York Institute was standing in her doorway. She rarely made house calls, unless it's on important business.

"Maryse, what are you doing here?," wondered Clary.

"Can I come in?," Maryse asked.

"Um… sure." Maryse stepped inside and looked around as Clary closed the door. Maryse turned around and looked at Clary. She said, "Clary, I have been very lenient and respecting of your wishes to live on your own, without supervision. I feel, that because of my kindness, you should return some of your own. At the Institute, we just lost a Fighting and Defense teacher on a mission. Therefore, we are down a couple of hands, and we have too many students for too few of teachers. I was wondering if you could come teach a class of Fighting and Defense at the Institute. I would need you to move in there, as we will need all hands on deck, and we may need you at a moments notice."