"I love you, Tessa Carstairs. I have never loved any but you," Jem murmured softly into her ear, brushing his hands at her shoulders, at the straps of her soft lace sleeves. Desire and love clogged his throat, making his throat feel congested. His pulse raced hard and fast through his body, in his chest.

Beneath him, Tessa smiled up and back at him, her smile sweeter than anything he'd ever encountered. Sweeter than sugar. Sweeter than spice. Sweeter than the yin fen, his drug, the poison that was slowly, slowly killing him. Tessa was sweeter than all of it. When he even just looked at her smile, he felt strength course through his every limb. A ray of light burst through the angry storm clouds of his terrified heart, giving way warmth to his eternal, internal cold. Lovingly, she reached up and touched his cheek, stroking the pale skin there, sending deep shivers of pleasure tingling his nerves, bringing him on edge. Most absently, she tucked a lock of silver behind his ear and brought him down over her, pressing her face into the curve of his neck.

"I love you too, James Carstairs. I love you more than anything." Her hands found the line of his spine, pressing them closer, pressing their bodies together, and Jem couldn't help but flush with shame and embarrassment. He wasn't like Will. Unlike his hot-headed parabatai, where Will had thick, corded muscle that defined his frame, there was little on Jem's body. Where Will was gorgeous in his own way, with black hair and blue eyes, Jem was silver. The drug. The yin fen. That blasted, filthy drug. That grimy demon who tortured him, who addicted him to it—

His thoughts immediately ended in an abrupt halt. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Quickly, he scrambled off of his beautiful new wife and rolled to the side of the bed, just in time to feel his body convulse, then a thick spurt of blood spew from his lips. It splattered sickeningly against the floor, staining the Institute floor with dark crimson.

Hot tears sprung to his eyes. The pain wouldn't end. He felt it, the agony of the drug. It was pulsing in him, like some new, parasitical organism, twisting, writhing. Jem sat up quickly just in time for a bout of coughing. It was a gurgling, moist cough and made his chest ache; when he pulled his arm back from his mouth, he was not surprised to find his wrist smeared with red. What he was surprised of was that the pain—oh God, the unbearable, searing pain—refused to go away. He couldn't stop coughing, shedding blood. Cold terror gripped him. Was he dying?

"James? James!" Tessa had lurched up from the bed and seized his shoulders from the back, gripping him hard on either side of his neck. He was gasping now. Gasping and sobbing. No. No, no, no. No. He couldn't die. He couldn't. He was only seventeen. Seventeen, with a beautiful, loving wife. Seventeen, and dying, his fate that of silver and blood.

"Tess—Tessa!" Terror gripped him. He didn't want to die. He was only seventeen, and he was dying. His body was stiff as he fought to control the convulsions that wracked his body.

"Don't worry, James. Don't worry." Tessa's protective, gentle voice carried on softly in his ears, more musical and tender than the music that originated from his violin. She ran her hands gingerly across his shoulders and caressed his back, calming him with the hands that sent cold shivers scurrying through his delicate limbs. When he turned his head to look at her, her eyes widened, and her pretty face was broken. "You're okay. You're alright, you're going to be alright—"

His cheeks stung where his tears had wetted them. "Tess, don't. It's no use. Just stop. Please stop."

Her lower lip quivered. "James—"

"I'm sorry, Tessa. I'm so sorry." His shoulders shook and he began to sob, unable to contain his pain any longer. "I'm sorry that I'm going to die and leave you all alone. I'm sorry."

Now Tessa was crying. Dewdrop tears glittered like sapphires on her cheeks in the light of the moon shining through the window. Carefully, she turned him around and pulled him into her arms, resting his head against her chest, and cradled him. She rocked him back and forth like a small child and he allowed himself to be rocked, allowed himself to feel her comfort. All the while, against his ear, the clockwork angel's inner mechanisms worked, ticking rhythmically, like the sound of her heart just beneath it.

"We'll find a cure, James. Me, you, Will, Charlotte—all of us, we'll find one. And then you'll be safe. Then we can be together forever." She ran her hand through his hair and reached around to brush the blood from his lips with her thumb. "Do you understand me?"

He closed his eyes, just as another tear fell from beneath his silver lashes. He wanted to believe her. Jem wanted to believe her with all his heart. But it had been five years since it happened. There was no hope. Soon enough, the eternal darkness would swallow his vision, and the light would drain from his eyes forever.

"Tessa," was all he whispered.