Prologue: Stars

Atlanta: Two Years Ago

I don't know where I am where I wake.

I know there's a fire nearby, the source of heat in the cool night. I know that I'm outside, as I opened my eyes to see the stars overhead. I know there are people around me, able to see a few out of my peripheral vision and able to hear their breathing.

I don't know if it's from the nightmare I had or the fact that I don't know where I am, but my heart starts to race. I push myself up, looking for my brother. I vaguely recognize faces, but I don't spare them more than a second's glance because they're not Daryl.

Where is he? Oh god, oh god, where is he?

"Daryl?!" I question. I get no answer, starting to freak out even more as possible scenarios come crashing through my mind. The thought of anything happening to Daryl, anything at all, causes a lump in my throat that makes it difficult to breathe.

"Clary?" a voice questions. I get my hopes up at the voice, but they instantly fall when it's not one that I recognize as belonging to either of my blood brothers. "Clary?"

I turn, facing the person to my right. A young man, early twenties, eastern Asian. It all comes flooding back when I see his face, remembering where I am and everything that's happened. A camp on the outskirts of Atlanta, six days since the shit hit the fan. I can't speak, not past the thickness in my throat or the racing of my heart. "Clary?" Glenn repeats.

He squints through the darkness, using the light of the moon and fire. He scrambles to his feet once he gets a good look at me. He kneels beside me, pulling me into his arms as I shake. I cling to him, using his shirt to anchor myself to this world. "Hey, hey, hey, shh," he murmurs. "It's okay, it's okay. You're okay. It's alright. Just breathe, Clary."

Glenn continues whispering to me, shushing me and reassuring me that it's okay. I close my eyes as I latch onto him, trying to reassure myself that he's real, that it's going to all be okay. Daryl, wherever he is, will be okay. He won't stop looking for me or fighting to get back to me because he wouldn't ever leave me. I manage to get my breathing under control, still clinging to Glenn as he cradles me in his arms. "C'mon," he tries. "Let's go for a walk, look at the stars. That'll calm you down, yeah?"

I nod, and Glenn pulls me with him to his feet. He keeps an arm wrapped around my shoulders as we walk, stopping by his car. Glenn sits on the hood, patting the space beside him and smiling softly at me when I sit beside him. He rests his hand on mine, gently rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. "You okay?" he questions.

"I…" I pause, searching for the answer. "I guess I gotta be."

"Clary."

"I'm okay, Glenn," I tell him, my voice steadier when I say it this time. I'm not, but I'll pretend I am. Fake it till you make it. "I'm okay, okay?"

"Okay," Glenn says with a small smile.

"'Maybe okay will be our always,'" I joke.

"Shut up," Glenn says. He shakes his head, elbowing me. I lay back on the hood, resting my head on my hands and staring up at the sky.

The sky is the blackest I've ever seen it, no longer having a glow in it from the city lights. No, the only lights in it are the ones lightyears away. Thousands of stars shine bright in the late summer night, the welkin glittering.

"Wow," I breathe. "It's so different here than in Bronwood."

"It's the same sky, Clary," Glenn replies.

"No, it's not the sky."

"Then what is it?" Glenn questions, joining me as he lies back on the hood.

"Everything," I answer. "But the stars? Just… wow. It really puts it into perspective, doesn't it? How small we really are? How each one of us are nothing but a tiny spec in the universe? How we're nothing but pawns in the grand scheme of things?"

"How we're all nothing but clumps of carbon orbiting a burning star that could one day die and kill us all?"

"If the dead don't get us first." I glance over at Glenn. "We're insignificant. Obsolete. The darkness in oblivion."

"Do you believe in an oblivion? Er, an afterlife."

"Atheist."

"Me, too. But if Hell was real, do you think…"

"That we're living it?"

"Yeah."

"My entire life has been nothing but a living hell. I just descended into the next circle." I sigh. "What a shitty fucking life. I can't help but wonder, though, if this is what my life was meant to be. If all this shit is just a part of my destiny." I sigh again. "And then, I lose what I care about."

Glenn says, "We can blame the stars, we can blame destiny, we can blame ourselves or each other. But how do we know what's really to blame?"

"Jesus, if I talk about this anymore, I'm gonna have an existential crisis."

"Okay, okay, serious question," Glenn says, and I give him my full attention. "Aliens. Thoughts?"

"Area Fifty-One is fucking real and I'm gonna break into it now that the world has ended."

Glenn's eyes widen at my goal. "Yes, I love it," he breathes. "Let's do it."

"My second goal is Fort Knox. Go big or go home."

"I like the way you think. I'm down."

"We shall plan in the morning," I declare. "For now, I think you should get back to sleep."

"What about you?"

I give him a fake smile and for the second time tonight, I lie, "I'm good."

I barely spare Glenn a glance as he sits down beside me at the fire, the flames beginning to die now that it's morning and the temperature is beginning to rise. "Hey," Glenn greets.

"Morning, Short Round," I reply, turning my attention back to my bolts. While the others eat their breakfast, I get ready to hunt. I don't know how much I'll find, having a late start today after last night.

"Don't you think that's a bit racist?" the new girl questions. I glance up at her comment. It's the older of the two blonde sisters that joined our group yesterday. Andrea, I think her name is. "I mean, just because he's Chinese—"

"He's Korean," I interrupt before Glenn can correct her.

"Just because he's Korean," Andrea continues, "doesn't mean you can call him Short Round. I mean, that's, like, a stereotype, right?"

"Honestly, I'm just glad somebody knew that I was Korean and Not Chinese without me having to tell them," Glenn admits. I crack a grin, elbowing him. "What? And hey, Temple of Doom is my favorite Indiana Jones movie. Clary knows pop culture and have graciously awarded me the nickname Short Round. Her nicknames are a privilege, and I wear mine with pride."

"You done now, Blondie?" I question. "If you don't mind, go back to your Ugg Boots and Starbucks while I clean my bolts."

Beside me, Glenn snorts, trying to hold back laughter. Carl doesn't even bother to hold it back, openly laughing at my statement. I turn to him, teasing, "What're you laughing at, Grimes? Don't you have a baseball game to go play? A barbecue in the cul-de-sac to attend?" At that, they laugh harder, even the normally quiet Carol joining in. "And you, too! C'mon, Carol, don't you have a bake sale? Sophia's soccer game? A PTA meeting?" By now, I have them all howling with laughter, even Shane chuckling. "Oh, I didn't forget about you, Robocop." I point at him with one of my bolts. "Don't you have some criminals to book, Danno?"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Andrea gives. "Clary gives nicknames, Glenn's Korean, and Shane was a cop."

The others chuckle, going back to their breakfast. I load my crossbow, securing my extra bolts at one end. "Hey," Glenn repeats, nudging my shoulder with his. "You okay?"

"Me?" I question, finally looking up at him. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

I can feel everyone's prying eyes on me, intrusive curiosity waiting to know why I wouldn't be okay. I know why he's asking, and I appreciate it—but I don't show weakness. Especially not in front of strangers.

"Last night, you seemed really shaken," Glenn answers.

"Last night?" I question. "Are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

"What do you mean?" Glenn questions. "We had a bonding moment! I cradled you in my arms!"

"Nope, don't remember it, didn't happen," I return, though I wink at him to let him know I actually do remember.

Glenn creases his eyebrows before putting two and two together. I don't open up in front of people I don't trust, and Glenn is one of the few that I do. He throws his hands up in the air to exaggerate his sigh. "All that progress, gone! Down the drain! I'm done! I'm out!"

He gets up, walking away towards his car. I get up a few minutes later, following him. "Hey, man," I greet softly as I approach. "I, uh… thanks for that back there."

"You know, Clary, you don't actually have to look tough all the time," Glenn says, glancing over his shoulder at me before I join him on the hood. "Or be tough, for that matter. We all know you miss your brothers. Clary, don't take this the wrong way when I say it, but… you've got some serious issues."

"Yeah, no shit, Short Round," I sigh. "When you got the kind of baggage I do… yeah, you got issues."

"Clary, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"That girl in room nine… did you know her?"

"No, why?"

"Well, the way you acted, it seemed like you did. Or she reminded you of someone. I don't know, maybe I'm not good at reading you yet. But what you did… how can you? How can you do something like that?"

"She was already bit, on her way out. I just pretended she was one of them."

"If… if I'm ever bit, will you do it for me?"

"Glenn, you ain't gonna get bit."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I'll be there. I'll make sure you live, no matter what. I'll kill for you, Glenn, if I have to."

And I'll die for you, too. In a heartbeat.

Alexandria: Present Day

I'm breathing heavily as I open my eyes, brushing my hair back as I try to get my breathing under control. I slow my breathing enough for it to not be obvious that I was shaken by my dream, by the memory of how I promised Glenn that I'd make sure he lived, no matter what, and how I couldn't even do that. I slip out of my room, sticking close to the wall to avoid creaking the floorboards as I make my way down to Daryl's room.

He's asleep when I enter, his chest rising and falling with each soft breath. He looks so peaceful that I hate to disturb him, but I still cross the room to lie down beside him nonetheless. Daryl barely stirs when I slip under the duvet with him, acknowledging my presence by murmuring my name.

I hate to do it. I really do.

"Daryl?" I whisper. "Daryl."

"Hmm?" he questions, struggling to open his eyes as he looks down at me. "Hey. What's going on?"

"Can you hold me?"

"Yeah, yeah, c'mere." I curl up beside Daryl, practically laying on top of him as I rest my head on his chest. He starts to fall asleep before he jerks awake, glancing down at me. "I'm sorry, kid. I haven't slept in a while."

"It's okay," I whisper. "You go back to sleep. I just needed to feel you. I needed to know you're still here."

For someone that usually shies away from any form of contact, I'm a surprisingly touchy person. If I'm close to someone, I want some form of contact, just to reassure myself that they're there. That's why I'm usually holding Jesus's hand or standing next to Daryl with my shoulder brushing his bicep.

"Was it about him?" Daryl asks softly, gently, hesitantly. Unsure if he should.

"When we were first in Atlanta," I answer. "Please, Daryl, I don't want to talk about it."

"You don't have to. It's okay."

It's not. I'm not. Nothing is.

The world's gone to shit, as I said to Carl. The first thing I ever said to him. Ain't nobody okay.

There was one more thing that I was going to say that day, but I bit my tongue. Now, with the first battle over and the rest of the war looming over us, I can't help but think of it again.

We're all gonna die.