Pain, from morning to night. Jem lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to resist the agony. It cracked his bones, seared his very soul, wrung sweat from every pore...the yin fen was merciless. Jem liked to play chicken with the vile powder, seeing how far he could push himself before he needed to take another dose. Sometimes, he could almost convince himself he didn't need it at all...until the moment his shaking hands uncorked another vial. It was almost like an accident. Woops! I blinked and these sneaking fingers of mine had a measure all laid out before I could stop them! Ugh.

Jem loathed his dependency, his weakness. Most of all, he loathed the way it felt like Yanluo was always with him. I'm with you forever, his own silver eyes seemed to say, reflected back at him from the mirror. I rule you, the trembling in his limbs screamed at him in the night. You'll never get away, whispered the flecks of blood that stained his shirtsleeves every time he coughed. Yanluo killed his parents and broke his body, and the addiction that was his parting gift ensured that Jem never forgot for a second what had happened to him. Taking the demon-derived substance into his body to live felt, to Jem, like having to beg his worst enemy on his hands and knees to spare his life.

Not even spare it - just end it a little more slowly.

It felt cowardly. It felt traitorous. And yet, Jem didn't have the strength to just die like he should have all those years ago. The pain would become too great, and Jem would inevitably pull back from the brink.

Now, he knew, he was reaching the end of his tether. Soon he would give up and lay a pale white hand on the box that stood next to his bed. The case of yin fen was never far from reach. No matter how pretty the container, how neat the vials, Jem felt no better than the filthy, ragged opium addicts of his homeland. The ones that laid in the gutter and wept for a coin to spend on their poison of choice.

"Ahh!"

A particularly powerful wave of searing pain hit Jem, making him arch his back and curl his toes. It was time. Rolling over onto his side, the silver-haired youth reached for his box of yin fen and the silver tray that stood next to it. He opened the little chest, linger for the briefest moment over the image of Kwan Yin on the lid. Sometimes the imagery felt like a cruel joke. Jem had enough presence of mind to notice, as he pulled out a glass vial of white powder, that it was the last one. Time for another trip to one of the hateful demon dens that sold his medicine and his curse. He put it out of his mind for now. His hands were shaking so bad that it took all his concentration to get the precious powder onto the tray without spilling any. Bracing himself, Jem leaned over it and inhaled. It felt like breathing in sharp, tiny crystals. The yin fen tore his throat and burned his eyes, but sweet relief immediately flooded his aching body. Jem fell back on the bed, twitching, as the aching and stabbing faded away, replaced by a pleasant glow and mounting energy. Sparks, like the bright residue of warlock spells, danced behind his eyes. Delicate euphoria tugged at his mind. Everything felt better, sweeter, sharper. Jem even felt more powerful, even though just a minute ago he had been shaking like a wasting victim. His thin limbs were awash with strength.

Jem hated it.

Not only was he bound to his drug, a slave to its whims, but there was no way he could deny just how good it felt. And Jem loathed that, loathed that even with the memory of his parents screaming and crying and begging for his life seared into his brain forever, he couldn't deny the sheer pleasure yin fen provided.

With the fresh burst of energy from the drug, it was impossible for Jem to go to sleep now. He laid awake for hours yet, his gleaming eyes reflecting the light that shone through his window. Jem's silver irises looked flat and bright, like two twin moons, kin to the one that floating in the night sky above.

The next morning, Jem rolled out of bed. He felt feverish, jittery. It was always like that, when he was coming off the high. The initial hit brought all kinds of pleasant sensations, but Jem always took the smallest possible amount to keep himself functional. That meant that the "best" part passed quickly, followed by a sort of nervous energy. Soon, that would fade into relative normalcy. Then, the pain would come creeping back. The cycle was always the same.

Today, Jem would be going down to the drug den for his fix. Though he was only fourteen, he had already been making this trip by himself for almost a year. At first, Charlotte used to accompany him. She was motherly and kind, but her caring exterior hid a core of iron. Few people made Jem feel safe and protected the way she did...which made it all the more shameful when she had to buy the yin fen. No matter how much she said otherwise, Jem felt like he was disappointing her every time she bought another parcel of the evil powder.

Eight months ago, Jem asked Granville Fairchild to allow him to go by himself. The head of the Institute was a severe and powerful man, and law-abiding to a fault. However, when he raked Jem over with those stony eyes of his, something inside him had softened. Perhaps it was sympathy for the guilt he carried inside, or understanding the desire to retain some little measure of pride, but Granville had allowed the unusual request. Charlotte protested, of course, but Jem hadn't had to voice the pleading in his gaze for Granville to put his foot down. Jem's autonomy would be respected.

Even so, the little "shopping trips" were absolutely awful. Jem never felt like more of a lowlife than when he went to go buy his life-sustaining drug. All those Downworlders, staring at him with knowing eyes. His colorless appearance said to them, one of us. Just another druggie looking for a fix. What was the difference between himself and some strung-out vampire or mundie trying to stay high? As far as Jem was concerned, there was none.

The morning was bleary and quiet. It was too early for anyone else to be up, probably not even 6 am. Padding across the room, Jem got dressed and slipped out the door. Maybe if he hurried, he could go out and buy the yin fen and get back before anyone noticed. His plan was, predictably, immediately derailed.

Directly across from his room was the door of the strange, black-haired boy, Will. His friend. The heavy oaken slab hung ajar, and through the crack peered a pair of ice-bright eyes, like chips of cobalt. Jem froze, his hand on the doorknob.

"I hear you moaning and fidgeting last night."

Jem didn't say anything. What was there to say?

"You could at least have a little courtesy for others around here, you know. Do you have any idea how much beauty sleep I need to stay as delightfully easy on the eyes as I am?"

At fourteen, Will was already a preening peacock, equal parts smug and sarcastic at all times. Perhaps that was why it had come as such a shock when Will, earnest and intense, had asked Jem to be his parabatai last year. Jem had almost laughed. That's a bit cruel of a joke even for you, don't you think, Will? But he hadn't been joking. Jem first dismissed him out of hand, then tried to reason with him, then bargain, then threaten. It had all proven pointless. Will wanted Jem for his parabatai and no one else. Foolishly, Jem agreed to a bet. A swordfight. He should have known better. The yin fen withdrawal made him slow, distracted. Will won handily, and doomed to a parabatai that would wear out faster than his shoes. A parabatai he couldn't rely on in a fight, because an inopportune cough or twinge could incapacitate him. An invalid that he would have to look after for the rest of Jem's admittedly short life. Jem hadn't been able to understand why Will acted like he was the one who got the better deal.

The two hadn't been bonded yet, and Jem held out hope that he could still talk Will out of it. So far it had proved pointless but...worth a try. Jem tried to relax, smiling.

"I was having nightmares."

"No you weren't."

"...No. No, I wasn't."

Will pulled the door open a bit farther, revealing his face. His hair, inky black, fell in wild and tangled curls about his head. The wild, impatient boy looked tired, and as always, angry. Half-moon bruises underlined his startling eyes. Leaning on the doorway, Will heaved an irritated sigh.

"We're going to be parabatai, Jem. You shouldn't lie to me."

"That's pretty rich, coming from the prince of lying himself."

Will took up an insulted air, closing his eyes as though pained by the accusation.

"Whatever would possess you to say such an awful thing, Jem?"

Maybe the part where your entire personality is a lie? Where you lash out at everyone like a wet cat in a sack, even though you're the kindest soul I know? But he said nothing. Instead, Jem strode out into the hall with a yawn.

"Ahh, I'm gonna go get breakfast. Can't sleep anyway. Why don't you go back to bed, Sleeping Beauty, and work on your complexion?"

"...You ran out, didn't you?"

Jem came to a halt, halfway down the corridor. He should have known Will would guess. Jem squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to force down the bile shame brought to his throat. A junkie slinking out for his fix. He was so wrapped up in self-loathing that when Will laid a hand on his shoulder, Jem jumped like a startled cat. Will had an expression on his face Jem had only seen there once before. He had worn it when Jem told him about how his parents died and he came by his addiction. Will looked...profoundly sad. Not pitying, not disgusted...not even angry (for once). Just...sad. It was so rare to see such pure emotion in his eyes, untainted by contempt or irony or sarcasm. Jem felt like Will was looking right through him, as though he had finally truly lost all color and become transparent. A piece of glass, incapable of hiding anything from Will's scrutiny.

"Let me go for you."

The pale-haired youth had to blink a few times before he processed what Will had said.

"No. No. First of all, I am the one that got permission to go by myself, not you. And second of all...I couldn't let you get wrapped up in that business. It's vile. It's...depraved. The addicts laying in their cots, the drugs, the demons...Just sickening. I don't want you seeing that world."

Jem suddenly found he couldn't make eye contact with Will.

"I don't want you seeing my world."

To his surprise, Will...laughed. Jem snapped his gaze to him, brow furrowing in confusion. Will was laughing. Hell, he looked almost delightedly baffled, shaking his head slowly. What…? Before Jem could say anything, Will patted him on the shoulder and wound off down the hall, leaving Jem standing there. What in the world…? Calling over his shoulder, Will answered Jem's unvoiced question.

"That is the downright stupidest thing I've ever heard. Your world is tea parties and crummy violin music, Jem. Of the two of us, I'm the delinquent. I'd say I belong there ten times more than you do, but as ten times zero is still zero…"

Will turned back to Jem as he came to the end of the hall, grinning.

"Go back to bed, Jem. I'll bring you your medicine from now on, okay? And the next time you need help, just ask me, won't you? You're about as melodramatic as a girl, moping around and expecting me to read your mind instead of just saying what you want."

"Wh-! HEY! I didn't want you to do anything for m-!"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Anyway, I'm gonna go. Maybe they have an early-bird special."

With a wink and a click of his tongue, Will was gone, leaving an utterly astounded Jem in his wake. Ask Will, huh? For the first time since he was asked, Jem thought that maybe...No, it was so selfish of him. But…maybe…not that he was going to do it...but...Just. Maybe. It wouldn't be so bad being parabatai with William Herondale.