Sorry for the wait since the end of The lost ones. First my computer was feeling very uncooperative for quite a long time, then my muse suffered from the same disease. But finally, here we are.

For those of you who stumbled upon this story without having ready The lost ones (if there are such people here), you should definitely check that story first, because reading this story first would be like reading City of Ashes without having previously read City of Bones. Just an advice.

I'm sorry for any grammar or spelling mistake, I hope they won't bother you too much.

Just to point out, this happens right after the end of TLO. There will be time jumps in this story, so I'll write in the AN exactly when events in the chapter take place (it'll probably be written somewhere in the text too, but this way it'll be easier to avoid any confusion). I hope that won't bother you.

Okay, I think I've said (written?) everything I needed to say. I hope you'll like the story :)

"Jonathan Wayland."

It seems as the whole universe holds its breath when the Inquisitor makes a brief pause after uttering Jace's full name, her voice echoing the crowded room that is as quiet as though it was empty.

"Where have you been for the past hour?" The question cuts through the silence like a knife.

She and my parabatai glare at each other for a few long moments, as if having a competition the rest of us in the room takes no part in. Jace's eyes are so narrowed I can barely see the gold of his irises, his breathing heavy as if he was about to roar like a lion declaring war on a rivalling pack. The Mortal sword rests on his palms; his arms don't tremble in the slightest under its weight.

"Outside." He replies ambiguously, seemingly unaffected by the Inquisitor's sternness. Good – if I'm buying his act, then so is everyone else. "If I'd stayed in the Institute, something bad might have happened; far it be from me to have all of you on my conscience."

For the briefest of seconds, his gaze clashes with mine, despite the fact we're standing on the opposite sides of the room, with more than fifty Shadowhunters between us like a river that separates two banks. They all turn around to glance at me, but I keep my eyes on Jace, even as he looks away. When their attention finally abandons me, Mom's hand wraps around my wrist, as if telling me to stay strong in the face of Jace's insinuations.

If she only knew how hard that actually was. If she only knew the whole truth.

But this is a battle Jace, Izzy and I must fight alone. We can't trust anyone, not even our parents, considering their past in the Circle. Everyone in this Institute could be secretly working for Valentine; trust is a luxury we can't afford.

"Clarissa Fairchild seems to have shared your need to clear your head." The Inquisitor's cold gaze returns to Jace. "We can't find her anywhere. Where is she?"

Jace doesn't break the eye-contact for a moment.

"I don't know."

The Inquisitor breathes in sharply, as if surprised by his answer. But she can't accuse him of lying, not with the Mortal sword resting in his hands.

"Did you see her after you'd left the Institute?"

For a split of a second, he hesitates.

"Yes."

My breath catches; I make a step backwards to hide my reaction from Mom's eyes, feeling my back bump into a wall, which enables me to keep my balance. I didn't expect Jace's answer to this question to be affirmative.

He had left the Institute to meet Valentine, as we'd planned. Where could he have seen Clary?

Unless…

"Where?"

"Outside."

Shit.

What did that foolish girl think, leaving on her own to the Angel knows where? As if we don't have enough on our plate already. What if Valentine has her too? What if she's heard me and Jace discussing this charade? What if she babbles out the truth to Valentine? If she does, Jamie's done for.

"Did she tell you anything?" The Inquisitor's voice barely reaches me though the sound of my racing heartbeat. "Her plans, where she was going?"

"No."

"Did you see where she went?"

"No."

The Inquisitor crosses her arms behind her back and turns away from Jace. She remains silent for what seems like ages, thinking Jace's answers over, comparing them to mine and Isabelle's. So far, the only new piece of information she's acquired is that Clary had left the Institute, but as for her current location, not even Jace, who has last seen her, knows it.

It's impossible to say whether that's a good or a bad thing. But it would definitely be a good thing if we were done with…

"As I understand, Valentine holds someone you care for hostage." My hands clench into fists instinctively as the Inquisitor turns to Jace again. My heartbeat, which has only just returned to its normal pace, starts racing again. "Jacqueline Lightwood?"

Jace and I blink in confusion as one; it takes a moment for me to realize the source of it. By the Angel, we are so used to Jamie's name of choice that her full name sounds like a stranger's.

After he pulled himself together, Jace nods stiffly, as if he can't bring himself to utter a single syllable on the matter. Unfortunately, the Inquisitor seems to have sensed her prey's weakness and launches a merciless attack.

"While you were gone, did you meet him and tried to make a deal that would save her?"

I feel like I've been hit in the stomach; I have to force the air into my lungs. We were so close to avoiding the catastrophe and then it all collapsed like a sand castle hit by a wave.

Jace's eyes spread in alarm, his arms shaking under the weight of the Sword. He opens his mouth, but then lets out a choking sound, as if the Sword's power will sooner strangle him than let him utter a lie.

"Yes." He says at last, gasping for air. He swallows hard, his face pale as the wall behind his back.

The room explodes with whispering; some people look absolutely scandalized. I feel Mom stiffening in shock next to me, but I don't take my eyes off Jace. After a few moments, the Inquisitor crosses her arms over her chest like a disappointed parent. She moves one step closer to Jace, who, having caught his breath, stands up straight, glaring at her defiantly. He won't be intimidated or forced into submission by her or by anyone else in this room. He spent a part of his life in a lion's den; there's nothing the Clave can do to scare him – especially because what he's doing, he's doing it for Jamie.

He became my parabatai for her and he supposedly cares for me. A bitter voice inside my mind remarks ironically. Lying to the Clave for her probably comes to him as easily as breathing.

"Where is Valentine?" The Inquisitor moves to stand right in front of Jace, breathing the question into his face. His voice has grown colder, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I don't know." Jace replies stiffly.

The Inquisitor's posture becomes rigid like stone. I hold my breath as she ponders her next words, assuming she's barely restraining herself from unleashing her fury on Jace.

"Then how did you contact him?" She demands icily.

"After he learned it wasn't me who had notified the Clave we had the Cup, he sent me a note telling me where and when to meet him." I pray with all my heart nobody notices Jace's answer made it seem it was Valentine who had initiated the correspondence, not Jace himself. Luckily, he keeps speaking without any interruption. "So I went to meet him, hoping he might agree to take me as hostage in Jamie's place. I knew it was unlikely, but I had to try."

Then his gaze abandons the Inquisitor and turns to the rest of his audience.

"The fact that he knew the Clave was in the possession of the Cup proves one thing." He says matter-of-factly, his eyes wandering from one person to another, judging, accusing. "He has spies within the Clave. I don't know who they are or how many of them are there, but some people as not as loyal as they seem. And now the Cup is within their grasp, which means it's only a matter of time before Valentine gets his hands on it. Think about that."

"Enough." The Inquisitor raises a hand to silence another round of shocked whispering. Two older Shadowhunters approach her, waiting for instructions, but she keeps her eyes on Jace. "I have one last question for you. Did you promise Valentine you'd bring him the Cup in exchange for your friend's life?"

This time, Jace doesn't even bother to try to come up with a lie.

"Yes." He nods firmly. "I did."

"And yet you dare accuse other of disloyalty to the Clave." The Inquisitor waves her hand and the two Shadowhunters take hold of Jace's arms. "Lock him up in a room without windows. Two guards in front of it at all times. He can't leave or receive any visitors unless I say so."

My every instinct screams at me to break through the crowd that separates me from Jace and break a wrist or two of the two men that are holding him. My fingers itch with the desire to fight for my parabatai, as I always have. But I can't. I have to keep pretending I think he deserves what's coming to him. I have to look away from in apparent embarrassment and walk out of the room before he and the men at his sides catch up with me.

I feel lost in a dark night in a snow storm, with no place to hide and nothing to keep me warm. My sister is captured by the enemy, my parabatai is locked up by the Clave and my other siblings hate my guts. I've never felt this alone in my life, like I've been dropped on a deserted island with nothing but the sea and the sky in my line of view. The only people I can trust are about as far out of my reach as the stars.

Magnus' face appears in my mind's eye, but I shove the thought away immediately. He can't help me, not with half of the Clave roaming the Institute. It would be too dangerous (in more ways than one) to drag him into this.

In need of a distraction, I find myself in a training room. Luckily, it's empty, as everyone has been occupied with either Jace's questioning or moving in. I take my shirt off and approach a boxing bag. It takes less than a minute for me to start sweating, as I push myself farther than ever just to drown my worries in the ocean of physical pain.

"Want to spar?"

Startled by the unfamiliar voice, but determined not to show it, I turn around slowly, giving myself time to school my features into a neutral expression. I meet green eyes of a boy around my age or maybe a little older under a bunch of dirty blond locks. He smiles amiably as he approaches me. My eyes glance at his perfectly built torso of their own accord; I bite my lip forcefully to keep my mind from wandering to places it has no business or time to wander to.

"I…" I don't want to be rude, but I really feel no need for company at the moment. "No, thanks. Some other time, maybe."

"As you wish." The boy shrugs his shoulders casually, turning around to find something else worthy of attention. But halfway around, he turns to me again. "That was your parabatai who pissed off the Inquisitor, wasn't it?"

I swallow hard, but I force myself to nod.

"Well, I wish I'd got to shake his hand before they locked him up." The blonde picks a blade and turns to targets nearby. "I've always hated the old bat. Has a stick up her ass the size of Patagonia."

My mouth falls open. I've never heard anyone disrespect the Inquisitor so openly (aside from Jace).

"My father has…more progressive views on some things and he raised me with those beliefs." He explains evenly when he sees my baffled expression. "And she's stuck in Middle Ages. She sees my father's beliefs as weakness and doesn't hesitate to say so. Behind his back at least."

I don't know what to say to that, so I remain silent. The blonde throws the blade; he hits bull's eye.

"Impressive." I don't trust myself to say more with my mind being flooded with memories of Jace and Jamie doing the exact same thing countless times in this very room.

"Thanks." He picks up the blade and moves to stand further from the target than the first time, almost within arm's reach from me. He makes as if to throw the blade again, but then pauses, switches the hand that holds the blade and stretches his now empty hand out towards me. "I'm David, by the way. From the Buenos Aires Institute."

I wipe my hand clean of sweat against my trousers.

"Alec."

We shake hands.

"So, what did your parabatai do to piss off the Evil Queen?" David asks as he turns to the target again and sets his aim.

Once again, I find it very difficult to breathe.

"You…" I clear my throat nervously. "You weren't there when she questioned him?"

"No." He shakes his head without taking his eyes off the target. "My parabatai and I were busy delivering everyone's things to their rooms. As we are the youngest members of the Clave that have come here, we're at the bottom of the food chain."

"Why did you come here?" I can't imagine why anyone would willingly get themselves into the middle of this mess.

David throws the blade as perfectly as the first time and then turns to me again.

"Because for once, I want to be where the important things happen." He answers with fire in his eyes. "I've been standing on the sidelines my entire life. I'm done with that."

He stares at me challengingly for a few moments, as if daring me to laugh, but I'm not tempted in the least. This whole situation might a mess for me, because I have so much to lose, but for other people, it might be an adventure, a chance to prove themselves.

"And your parabatai feels the same?" I ask, having noticed he had declared the reasoning to be his own, not necessarily his parabatai's as well.

His expression softens, but then he closes his eyes and sighs, as if in pain.

"Oliver would rather have stayed in Argentina, but I convinced him we should go to New York." He shrugs his shoulders almost apologetically. "He's…well, not as keen on fighting. He's not bad at it, mind you, but he'll always take the peaceful route if he can find it. And we all know there won't be a peaceful route in this situation."

I can't argue with that. I can only hope that when the fighting is done, we are the ones left standing.

"So, what did your parabatai do?" David repeats his previous question, but this time he's looking me straight in the eyes.

I know I can't wangle my way out of this. Not by the means of lies anyway.

"He…" I clear my throat again; I need to stop doing that. Nobody's going to mistake my anxiety for a cold. "He tried to hide from the Clave that the Cup was here."

David looks at me as though I went crazy.

"Why?" It takes a few moments for him to recover from the astonishment my statement caused. When he finally does, there's a trace of hesitation in his voice. "I mean… he isn't actually on Valentine's side, is he?"

"No." I hurry to shake my head, relieved I could say one thing about Jace that doesn't come as me slandering him for his choices. "But he…he wants to make a deal with Valentine. The Cup for…" Another breath gets stuck in my throat. "For a person we care for."

"Well, that's far better than him being on Valentine's side, isn't it?" Judging by the way David's eyes narrow knowingly, he didn't miss my use of 'we'. "For whom?"

I can't bear the gaze of those emerald eyes any longer. I can't bear the answer I'm about to give.

"For…for my sister."

There is a long silence after that, during which I count my heartbeats as means of distraction, before David speaks again.

"Your sister?" I can hear the unspoken part clearly.

Why is he the one trying to make that deal, not you?

A second hasn't passed since Jamie was taken that I haven't thought of her. Nobody – nobody – wants her to come home more than me. Not even Jace.

"I…" I can feel my hands shaking in helplessness, my tongue tangle in fear of consequences of my actions. What excuse is there for such a crime – even if I haven't actually committed it? What if me agreeing to go through with Jace's plan gets Jamie killed? "I couldn't… I had to…"

My voice drifts off into desperate silence. There are no words that can fill it. There's nothing I can say that would make my choices any less questionable.

"I don't think I would have been able to do it."

Startled, I look at David instinctively, thinking I've heard him wrong. He seems to struggle with returning my gaze, as if he's the one who should be ashamed of his actions, not me.

"Choose the greater good over my family." He murmurs so softly I barely catch it, his gaze coming to rest on the blade in his hands.

I have no idea what to say. I still feel the need to explain myself, still don't believe he doesn't fault me for my choices when I can't stop blaming myself. He's the only person I've spoken so far who seems to understand how much giving the Cup to the Clave has cost me. He's not patting me on the shoulder for a job well done nor does he hate me for choosing 'greater good' over my own sister. For the first time since I sent that note to Idris I feel like my life isn't about to fall apart like a house of cards at any moment.

Suddenly, David begins to walk away, without another word. He returns the blade to its place and slowly heads for the door, as if he's suddenly carrying something heavy on his shoulders – the weight of my confession, perhaps.

"Where are you going?" I ask before I can stop myself.

He finally turns to me again, but his eyes don't truly meet mine.

"I guess you'd rather be left alone." He shrugs his shoulders apologetically. "I'm sorry to have bothered you with my presence in your…situation."

He looks genuinely troubled by the thought he intruded on my very much needed moment of solitude. While I truly had no desire for company when he entered the room (and still don't have it), the sympathy he showed me made me feel – if not better, then certainly less… alone.

"I still owe you that sparring." I say, not quite managing to crack a smile, but feeling the knot in my stomach relax a bit.

David nods with the slightest quirk of his lips.

"I'll hold you to your word."

When he leaves the room, I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding, feeling like for the first time in a while, I can truly breathe.