Emma Carstairs was screaming. It was the kind of scream that broke your heart, the aching disrepair of a child. Blood was soaked through her shirt and smeared across her forehead. Across her lap, her mother lay in a broken silhouette, one arm missing and her chest ripped open. It was the kind of scream that spoke of shock, regret, and the realisation of everything she had lost.

It was also the kind of scream that was going on way too long.

I was desperately fighting the urge to put much fingers in my ears. I was there to observe Emma's interpretation of Liberty Jets, so I could carry some of the aspects of her childhood character into my performance. It was day thirteen on set and we already far behind schedule. As much as I could use the opportunity to throw Jace under the bus, it wasn't all his fault in this particular instance. There had been an issue with expired working with children checks when fourteen-year-old Emma had arrived on set at the beginning of the week, and then Diana Wrayburn, the actress portraying my late mother Kaitlyn Jets in the flashbacks with Emma, had missed a flight and been stuck in LAX overnight, delaying us even further. Although he was keeping up a good façade, it was clear all the delays were starting to get to Jace.

"Cut!" he called out from his chair behind the cameras, muttering something under his breath before approaching the girl. Emma looked irritated to have her performance cut off, and swiped dyed red hair angrily out of her eyes. Magnus was extremely proud of his work on both Camille and Emma- the two blondes had been in his trailer for about three hours yesterday. Although he'd been bought in as my stylist alone, Magnus had insisted he was the only one on earth that would be able to get my exact shade. He wasn't the sort of guy that half-assed any job. If Jace wanted red, you wouldn't expect anything less than a perfect recreation of my precise colour, each curl or random kink in my shock of hair perfectly replicated in Camille's.

I just hoped the hair was enough to save the flashback scenes, of which there were many more to shoot, from Emma Carstairs questionable performance choices.

Caterina Loss, one of Magnus's team, took the opportunity to hurry across the set and rearrange Emma's collar as Jace talked to her softly.

"Hey, Em, the scream when you entered was perfect. Shock, horror, confusion, I love it, we're definitely using the shot. But…" the look of defiance Emma gave Jace almost made me laugh, "…maybe we could try some other stuff? Can you cry?"

Emma huffed in an 'of course I do, you stupid blonde peasant' way, and I couldn't stop myself from letting out a snort at that.

"Okay. Great," Jace jumped up and clapped his hands together, looking side to side, "So let's go… uhm… okay, doorway," he mocked opening a door directed Emma to follow his lead, "Realisation, scream…" he mimed pulling out a gun, "Shoot, shoot, shoot… shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot… and then…"

"I shoot nine times," Emma interrupted, "That's what the script says."

Jace looked like he was regretting having flashback scenes at all, "Alright then. Shoot nine times, and if you scream during that, that's fine that's good… but maybe after you drop the gun we can try something else? Try crying. Let's try that, okay?"

"No problem, Mr Herondale," Emma sounded as if this was a very big problem but she obediently made her way back to the set's doorway. A few years ago there was no way a 14-year-old actress would have spoken back to someone as inspiration and attractive as Jace Herondale. But he was washed up, and at this point Emma probably saw this film as a pay-check and nothing else. For someone so young, she had a bleak view of the acting industry.

She had a bleak view of Jace Herondale as well.

I left before they started shooting again. I wasn't getting anything from Emma but screaming and I certainly wasn't going to turn my Liberty Jets into a damsel in distress. She was going to be powerful, she was going to be strong and she was going to show who I had become since the days of Clary and Jonny. Aged, mature, with some wear and tear but nothing serious enough to break me.

You're making your character analysis into an excuse. You're lying to yourself and everyone else if you're seriously sayingyou came here because you liked the character of Liberty Jets.

Outside the set, I was confronted again by both a blast of Australian heat and Maia, squirming up and down with a stack of clipboards shoved under her right arm. When she saw me, she instantly straightened up, and I could see her face was dripping with sweat, "Hi Miss Fray! Would you mind logging in where you're headed? Mr Herondale wants to keep track of everyone so we don't fall further behind schedule."

"I'm just headed back to my trailer," I jotted this down and signed my name, "Does Jace seriously make you call him Mr Herondale?"

Maia looked confused, "He's never really brought it up. He doesn't really talk to me outside telling me what to do. But that's okay!" she said quickly, panicking, "That's what I'm here for! Please don't tell him I said that, Miss Fray"

"Maia, firstly, can you please just call me Clary, you're making me feel old," I told her, "And secondly, you're here to learn from Jace, not fetch coffee for him and stand outside in this heat doing brainless tasks for him. And why as you jumping around so much?"

Maia looked embarrassed, "I need to go to the bathroom, but I don't want to miss anyone. What if someone comes out whilst I'm away? What if Jace needs someone and he can't find them because they didn't sign the sheet?"

I inwardly sighed but her babbling also made me smile. Her sort of dedication, even to such a small job, was what belongs on a movie set.

"Look, just hang up the sheet on the door and people will know to sign it as they leave," I suggested, "And if they don't, it's a tiny set. Let Jace get sweaty whilst running around looking for us, god knows he needs some exercise. And go to the damn bathroom."

Maia looked relieved, "Thank you Miss… Clary. Thank you so much Clary."

I gave her a smile, and she pinned up the sheet and walked quickly away, stil bouncing up and down. Shaking my head, I walked down the alley of makeup trailers, fanning myself with both hands. However, when I got to where the cast and crew trailers began, instead of turning left towards my trailer, I made my way towards Simon's. He'd been bunkered down mixing tracks for the last two weeks and I hadn't had much of a chance to sit down with him. Maybe if I ambushed him we'd actually get the chance to catch up.

I knocked twice before pushing his unlocked door open. Simon was sitting in front of his PC, massive headphones clamped over his ears and his eyes shut tight. I crept over to behind him and saw he was listening to a track labelled 'Gary And Liberty Meet #23'.

I tapped his shoulder and he jumped half a foot out of his chair, Jesus Fray! I'm in the zone, don't do that!"

"Can I listen?" I snatched his headphones and put then on before he could protest. Simon shrugged and restarted the track. It was mostly violins, and what sounded like a timpani. I loved how Simon's work spoke to you. It was like he wove words from the notes he created. I heard distrust, I heard attraction and I heard… bass guitar?

"That's you playing!" I gasped, "You're playing the guitar!"

Simon sighed, "I know, it doesn't fit in. I was just playing around a bit with some chords. I'm going to take it out."

"Don't you dare, Simon Lewis," I commanded, "It is perfect. It speaking Simon, which means you don't have to start a track twenty-four. If I hear so much as a tiny change…"

"You're not a composer, Clary," Simon groaned, "Yes, it sounds interesting, but this is a paying job and I have to give Jace what he wants."

"Half of your best efforts could win you best music score this year," I shook his shoulder, "Simon, it sounds great."

Simon rocked on his chair, "I don't know. I'll come back to it," he shut down the file and sent his computer to sleep, turning on his chair to face me, "Anyway, I guess I've been neglecting you. Tell me about Italy."

"It was beautiful. Amazing. And stressful," I added, "I'm used to having you and Isabelle following me around like a bad smell but I was all on my own up there. And the woman arranging my shoots didn't speak a word of English. We ended up communicating almost entirely through emojis."

Simon snorted, "We all missed you. Especially Izzy. She kept calling me at outrageous hours of the night freaking out because you hadn't answered your calls. I think she thought you had found some brilliant new publicist over there and was never coming back to her."

I rolled my eyes, "I could never do that. She's not just my publicist, she's my friend."

"Ah… yes. Speaking of which, I want to tell you something. Concerning Izzy. And I," Simon coughed as if to clear his throat, "And because you're her friend and my friend and I don't think she's going to tell you and I don't want anything to be awkward… Izzy and I sort of… hooked up."

My jaw dropped.

"Just once," Simon hastily added, "After the premier of Praetor Lupus IV. Jordan invited us all back to his place and we had a few drinks and… well one thing led to the other…"

"Please, spare me the gory details," I cut him off, "So… wow. I mean, are you guys… are you going to ask her out now?"

"God no," Simon laughed, but at my expression he sobered, "Look, Isabelle hasn't even talked about it with me. She left before I woke up and whenever I try to bring it up she either changes the subject or just stays silent. But then she's still all… I mean she was cuddling with me at the bonfire, and she asked me to come to her room last night and…"

"Did you go?"

"No. And now she's pissed at me," Simon buried his head in his hands, "She's just so… confusing. I have no idea if she wants me to be her boyfriend or… fuckbuddy, I don't know…"

"Oh my god," I gagged, "Please Simon, do not use the term fuckbuddy ever again when talking about the relationship between you and Isabelle."

Simon blushed bright red, "I don't know Clary. Do you think if I asked out Maia the intern that would make her less confusing or more so?"

I doubled back, "Maia? You like Maia?"

"Well, I think she likes me," Simon scratched his head, "And, I mean she's hot… and it wouldn't be as confusing as it is with Izzy. I'd just have a girlfriend, not some love-hate relationship with a gorgeous woman who half the time I can't tell whether she wants to kill me or sleep with me."

"Well, firstly, leave Maia out of it. There is no way asking her out to solve your Izzy problems will do any good for either of you," I said sharply, "And secondly, Izzy is used to people chasing after her. Look at every guy she's ever dated. You constantly trying to talk to her is just fueling her disinterest."

Simon looked distressed, "So I'm suppose too ignore her?"

I felt conflicted. Izzy and Simon were my best friends. I'd always considered the possibility of them getting together based on their dynamic, but I'd always suppressed it. Izzy wasn't a permanent person, and I knew a relationship would likely end in a messy breakup and two broken hearts. And then I'd have to choose one of them.

By setting them up, was I dooming myself to that fate?

"No, that would be too obvious," I said carefully, "Just act how you would around me. Friendly, kind and… abstinent," I nearly gagged, "Look, I'll organise something with Izzy. We'll go into town, the three of us. And make it clear you're not going to play games with her. Make her chase after you for a bit. But don't be an arsehole."

"That is a very confusing strategy, Fray."

"I'll be there to help," I promised, "I don't want you getting your heart broken, Simon. Isabelle could walk all over you in designer high heeled boots."

"I have boots too," Simon complained, but sighed, "Thanks Clary."

"No problem," I hadn't expected to come into Simon's trailer and end up talking about his sex life with Isabelle. It was all a bit too weird, but Simon had been there for me when I'd been falling head over heels for Jace years ago. It was the least I could do after all that chaos he was left to deal with.

Simon let me listen through the rest of the tracks he'd been working on whilst he made homemade slushies in the kitchen. They were all incredible, but I knew they'd be drastically changed by the time I heard them in post-production. It made me upset that Simon was so critical of his own work, but I guess that came with his love of it. I often was frustrated by not being able to say a line in the way I wanted it to be interpreted by the audience, no matter how many people told me it sounded perfectly alright.

I exited to his desktop screen and something caught my eye. A file called 'Orig #1'. I could still hear Simon rattling around in the kitchen, so I clicked it. It opened up a recording link that started with boy laughing together about how the microphone wouldn't turn on. I recognised Simon's voice, as well as Jordan's, which surprised me. I hadn't known the two to be particularly close.

An unfamiliar voice counted to three and the music started. It was a pretty basic beat at the beginning, but a complex guitar riff soon started over the top of it, followed by flute music that somehow sounded perfect with the tone of the song.

By the time Jordan started singing, I was already entranced, but his voice was low and gentle enough to only build to the atmosphere of the song. It was suspenseful, heartbreaking and catchy all at the same time.

Why hadn't Simon told me about this?

I heard him re-enter and quickly shut down the link. Simon shove a glass of red ice into my hands and I gratefully took a swig of it.

"What do you think?" he asked eagerly. Despite being an award-winning musician with no need for approval from someone who knew nothing about music like me, he'd always been searching for it. I was waiting for the day Simon would listen to one of his own tracks and think to himself, with no influence from an outside party, damn I'm good.

I touched his shoulder, "You're going to go far, Simon Lewis. Just you wait."