Separation

Blackwell laughed, a cruel, drawn-out sound accompanied by not a bit of amusement. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep, girl."

Isabelle kept her hands steady on the gun, fixing Blackwell in her vision. "I don't."

"So self-sacrificing. It's unnatural to see in someone as young as you," Blackwell commented, raking his eyes over her form. "I wonder. These things come out of a sense of one's own inadequacy. It would make sense, wouldn't it," he smirked. "Considering what happened to your brother."

Isabelle's blood felt like ice, running sluggishly through her veins. "You know about that?"

"Darling," Blackwell rolled the endearment over his tongue with a sinister expression. "I am my father's son, or so everyone tells me. There's not much I don't know about."

"Why are you here?" Isabelle's palms were sweating, but she wasn't about to let go now. Hatred curled inside her; she would kill him.

"Not for you, we already have one Lightwood," Blackwell reminded her unnecessarily. "Special order from the top. One short, red-headed teenage girl to go, as soon as possible."

"Well, you've lost her, haven't you?" Isabelle pointed out.

"It doesn't matter. They're going exactly where we want them to go, no matter what you do."

"Where, exactly, is that, may I ask?" Isabelle said sweetly.

"Sorry," Blackwell smiled maliciously. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Isabelle didn't respond. She really hoped the cavalry would get here soon, since she had no opening, no way to take Blackwell down without getting herself killed in the process. And she had promised, after all.

It was a sad thing, Isabelle reflected, when you couldn't trust your own mother to protect you.

"Waiting for your little friends?" Blackwell mocked. Isabelle rolled her eyes internally.

"Do you ever shut up?" she asked casually.

"No. It's a gift. I know exactly how to get under your skin, and I won't stop until I'm successful."

"Good thing I have a thick skin, then."

Blackwell chuckled. "Matching me word for word. I like you."

That could not have been creepier, Isabelle almost said to Jace. But Jace wasn't beside her anymore; she'd sent him off to protect their new asset.

"Sorry, I can't say the same for you," Isabelle said, mock-regretfully. "But I'd like you better if you just put the gun down."

"I suppose you did have to try, didn't you," Blackwell sighed. "But you're smart enough to know that that's not going to happen."

"She is very intelligent, you know," Maryse Lightwood agreed from behind Blackwell. "That being said, I really can't imagine how she got into this situation."

"Maryse." Blackwell's smile was strained. "How delightful to finally meet you. I've heard so much."

"I've heard less. But that doesn't change the fact that you'd better put that gun down."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll shoot you." Isabelle could almost hear the "obviously" that hung unspoken in the air. She smiled slightly.

Blackwell's expression remained cordial as he swiveled to face Maryse.

"What are you doing?" Maryse said, a tinge of confusion in her demeanor.

"I thought it would be best that your daughter didn't watch," Blackwell explained politely, before swiftly bringing his gun to his head and pulling the trigger.

Isabelle closed her eyes against the light spatter of blood that hit the side of her face. When she opened them, she whispered to Blackwell's prone body, "I don't need anyone's protection."

Jace's phone rang when they were still high in the air. It startled Clary, who jerked in her seat before pulling herself upright with the aid of her armrests.

He frowned, pulling it out. The display said Blocked Number, which could mean a number of things.

For one, it could be the Cobra's secure line. Jace realized with an internal jolt that he'd begun to think of her that way, instead of Special Agent Herondale, or just Imogen. He'd never thought of her any other way before, not even-that dreadfully mundane word that he could never reconcile with the cold woman.

With Clary staring at him with wide eyes, he finally accepted the call and put the device to his ear. "Hello?"

"Jace Herondale," an unfamiliar male voice crooned.

"Who is this?" Jace felt his eyebrows furrow and his hand clutch the phone tighter.

"You'll find out soon enough. Could you hand the phone to Clarissa, please?" The voice was cordial, mellifluous, but Jace wanted to throw the phone across the narrow plane and see it-and the voice-smash into pieces.

Instead, he snorted. "Clarissa? Why should I know where a Clarissa is?"

Clary's eyes widened, and she mouthed, "You realized that's me, right?"

Jace rolled his eyes dramatically. "Of course I do, I'm not an idiot," he mouthed right back. Clary stuck out her tongue.

"I know she's with you," the voice insisted, its tone growing impatient.

Clary reached her hand out and plucked the phone delicately from Jace's grasp. "Hello?" her voice quavered.

"Put it on speaker," Jace mouthed, taking the phone back and pressing the appropriate button as the voice said, "It's nice to speak to you again, Clarissa."

"Jonathan," Clary sighed, looking relieved, though not by much. She took the phone back from Jace. "Where's, uh, where's Valentine?"

"Not here," Jonathan said unhelpfully. "He left a message for you, though, which I'm about to deliver."

"Why don't you get on with it, then?" Clary's voice was uncharacteristically sharp; Jace wondered who this man was to her.

"You'd better come home now. I'm sure your little rat-boy doesn't want to die without you." Jonathan's voice rasped over the words with an audible sneer.

Clary sucked in a breath, and she dropped the phone.

Jace automatically ducked down to pick it up, eyes trained on her deathly white face.

"Clarissa?" the phone still pressed. "I didn't shock you too badly, did I?"

Clary's mouth opened, then closed. She was still breathing loudly, but she didn't make a noise apart from that.

"I bet he's asking himself, 'How could she leave me like that?' You two were inseparable. This was a betrayal as harsh as those our father is capable of, you know. I think you're finally living up to your heritage."

"Shut up, Jonathan. You know nothing about Simon, or me, and that hellhole is not my home!" Clary yelled suddenly.

There was silence on both ends. "I see you haven't learned to curb your tongue," Jonathan finally remarked. "Take the message seriously, Clary. You know he never jokes about this sort of matter." The line clicked as he hung up.

Jace swore inside his head as he watched Clary shudder with a breath. The pallid color of her skin made her face look fragile, like one more word would shatter her.

So he didn't speak, just waited for her to collect herself.

When he deemed it appropriate, Jace asked gently, "Do we need to go somewhere else, Clary?"

Clary shook her head. "No, we're going to the right place. Simon will be there." She sniffed and looked up at him through her lashes. "You'd do that for me?"

"Do what?"

"Put all this on hold to save a boy you don't even know."

Jace's throat tightened, and he frantically searched for a response to what felt strangely like a test. "I-well, yes. But do you mind me asking-who's Simon?"

"Simon is..." Clary began, then stopped. The pause was doing odd things to Jace's nerves, and he waited with bated breath for her to continue.

"Simon is my best friend," Clary said finally. "I haven't seen him since I left."

Jace let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. "I've been meaning to ask you-what are you doing here, anyway?"

"Um, you put me on a plane to Nevada about four hours ago, if you've forgotten," Clary said, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't deflect the question," Jace said, smiling despite himself as he remembered Clary saying the same thing to him earlier. "You know what I mean."

"I left."

"Obviously, as you're sitting in front of me right now. I mean, how did you leave? Did they let you out, or?"

"No, they didn't just let me out." Clary bit her lip. "I, uh, I sort of escaped."

"Sort of escaped," Jace echoed.

"Yeah."

"Just like that."

"No, it wasn't that easy."

"Was it like in the movies?" Jace widened his eyes at Clary's incredulous glare. "What?"

"What even-yes, it was kind of like the movies, I guess. Filled with adrenaline inducing fear, if that's what you mean." She shook her head. "Seriously?"

"And how did you get to New York?"

"Amtrak." Clary anticipated his next question, continuing, "Stole money. I know the password to Valentine's safe."

"Oh, really." Just how did she know that, Jace pondered.

"Mhm."

Jace shrugged, filing it away for later. "Hey," he said softly. "I'm sorry about before."

"No, I'm sorry," Clary returned quickly. "I mean-I said pretty insensitive things, and I just want you to know that I didn't mean any of it."

"Well, you weren't wrong," Jace admitted.

"So you guys really are a stereotype, then?" Clary said, interested.

"Not that stereotypical," Jace shook his head, smiling. "We did get to use guns from a very early age, though."

"Really?" Clary's eyes were round. "How long have you been an agent?"

Jace hesitated. "Well, we're not technically agents yet. We're still on probationary trial."

"Which means?"

"We're part of a wave of younger candidates, part of a program the SEP was trying out. It didn't turn out that well, even though most of us were the kids of current SEP agents. People got scared, wouldn't follow through with the kill. And eventually the senior agents would have to come in and finish the missions for them, anyway, when they inevitably messed up. I think mostly it didn't live up to our dreams, life as an agent. I mean, all of us had complexes about who we were supposed to be because of our parents."

"You, too?"

"My parents are dead," Jace answered flatly.

"Oh-" Clary was taken aback. "I'm sorry."

"They died soon after I was born. I don't remember them at all." Jace looked to the side. "Isabelle and Alec are my family now."

"It's better that way, though," Clary asserted abruptly. "It's better than knowing they're out there and they don't care about you at all."

Jace shot a surprised look her way, but Clary was watching the sea of white clouds whisk by out the window.

"Isabelle, where's Jace?" Maryse asked.

"On a plane to Nevada," Isabelle answered truthfully.

"And why is that?" Maryse sounded tense, but her irritated voice set Isabelle immediately on edge.

"We're done, Mom. We found the destination of the shipments. We're just following up on what we already know."

"No, you aren't. He is. You're still here."

"Because Blackwell cornered me-"

"And why didn't Jace stay? Surely he could have saved you from the man, there was only one of him."

"I don't need saving, Mom," Isabelle said sharply.

"Watch it." Maryse pierced Isabelle with her gaze. "There's something you're not telling me."

Isabelle squirmed, but she could never hold out against her mother. "There's a girl. Not like that," she said immediately at the expression on Maryse's face, though it was a blatant lie. "She knows about the operation, and Blackwell and his partner were after her. Jace escaped with her. But I'm going to meet them there, as soon as possible."

"How could you be so stupid?" Maryse chided angrily. "Isabelle, you've jeopardized the mission. How could you think that picking up a random girl was a good idea?"

"We have not jeopardized anything. We completed the mission successfully, no thanks to you," Isabelle said, shocked at her own audacity. "And Clary is not random."

"Have you formed an emotional attachment with her? You know you're going to have to let her go sooner or later, Isabelle."

"You know, you're right. I do have an emotional attachment to Clary. In fact, I have more of an emotional attachment with her than I do with you." Isabelle crossed her arms to protect herself from the open-mouthed shock of her mother. "And if you'll excuse me, I need to get on the earliest flight to Nevada there is. And call Jace."

Isabelle stalked towards Malik, who was standing discreetly by the group of agents that had formed around Blackwell's body. "Malik, I need a flight."

Malik nodded and pulled out a Blackberry, typing efficiently as he said, "Does your mother know about this?"

"She knows," Isabelle confirmed. "How happy she is about it, I'm not sure."

To his credit, Malik didn't even glance at Maryse as he informed Isabelle, "They've just opened that flight over there. Bring this," he handed her a scribbled note, "and tell the dark haired girl at the counter that I sent you."

Isabelle smirked. "Oh, really?"

She could've sworn that Malik blushed.

"Well, thank you, Malik."

"You're welcome, Isabelle." As she turned away, Malik added, "Don't be too hard on your mother, Isabelle. She means well."

"I'm sure she does," Isabelle muttered, striding towards the gate without looking back.