He was sitting in his office, softly tapping the ebony desk. Michael Wayland was a very busy man, and did not like wasting his precious time. He'd been warned he'd have a very important visit, but three hours later he or she was yet to come.

He knew what the visit wanted to discuss. Same old, same old. The most recent events were nothing but simply the start of a plan that had been set up nearly 20 years ago. Back then he had thought it was reckless and stupid, but the more time passed, the more sense it made to him. He'd lived enough years as a shadowhunter to know that the plan was necessary. Something needed to be done, and the redhead bitches were just a mean to an end. It was all for the greater good. To make an omelet you must break some eggs.

He thought back to his years at the Institute, to how much fun he'd had. He was thinking about Celine's smile and how captivating it was, how Jocelyn's hair was like fire twirling in the air, all those smiles and loud laughs. Those were good times, he thought. But then his mind trailed away from those cheerful memories and went to the darkest moments he spent there. The fear, the pain, the darkness that surrounded them. He'd felt death's breath tickle the hairs by the nape of his neck and had heard it whispering with its coarse voice that what they'd done deserved more punishment than simply dying.

He repressed a shiver. They'd truly let things get out of hand and what had started as a juvenile sort of riot ended up bringing coldness and sorrow to their lives. He could still remember the screams, the tears, the fights; he could still remember their lives spiraling down, losing the little control they had over things.

We shouldn't have done it! Jocelyn had screamed, while tears ran down her face. We've destroyed everything! This is a fucking nightmare!

This is bigger than us! We'll make history! People will talk about this, we'll be heroes! He'd told her while shaking her.

I didn't want any of this Celine criedI want out of this!And then he'd slapped her, hard across the face. That was one of the last times the group had been together, the good times long forgotten. Maybe they'd been foolish, but Michael had convinced himself to think that what they were doing was right. Everything is hard in the beginning, but they'd succeed in the end. That's what he told himself in times like this, when he let himself remember, when he let himself feel.

He was brought back to the present when he heard someone knock on the door. "Come in!" he yelled.

He had to fight the urge to raise his eyebrows in disbelief. He had to do a double take to check that his not-that-great eyesight was not playing tricks on him. Before him was the man he'd presumed dead for years.

He could only choke out the words "Y-y-you?"

*.*.*.*.*.

He had lied.

Jace had lied to his friends.

He didn't know what had led him to do it, but the words had slipped naturally from his mouth before even processing what he wanted to say. All it had taken was a simple "No", and now he felt guilty and confused.

They'd spent quite some time going through Hodge's things and they'd found another picture from the man's teen years. This time he was with a young couple. They were in the forest, perched against a tree. The girl was smiling and the boy was facing away from the camera, whispering something in her ear. He was making her happy, making her smile.

Her mother.

He'd never met her, but he could recognize her light hair and her bright smile from the pictures they had at home. She'd always been a mystery to him. His father never talked about her, acted like she hadn't even existed. All he'd told him was that she'd died while giving birth and that her name was Celine. She was a stranger and yet he couldn't help but feel connected to her. After all, they'd shared the closest of the bonds for 9 months.

He could still remember the picture in his head. The way the couple were joined in a loose embrace, how wide her smile was, how his head bent to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. The man's face was hardly shown, but he could recognize him anywhere. His father, the man that had his same build and appearance. It was the first picture of his parents he'd ever seen. It filled him with sadness. It was a promising picture, a could've been, a should've been.

But she'd died, she'd left them.

And then he'd left him. His own father had left him, betrayed him.

His father, the first person he'd loved and the first person he'd come to hate. Michael Wayland, the man that bought him swords after slapping him. The strange man that would tell everyone how proud he was of his son, but would never tell him himself. Jace hated him with burning passion, for destroying their little family, for living him alone to fend for himself, for not loving him back.

Yet when Clary had asked if someone knew who the couple were, he'd simply shaken his head and said "No".

^.^.^.^.^.^.^

She found herself lying on her back, looking at the sun. She was in a small clearing and she was feeling warm, content. The air smelt of lavender and she could hear birds chirping loudly. She felt safe.

She turned her face to the side, where Jace was. He was sitting with his hands behind him, propping him up. His eyes were closed, facing the sun, but he smiled when he felt her eyes on him. His hair was glistening under the direct sunlight, like molten gold. "I could get used to this" he said, running a finger through her red hair. She hummed in contentment and closed her eyes.

She opened them again when she no longer felt his caresses. Jace was not there. Instead was the blond man, the one that had managed to appear in all of her dreams. She was growing tired of this situation. Her cryptic dreams left her tired and with a lot of questions. She often wondered whether dreams were a product of her own mind, because she could swear that she didn't have that much imagination.

He was looking at her, really looking at her. He turned his head towards the sun, just as Jace had done earlier on. He smiled and addressed her "This is pretty comfortable, I like your dreams Clarissa"

She just stared at him, waiting for his monologue to continue. No matter how much she asked or said, he never paid any attention to her. "I wish I could tell you about the times your mother and the rest of us spent here. I wish you had seen how happy she was. She was always smiling."

"Then tell me about her" she tried. He shook his head, his blonde hair moving with the breeze. Today he'd decided to humor her and answer her futile questions.

"It doesn't work like that. I'm not allowed to tell you. There's so many things I wish I could say right now… My story, my past…"

"You can say them, I swear I won't tell anyone"

"It doesn't work like that" he repeated "There are rules we must follow. I could be punished. In fact, I think I'm breaking the rules by invading your dreams"

"Wait, you're invading them? You're not a product of my subconscious?" she curiously asked.

"I am, I am a real person. But this is all happening in your head."

"How Harry-Potter-like of you" she scoffed. "Who are you?"

He sighed and looked around, almost to check if there was someone else. He leaned towards her, cupping her ear and whispered "Stephen Herondale"

"Am I supposed to know you?" she asked. He flinched.

"I guess not. Everyone that knew me has already forgotten about me. I'm just a character in an old picture, a name in an old textbook. Everyone that mattered or care forgot about me"

Clary was about to tell him something when he covered her mouth with his hand. She opened her eyes wide and looked at him, surprised by the change of the situation. "Clary, wake up! You've got to wake up right now!" he screamed by her ear. "Wake up now, dammit!"

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Clary woke up and would've jumped if it weren't for the man that was straddling her, pinning her to the bed. She felt him, rather than saw him. She guessed it was around 3 in the morning and there was no moon lighting up the sky. It was pitch black.

He was heavy and his breath smelled of rotten eggs and blood. He noticed her awakening and pressed firmer against her. She tried to scream but no voice came out. Silencing rune, she thought. She tried to move, but he was too heavy for her. He felt him lean into her and whispered "We told you not to dig up the past". His hand traced her silhouette, making her shiver in repulse. Fear was running through her veins, making her heart beat faster than ever yet keeping her paralyzed. "We warned you, Clarissa Fairchild"

His hand had started to move her t-shirt upwards, making her want to vomit. His hand was close to his waist when someone else said "Don't! She's not yours to take, remember?" The hand was removed from her waist and the man grunted. "You were lucky tonight, girl, but don't be too glad, darling" he said while twirling a curl around his finger. Her eyes had adapted to the darkness and she could nearly make out his face. His voice lowered even more "He'll be worse than I would've been. What he'll do to you…" he shivered.

The other man was wandering through the room, carefully opening drawers while she watched, immobilized. She saw Isabelle and Aline through her peripheral vision, fast asleep. They hardly moved. "I got them" the other man said. "Come on, dimwit! Mark her and we're outta here"

"This is your second warning, girl. There won't be a third" the man on top of her said. He bent and took her arm in his hands. She had no time to register the knife on his hand. She could only feel the pain of feeling the sharp blade carving her skin. She could feel herself scream, and tears were running down her face. She probably could not talk in the morning due to the strain in her vocal chords. She was tense and the pain was blinding.

The last thing she saw before the world fell on her was the droplets of blood falling from their knife and a man smirking at her, haunting her.

^.^.^.^.^.^

Isabelle had had a fairly interesting dream. She'd dreamt of her family and Simon. They were happy, truly happy. It was as if nothing had ever changed, as if they hadn't grown apart. It reminded her of those old times in which her parents didn't fight, in which they didn't look at Alec with repulse on their eyes, in which they didn't look disapprovingly at Simon. It reminded her of what had been her perfect family.

She was woken up by screams. Horrible screams. They were raspy and made her hairs stand. She recognized the voice as Clary's. She bolted up in bed.

When she looked at her, she couldn't help but skip a heartbeat and scream while running towards her. She was covered in blood, and so were her sheets. She had dried tears on her cheeks and she was shaking violently. Aline had woken up as well and her face was slightly green, as if she was going to be sick.

Clary was not looking at them though. She was looking at the window, once transparent. There were pictures stuck to the glass now. Ignoring Clary's cries, she walked towards them to take a closer look.

They were pictures of them. They were of various moments of the past month at the Institute: them training, Clary and Seb laughing, Jace and Max walking hand in hand, Isabelle sleeping. She took them in her hands and started to look at them more carefully, horror spreading through her. Some of them were taken through the school's windows, but others were taken from the inside.

One of them caught her attention, and she felt guilty for the words that escaped her mouth "You and Jace kissed?" Clary nodded absently, scratching now her skin and still on shock. Aline had already left to get the boys.

"What do you want from us?" Isabelle screamed at no one in particular, having too much rage bottled up. She screamed for Clary and her blood, for their pictures and their wrecked life, for her family and Jace's, and Clary's and everyone else's.

She barely registered Clary coming up to her and cry on her shoulder silently. She hugged her and let her own tears fall. She was scared, too much for her liking. She could feel eyes on her, watching her every move.

Clary shifted in their embrace and whispered "Monsters exist, Isabelle. They were here tonight with us" Izzy shivered, frightened to the bone by her cold voice.

She tightened her hug and replied, having to clear her voice before doing so "I'm scared, Clary"

She separated a bit from her and looked her straight in the eye, her green eyes darkening. "You should be. The devil's real, Isabelle. I saw him last night"