When Clary woke up she was bathed in the glow of mid-afternoon sunlight, silky red sheets caressed her bare skin and she was so comfortable, so content. The Voice sat like a reassuring weight in the back of her head, comforting her, showering her with compliments and motivation as her sleepy green eyes gazed upon the traffic on the street below her windows.

Not your windows. Jace's.

Right. Jace.

Thinking his name was like dropping a boulder into the calm waters of her thoughts. They instantly unsettled and displaced, moving frantically around before the Voice spoke again.

It's okay. You don't need him.

You have yourself.

Still, she was weighted by the memory of his betrayed amber gaze and the lack of his presence in bed with her. It was like she'd grown so accustomed to the feeling of his arms around her waist, like she was so used to his body heat that she grew cold without him. Clary pushed the sheets from her body and moved towards Jace's closet to grab a shirt. She hadn't been inside his closet before, she'd only picked up his old shirts from the floor to wear. In fact she never would have entered into the room if he'd been in the bed with her, old habits from the days of her father's merciless demands for respect churning in her head as she stepped into the massive closet without permission.

Clary wandered aimlessly around the space gazing at the articles of cloth strung up on hangers. It was almost like seeing inside Jace's head; there were his suits neatly lined up and pristinely pressed, but right next to them was a pile of regular t-shirts and sweatpants thrown haphazardously into the corner. And there were his jackets, tens upon tens of leather jackets, probably because so many got ruined by blood. Clary's eyes got caught on a small symbol emblazed onto the side of one sleeve; a capital A (or was it a V?) surrounded by a half circle, maybe a C, a hook like symbol extending from the end of the C, maybe a J? The Academy's symbol?

Curious now, Clary dipped her hand into one of his pockets and felt her fingernails snag on a piece of paper. As she pulled it out her gaze darted to the closed closet door. What if Jace caught her? What would he think? Who cares? Her heart contracted a little bit, seizing at the thought of not caring about Jace. Of course she didn't really, she'd known him for maybe a couple of weeks, at most. Though maybe it wasn't her fear that made her heart contract, she knew she wasn't in love, what if it was just the simple fact that no one has ever cared about Jace.

Maybe its just that she knows exactly how that feels. To be alone.

You're never going to be alone.

Clary looked back at the slip of paper in her hands. If Jace wasn't going to help her find answers...well, she'd have to find them herself. Opening the note in her hands she started to read the messy scrawl of letter that seemed too messy to be Jace's. He was clean and precise and Clary would guess that his writing would be too. But this writing was like chicken scratch. She could just make out an address '39 on 21st st. w.' and a time, 8:30 p.m. April 19th.

That was how long ago, maybe a month? And the street was so familiar, where did she remember the name from? What had happened there that made it so memorab-...?

It's where you first met him.

Jace.

Clary reared back at the thought. That's right. He was on 21st street when they'd first met, a few blocks from her own house. Looking back she'd never even questioned why he'd helped her that day, had just accepted his sarcastic excuses in order to find freedom. But now that she had she wondered...what was he doing there on that fateful night.

And why had he shot the man aimed to gun her down?

questions for another time the Voice intergected as mid-day sunlight seeped through the botom of the closet door. It wouldn't be long before Jace woke up.

On the top right corner of the note the same symbol that decorated Jace's jackets was printed, bold and proud. An A, C, J. Holding the note in one hand Clary stuffed the other one into Jace's other pocket. Nothing. She moved from jacket to jacket checking the countless pockets. No more notes. Damn it.

The hope she'd felt when realizing she might find a better lead slowly drained away. With the appearance of her mother's murderers at the place of Carlin's where about multiple times it was obvious that Carlin and her mother's murderers were somehow connected. And if Jace and the Acedemy had a lead on Carlin Clary could've used that same lead to finally get justice on those sons of bitches. She might as well go to the address marked on the note though, and her old house was situated just a few blocks away so she could kill two birds with one stone. A terrible lead is always better than no lead.

As Clary pulled on an overly large blue shirt and a pair of her own pants, shoes, and a jacket she slipped out of the room. Jace was laying on the couch in the living room, his body glistening gold in the light from the open windows. He was still asleep, his face relaxed and his skin smooth, no smirk marring his perfect features, or creases from frowns sinking the line of his mouth. He looked, not younger necessarily, but more relatable, like he could wake up one day next to a nice wife in a house with a picket fence, or go drop his kids off at preschool with a kiss on the forehead, or take their family dog out for a run in the park. And the thing is...Clary believed he could have that. Why not? He still had his entire life left.

And he probably didn't have voices in his head that kept him from going crazy.

Clary shook her head to rid it of the thoughts and leaned down to kiss Jace's forehead. Before slipping out the door however, she paused, turning to glance at the car keys resting on the foyer table. On a whim she swiped them into her right palm and raced out the doorway. She was staring at her shoes as she speed-walked down the hallway, wondering how she was expecting to drive a car through afternoon New York traffic despite her lack of skills, when she bumped into something hard. She squealed and pedaled backwards before glancing at the man she'd ran into, his NYPD uniform catching her eyes. Clary swallowed hard as she remembered the first time Jace had brought her here, the words There are cops living just a few doors down rang around her head.

The cop placed a hand on Clary's shoulder, but not in the restraining force she'd expected, and drew his eyebrows together with concern. A small chuckled floated around the empty space of the hallway. "I'm so sorry about that," he smiled. "Are you alright?" Clary froze, unable to speak or even nod. She was paralyzed with the fear of being discovered, of giving Jace away, of being locked up in jail, of being-

What are you doing he's going to notice you're thatwantedgirlfromthe news you stupid girl saysomethingsaysomethsay somethin-

Clary forced out a laugh. "Yah I'm sorry too" she ground out between gritted teeth. "I never look where I-I'm going."

The cops eyebrows narrowed again at her stutter, but for an entirely different reason. He was sceptical as he looked her over and seen her sweaty palms clutching the car keys. Clary felt a bead of sweat drip down her back.

"I've ah...never seen you in this building before..." the cop straightenned his back, "but you do look kind of familiar"

stupidgirlstupidgirl you're going to get yourself caught justgetoutofthere!stupid girl what are you doing-!

"I-I'm staying-g with a-a friend. Anyways..."Clary drawled the Voice screeching making her anxiety increase tenfold "I'm so sorry again but I'm kind of in a rush," she laughed a little off pitch. "I woke up really late for work".

The cop relazed a little, tension seeping from his shoulders. he smiled at her as she walked over to the elevators and pressed the down button. When she was in the elevator she pulled up her hood, making good measure to tuck her hair beneath the fold of black that covered her skull. She looked at the panel of buttons before her and pressed the one labelled G for ground floor.

She let out a relieved breath as the eleator doors closed and brought her down to the reception, where she'd called for Jaces car to be brought to her and hopped into the front seat. Clary placed the key in the ignition, turned unutil she heard the engine tunr over, the purr of it roaring to life sending tingles to the tips of her toes. So much power was at her fingertips. Clary spent a moment just caressing the leather steering wheel, experiencing the molding sensation of leather against her skin. She really did love this car.

A horn honked behind her and Clary tried to remember what jace did when he drove. She closed her hand over the stick beside her and, just blindly guessing now, pushed it into the D slot. There were so many petals beneath her feet that at first she'd tried pressing both of them. When that only ended in a guttural sound being made, she pressed one. Nothing happened and so Clary identified that as the break. She pressed the other one and-

shit fuck shit fuckinggodalmightywhattheactualfucksheneededtoslowdown

Clary peeled her way into the streets of New York, following the signs in hopes of finding her destination.

Clary got lost a few times so it was nearing dusk as she pulled the corvette onto 21 street. What she thought was a side street was actually a continuation of another street so Clary spent another half an hour circling the area riddled with prostitutes and drug dealers, gangsters and mob members, trying to find whatever was at number 39. In fact 21st did a sort of loop around her own block and as Clary pulled up to the old apartment complex at number 39 she quickly realized that she could probably see her old house if she was high enough.

The apartment complex itself was a shadowy monster in the settling darkness. It had boarded up windows, and a door that was as stiff as a rock and did not budge for anything. Clary figured she'd need another way in and made her way into the dark allyways beside the complex before climbing onto a dumpster and hoping into an open window on the second story. As she pulled her feet into the building Clary thought she heard bottles rattle beneath her. She stilled, not even daring to breathe as she heard the voices of a few men pass beneath the window. She could see their silhouettes in front of the ally as they circled around Jace's corvette like predator around prey. One of them said something indistinguishable before all burst into loud laughter. The rough and heavy notes filtered into Clary's ear and she made note of their offhanded and uncontrolled tone. She watched as one silhouette took a swig from a bottle.

Shit. They were drunk.

Should have parked somewhere more discreet, stupid girl stupidstupidstupid girl can't do anything right-

Clary shook her head to scatter the Voice from her immidate thoughts. The Voice wasn't there to help earlier and she wouldn't listen to complaints now.

In fact the thoughts that the Voice were putting out almost mirrored her insecure thoughts from a few days prior...it made Clary wonder...

Shut up. Get moving. Those men don't know where you are and you have work to do The Voice interrupted, always reasonable.

Of course. Work. yes. She had to look for leads. The complex was actually quite small. Each floor had only a couple of rooms, some boarded up so Clary couldn't even get inside them. The bottom floor lead to nothing but fear as Clary heard the muffle laughs and rustling noise from the men outside. The second floor held nothing of value either, it was only when Clary reached the third floor that things started looking up. The surrounding neighborhood only really had two story houses, so the third floor windows looked over the closest streets. They were boarded up as well, but that was about the only resemblance to the rest of the complex. The whole floor was open concept, the walls knocked out, and despite the dankness of the area, the dust of unused equipment and the impeding darkness of dusk, the place looked new. A rancid foul smell plagued the air too, like a possum had died in one of the shadowed corners, making Clary plug her nose. Metal lined the interior walls and save for a boardroom table near the far window and a bunch of plastic tarps...the room was clear. Clary felt disappointment course through her body. She raced to search the room in the dim light, flicking up old pieces of plastic in the corners. Nothing. There was nothing there, nothing to find, nothing left to search in but a role of blue tarp and an old denim jacket. The last light of day shone straight through the boarded windows and hit Clary's emerald eyes. Might as well search there anyways.

Racing towards denim material Clary sifted quickly through the pockets, the disgusting smell even stronger in that area. There was nothing, only a note with what seemed to have random words written on it. The jacket itself was stained with blotches of dark maroon blood, crusty in between the strands of denim. Clary picked up the fold of brown leather that lay under the jacket, a wallet. Inside was a picture of herself, her father, and her mother. Separate head shots, to identify each of them. For a moment Clary stared at her mother face, beautiful and smooth centered by two dead eyes. No life lingered behind the pupils, but her mouth tipped up in a smile anyways. Clary almost felt tears well in her eyes. Her mother. That poor woman suffered so many years, and for what? For her? For a daughter that turned out to be just as psychopathic as her father?

An X was drawn over Jocelyn's face with a dark red marker. Same with her fathers face. Clary slipped her mothers picture in her back pocket before replacing hers and her fathers into the otherwise empty wallet.

When Clary reached for the blue tarp she certainly didn't expect to find anything other than more tarp material. But she should have realized that the bulges in the fabric weren't natural, that they eluded to more than just more tarp laying underneath.

That's why when her dead fathers body rolled out of the tarp material Clary screamed.