Author's Note: DON'T KILL ME FOR THIS SUPER SHORT CHAPTER PLEASE! (: I'll update again tonight to keep y'all happy, I promise. I just had to make this chapter short because the next chapter would be too long, like ten pages in Word or something. So, that was obviously out of the question! My OCD strikes again!(: This is still an important chapter, though, y'all, so don't skip it 'cause it's short!

Chapter Twenty-Five

I'm back in the present now, back to Jace and his century-old rage.

We stare at each other silently because I am not sure what to say.

What can I say?

I don't know.

Jace breaks our eye contact first, looking to the right. His jaw feathers. "I'll be gone for the next few days," he finally says, still refusing to look at me.

My voice is gravely when I ask, "Where are you going?"

"To get some more obscure ingredients for the spell. Interestingly enough, rat intestines are not commonly stocked by Wal-Mart."

His stab at humor falls on deaf ears. I've gotten hung up on the word "spell." He had yet to confirm the fears I know are valid. But he just has. He's just said that he is going through with it, not that I ever had any doubt, but it is still sickening to hear. The rush of panic makes a new appearance.

"Isabelle will watch over you, but you have free reign of the castle," Jace goes on hollowly. "I've gotten rid of all the sirens and vampires and werewolves—or whatever you want to call our pets. So you'll be safe from harm by them."

I stay silent, my heart pounding.

Then Jace's eyes meet mine with great reluctance, and he says, "I'll see you in a week."

I open my mouth, maybe to return the stiff parting, but what comes out is entirely different. "You really are going to kill me." And I hate the way my voice quakes and whispers with broken emotion. I sound like I did at the mental hospital.

Hopeless.

And I am hopeless.

But maybe I haven't always been.

Maybe I won't always be.

"Yes," Jace says coolly, deadly.

I blink back tears and look down at my feet, to keep him from seeing this embarrassing display of fear. "I'll really be dead."

Jace doesn't pause. "Everyone dies, Clary." And then he starts walking away, away from me and off to find the things that will be used in my own sacrifice.

Your last sacrifice, the voices urge, as if they think this will soothe the terror of true death.

My mind works, and at the last minute, right before Jace cuts the corner and disappears from view, I call out, "Not you."

And then Jace hesitates. He stops, thinks, frowns slightly. He looks over at me, meeting my eyes, and agrees, "Not me."

And I might hear a note of sadness.

Of hopelessness.

Like me.

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