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They were all shouting. Shouting at him in a mix of English and French- Jace didn't want hear any of it. He kept shoving clothes into his case at random- he knew he shouldn't have taken them out. He should never have even entertained the idea of staying here. What a mistake. Yet another fatal mistake. Surely he could not make anymore. Jace was not supposed to make mistakes. He would make sure that he perpetrated no more. He was getting out, getting away and finally learning from his mistakes.

This clearly meant that he was supposed to be alone. Forget human contact, forget the overrated notion of social acceptance. Jace was meant for one thing- the job. There were no lies there, there were no tricks or deceptions- it was just him and the demon. The winner and the loser. The struggle and the victory. Jace was made for Shadowhunting- not family life or love. To love was to destroy- he had been told that many times, but it was finally beginning to sink in.

"Jace! Jace, non- reste ici! S'il tu plait!-"

"Yes, Jace. Please! Stay here! Stay-"

"Pourquoi tu dois-"

"Why, Jace, why? Don't leave! What have we done to-"

"Please don't leave on account of me. I am not who you think I-"

"You know Jace?!"

"Je suis perdu! I not understands."

"Jace, I spoke to Clary, and-"

It was the last comment that made Jace whirl around with fury spitting in his irises. That gentle-spoken voice that Jace detested. His jaw was tight with anger and his teeth were gritted together. The sound of her voice attempting to placate him seemed to make something inside him snap. He erupted- a volcano spilling over with red-hot lava.

"Don't you dare mention her name!" he hissed in a threatening manner. "You took her from me. Get back to her and let me live my empty existence knowing that you have what I never can."

"Boys, I think we should be leaving Jace and Lyn to talk," Jacques Christophe murmured as he started to usher the boisterous boys out the door.

"Don't bother, Jacques," Jace told him shortly, swinging his rucksack onto his back. He knew that he had his weapons, anything else left behind could be afforded to be forgotten. He just had to get out. Get out quick before he did something violent that he may or may not live to regret. "I am leaving, Jacques. You have been an excellent host and unbelievably kind to me. I apologise again for my rudeness but I really must leave."

"She is not with me- please, Jace, let me explain. I only met Clarissa for the first time the other day- there was an impostor. Your father, he sent an impostor to-" Words spilled from Madeleine's mouth in a garbled attempt at explanation.

"Stop," Jace cried. "Stop filling me up with your lies."

In his moment of frustration and claustrophobia, Jace wrenched a dagger from his pocket. A steel blade with a midnight blue handle- dangerous beauty, he loved it and loved to destroy with it. Jace did not brandish it towards the woman, merely held it tight in his hand.

"Get out of my way and let me leave," he ordered. The woman with the silvery hair and soft eyes looked panicked- as if she knew that he was going to slip through her fingers, and for some reason she had to prevent that from happening.

"She is broken!" Madeleine exclaimed. "She is going crazy trying to find you- she wants you back. Her life is as empty as yours without you in it."

Jace gave a short bark of dry, humourless laughter. It sounded almost maniacal, and highly scathing. Laughing at the woman, mocking her words. The boys and Jacques Christophe were frozen in the doorway, trying to listen attentively and understand correctly.

"I do not belong in her life," he jeered in a low, dangerous growl. "Our lives are too different. We live in different worlds, you told her so yourself! She lives in all the happy, colourful joy of life. I live in the pain filled world of depression and darkness. You told her, she agreed. That's the reason- the reason why she paints all those pictures in bright colours. All of them accept mine! She only ever drew me in black and white. We don't belong- we never have and everyone knows it."

Madeleine dug into her pockets as Jace strode purposefully to the door. "No," she shrieked. "Don't let him leave! Just give me a minute- please, keep him in the room, Jacques."

Immediately, Julien, Mathieu, Philippe and Jacques Christophe stood solidly in front of the small doorway.

"Don't do this, let me leave. Don't make me force my way out." Jace's eyes were darting around the room looking for another escape- any other escape. He didn't even care that he was breaking down or running again- all that mattered was getting out of the room. His past had to be left in the past, Jace could curse himself for his cowardice later on- the only thing of importance now was escape. Escape into the dark night where he could meld into the black sky like a shadow, and nobody would find him.

"Jace, you promised," Matt whispered sadly. Phil looked crestfallen like a puppy that had just been kicked for no reason. Julien was scowling in his attempt to look tough, but anyone could tell that he was upset- his eyes gave him away.

"Ah! I found it!" Madeleine called. "Jace, please- look at this before you go."

Jace turned around, merely to tell her that he would do no such thing- and perhaps to judge whether the window was large enough to jump out of- but when he saw what was in her hands… he froze. Jace couldn't move. It was a large sheet of thick paper, creases showed the lines where it had been folded up numerous times.

It was art. A portrait of two people. A girl and a boy. Both beautiful in different ways.

The boy on the right and the girl on the left. He had a defiant look on his face- strong and fearless. His eyes blazed as he stared straight out at the people on the outside looking at his painted face. The girl looked troubled and worry creased her face. She was angled towards the boy, gazing at his face and her apologetic eyes pleaded for him to turn to her- but he refused to acknowledge her in his headstrong defiance.

In between them, in calligraphy written in pure black ink, were the words I'm Sorry

Jace stood still and tried to breathe. As he took in every aspect of the page, he was forced to sit down on one of the beds. He stared at the piece of paper held motionless in Madeleine's hands. It was Clary's drawing. Another one of her flawless masterpieces. Pain and regret poured off the page, in the way that only Clary could manage to master through her art- never had any other stuffy painting Jace had seen achieved that. But this one did, because she had drawn it. It was of him and her.

Just Jace and Just Clary.

And it screamed life with its vibrant colours.

So bright that Jace wondered if she had used a rainbow as her palette. Every strand of hair, every fleck in their bright eyes, every part of him…

Jumped to life with vivid colour.

He was in colour, bright colour that matched hers exactly its intensity.

Jace was in the same painting as Clary, and they were both in colour. Bright, bright, blazing colour that made the breath in Jace's chest stop abruptly as he tried to work out the significance and implications present in the one sheet of colour-coated paper. Oscar Wilde sprung to his mind and Jace could feel a wry smirk grace his inner-self.

"Mere colour, unspoiled by meaning, and unallied with definite form, can speak to the soul in a thousand different ways."

Jace didn't try to reach the door, he just sat still and basked in the colour that was him… with Clary.