The little sticky note with Jace's number mocked me from where I'd stuck it on the fridge. I still hadn't built up the courage to call him. I didn't even know if I should call him. As much as I missed him—and God, did I miss him—were his lies something I could get over?

But holding grudges and latching onto the anger was emotionally exhausting. I had wasted so much time being angry at my mom, Luke, and Valentine for all the secrets they kept, and it didn't get me anywhere. Maybe if I'd fully forgiven Valentine as I had my mom and Luke, we would have had a better relationship. He'd been nothing but loving toward me, and all I did was resent him. Now, he was dead, and there was no way for me to right my wrongs. No way for me to apologize for how I'd treated him. No way for me to go back and tell him I loved and appreciated him. Did I want the same ending with Jace?

I yanked the note off the fridge and quickly dialed the number before I could chicken out. I chewed on my thumb as the line rang and let out a little sigh when it went to voicemail. This I could handle.

"Hey, it's me," I said after the beep. "Um, Clary. I got your package." I paused and thought about my next words. "I—I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you, but I am ready to listen."

I gave him a date and time to meet me at a cozy little café in town if he wanted the chance to tell me his story. Meeting in public still wasn't ideal, but we needed neutral ground. I didn't doubt he'd show up and could only hope his side of things would somehow allow us to move forward.

Unsurprisingly, Jace was already waiting for me at the café. He'd been sitting there for a bit, if the almost empty cup in front of him was any indication. It was a slow day, only a few other people sitting at the small circular tables scattered around the room. The lights were dimmed low with instrumental music playing softly from the store speakers, making the setting more intimate than I would have preferred, but it was the only place I could think of where we could get some form of privacy.

"Thanks for calling," Jace said as I sat down across from him.

I dipped my head in acknowledgment of his statement but didn't reply.

"Do you want something?" he offered. "I would have ordered you a coffee already, but I got here kinda early and didn't want it to sit around and get cold."

He was rambling and nervous. I'd never seen him nervous before, not even when he met Valentine for the first time. Guess that should have been another red flag.

"I'm fine, thank you." I was already feeling jittery and anxious. Caffeine would just make it worse.

"So." He cleared his throat. "How have you been?"

Awkward. Was it supposed to be this awkward?

"As well as I can be considering my father is dead, my brother's in federal custody, and the man I fell in love with isn't who I thought he was," I said.

He winced and dropped his gaze to the table. "I deserved that."

"You did," I deadpanned. "But I'm not here to fight. I want to know everything, so talk."

Inhaling deeply, he ran a hand through his hair and looked up at the rustic lights hanging from the ceiling.

"The FBI's been trying to get Valentine for years. Your dad was good at covering his tracks, and the Bureau decided to send someone undercover. But Valentine ran a tight ship, and they couldn't get anyone in as a member of The Circle. They also tried to get someone in with your brother, but that didn't work either. Then, they remembered a daughter in Valentine's records. Your dad did a good job at keeping you out of the public's eye, but your familial ties are still on government record. They followed you around for a while, recording your habits, studying your behavior. Since you went to Valentine's every Sunday, they assumed you were involved with the drugs," Jace explained.

"If they were following me, wouldn't they have noticed I never went anywhere near the warehouses or shipping docks?" I asked.

He ran a finger along the rim of his coffee cup. "They didn't watch you twenty-four-seven, Clare. Besides, your dad and brother were great at shaking tails. Why would you be different?" he pointed out. "After they chose you as the next target, they had to decide who to send in. With your spotty dating history and few friends, they knew they had to send in someone attractive, charismatic, and charming. Someone who could gain your trust and affection without setting off any alarms."

"So they picked you." He nodded. "You keep saying 'they' and not 'we.'" I observed. "Why?"

"Up until they decided I should go in, I wasn't involved in the Morgenstern case at all. In fact, I was chasing down a competitor, Raphael Santiago. They pulled me into a meeting about going undercover, and it wasn't an offer I could refuse. Very few agents my age get the opportunity to not only bring down one of the biggest crime lords but to go undercover while doing so. I spent about a year preparing, creating a new identity, and designing a backstory. I learned everything I could about you, so I could pluck the right strings and make you fall for me."

"And it worked." My tone was bitter. This conversation was not making me feel better at all. It was embarrassing to realize how easily I'd been manipulated.

"Yes. The only problem was, I fell for you, too. When I came into Hunter's Moon that first night, I felt something. A weird pull toward you. I brushed it off as nerves about going undercover because at that point there was no going back. The more time I spent with you, the more I began to develop real feelings. I didn't want to ruin the investigation and tried to ignore them, but one day I woke up and knew I was in love. I told my superiors immediately and requested to be pulled out, but they refused. We had already invested too much time, and they wanted me closer to Valentine."

I bounced my knee, my sneaker squeaking slightly against the tiles. This is where I couldn't understand his thinking. "You loved me but continued to lie?"

He looked out the window, a solemn expression on his face. "What was I supposed to do? It was my job. It killed me to keep lying, but I had to, and it let me keep a closer eye on you. We could tell something was wrong with Jonathan, and with what you had told me about him, I needed to keep you safe."

There were a few other things he hadn't touched on that were nagging at me, especially after the way I had defended him to Valentine. "When my father's office was bugged, you swore it wasn't you. Were you lying about that, too?"

He shook his head and looked at me again. "No. We would never do something that obvious. I was able to get some time alone with his computer and used a device to extract files, but that was it. We still don't know who planted the bugs, but there are strong suspicions it was either Sebastian or Jonathan. Jonathan knew something was up with your dad, and he probably wanted proof."

Jonathan made sense. It could have been how he knew Valentine had that secret shipment coming in, which raised another question. "The night Valentine died." I forced the vivid memories of that night from my mind. "How did you know where to be?" I asked.

His gaze flicked to the necklace hanging against my chest. "I had a GPS tracker installed in your locket when I got it fixed. After you left that night, I had a gut feeling something big was going to happen, so I kicked Simon out and pulled up your location. When I saw you were headed in the direction of the docks, I knew we had to act. We got a team pulled together but didn't know what was going on." Closing his eyes, he took a deep, shaky breath. "God, Clary. When I heard that gunshot, I was so fucking scared. I—I thought it was you."

I sighed and traced invisible patterns on the plastic table with my index finger. "As much as I hate to admit it, if you hadn't shown up when you did, I would have been next. But showing up at the right time doesn't make up for what you did."

He placed his hand over mine, and I tried to ignore the way his touch warmed my skin. "I know I hurt you, and I will always be sorry for that, but there wasn't much I could do. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place."

"What were you expecting, Jace?" I pulled my hand away. "You've lied to me since the beginning. You knew how much I'd been hurt in the past by secrets, yet you kept up your rouse. You couldn't just tell me after all the times I confided in you? You couldn't trust me like I trusted you?"

He crumbled his cardboard cup. "Telling you would have been illegal, Clary. As much as I love you, the law is the law."

Scoffing, I leaned back and crossed my arms. "Let me guess, you were glad it was Valentine and not me because in your eyes he was just a no-good criminal."

Jace didn't answer, and I wasn't surprised. Turns out I knew him better than I had thought.

"I've told you before, good and bad isn't as black and white as you think it is." I looked over his shoulder and watched as a barista pumped syrup into an iced coffee. "My father might have broken the law, but he was a good person. He never hurt innocent people, he let my mom go when she wanted to leave, he took me in and loved and provided for me. You're focused on all the bad he did, but he also did so much good." I met his stare and tilted my head to the side. "I bet you had to keep your undercover assignment on the downlow because you knew there were agents working for Valentine, right?"

He nodded and frowned, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"See, I know that because I overheard plenty of discussions Valentine had. With FBI agents. With the NYPD. With the DEA. He had ins everywhere. But guess what? He didn't force anyone to cooperate." I scooted forward a little. "He didn't threaten them or their families with violence. All he had to do was offer the right number, and their greed took over. Everyone has a price, so don't sit there thinking you're all high and mighty because you're on the 'right' side of the law while there are others wearing the same badge as you on the 'wrong' side."

Jace placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward, his hazel eyes boring into mine. "I will apologize for deceiving you, and I will apologize for hurting you. What I'm not going to do is sit here and apologize for how I feel, Clare. Maybe your dad was a good guy, but he knew what kind of business he was running. He knew the danger he put himself in." Jace leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "Did he deserve to be shot in cold blood by his own son? God, no. But you didn't want to be part of that life, and you shouldn't have been in that fucking warehouse in the first place. I will always think it should have been him and not you because it would have absolutely gutted me. With how much your dad loved you, there is not a doubt in my mind that he would feel the same way."

I wanted to tell him he had no idea how Valentine would have felt, but I couldn't. He was right. If it had been me, Valentine would have never forgiven himself. Just like I hadn't forgiven myself for it being him.

My chair almost toppled over as I stood abruptly, the noise and movement catching the attention of other patrons.

"I need to go," I said. This conversation had taken a turn for the worse, and I didn't like all the feelings of guilt it was dredging up. The feelings I kept desperately trying to smother.

"Clary." He reached out and grabbed my hand. The familiar tingle traveled up my arm and I yanked it away.

"I need more time. I—I'll call you or something," I said before fleeing.

As soon as I got home, I set up an easel in the living room and started to paint. I had too many emotions twisting around inside me, and the familiar process of putting paint on canvas helped clear my mind and untangle my thoughts.

As I worked, I reflected on my conversation with Jace, and my anger slowly began to dissipate. The hurt of being lied to remained, but it was taking too much emotional energy to stay mad. After listening to his story, I could understand where he was coming from. I didn't agree with it, and I wasn't ready to welcome him back with sunshine and smiles, but I could understand.

He never expected to fall in love with me, and while he knew what to do to make me fall for him, he had let a lot of his true self show, too. Most of his lies were trivial—his education, his job, his parents. Sure, those were all important, especially considering the mission his job sent him on, but they weren't what made Jace Jace. They weren't his likes and dislikes, his hobbies, or his morals. They weren't the way he did everything he could to show me he truly had feelings for me. The way he'd listened and remembered all the small details I'd told him, like my mom making snickerdoodles whenever I was upset. The way he'd always been there when I needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to just talk to. The way he'd given me the time and space to process, even though I knew it was killing him to be apart. The same way it was killing me.

With a yawn, I set down my paintbrush and ran my hands over my eyes. I looked at my latest piece: the muscular back of a golden-haired angel kneeling against a dark and stormy background. A pair of feathery white wings filled most of the canvas, a soft, glowing light around them.

My shoulders dropped, exhaustion hitting me. Promising I'd clean up in the morning, I left my painting and supplies in the living room and headed to bed.