Alec wakes with tear-stained cheeks, his eyes opening to a dark ceiling.

For a moment, his mind is heavy and unclear, and the memories can't hurt him. Then, they come rushing back. Alicante burning and demons flocking the skies. His team all around him, fighting for their lives. Magnus and that look in his eyes when he stepped through the portal to Edom.

Alec looks to his hand, but the blood is gone. He vaguely remembers Jace cleaning it for him, taking care of him when he was unable to care for himself. It doesn't spark anything in him. His mind and his heart are blank, grey clouds storming his emotions.

Magnus is dead and he will never love again. Of that he is certain. It has nothing to do with that ridiculous 'shadowhunters love once' spiel. Magnus was it. The warlock was the one great love of his life and no one would ever bring such joy or love to Alec's heart for as long as he lived. He doesn't know how long that will be. He doesn't want to go on without his warlock.

Now, it is morning. Alec allows his heavy eyes to drift to the side, watches the sunlight filter in through the crack between his curtains, catching dust particles in the air. He hasn't been here in so long. He spends most nights at Magnus's.

Or he used to.

Rolling onto his side, Alec spies the ring, a soft shine about it as it catches the slit of light spilling into the room. He reaches out to skim absent fingertips across the circumference. For a moment, he considers wearing it as a token of remembrance. It feels wrong.

If he wants to remember Magnus, he will go to the loft and find something to keep (although, he can't think of anything meaningful that Magnus will have left behind). If he wants to honour Magnus, he will keep his mourning to a minimum and he will live as long as he can stomach it. If he wants to avenge Magnus, he will kill the one responsible for his death.

Magnus was gone because of the demons, and the demons had only been summoned because of Jonathan and the soul sword.

The sword is gone—that is one less thing to destroy—but Jonathan is still out there somewhere. While he lives, Alec's life has purpose again. A singular goal sears itself into his mind like a brand. He has to kill Jonathan Morgenstern.

A soft knock at the door disrupts his thoughts, so hesitant that Alec almost misses it. The handle clicks as it opens. There is a momentary pause.

"Alec…"

A shaky inhale racks Alec's chest and he curls his fingers into the sheets below him, telling himself that it can't be who he thinks, who he hears in his desperate, grief-stricken mind.

"Alec…?" Now, he recognises his parabatai's voice, whispering into the room. His heart sinks low in his chest. "Alec, are you awake?"

Alec takes a moment before he responds. He hates how timid Jace sounds, like the slightest hint of anything other than softness will break him. "I'm awake," he replies, his voice quiet to match Jace's own. Really, it is to avoid his voice cracking with grief.

The door closes and footsteps approach softly. The mattress dips at Alec's back as Jace sits on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Alec doesn't dignify that with a response. "What did you come to say?"

His parabatai hesitates a moment, releasing a soft sigh. "Jonathan is attacking institutes all across the world. He's killing people… You don't have to worry about anything. We can handle it. I just wanted to let you know what's going on. If we find him, I'll let you know where we're going. I just didn't want you to worry if you can't find us."

His hand comes to lightly rest upon Alec's upper arm, squeezing a little.

"I'll let you rest… Don't worry about anything, okay? I'll come back to check on you in a few hours."

Footsteps retreat and Alec squeezes his eyes shut a little tighter. "No," he says shakily, pushes himself up. "We have to find him. I'm going to find him."

Jace looks at him sadly from where he is paused at the door, shaking his head a little. "Alec, I don't know if that's a good idea… You remember what I was like when I thought we'd lost Clary…? It's never a good idea to go on missions after a loss like that… You need time to mourn."

"I am not you," Alec insists, too stricken with grief to be concerned with his wording or his tact, "and I'll kill that asshole with my bare hands if I have to." He clenches his jaw, the dark anger in his eyes apparently enough to prevent Jace from arguing with him. "He killed Magnus… I'm ending this."

Magnus wakes drenched in sweat, his eyes opening to a fiery sky.

Confusion fogs his mind, his last memory being of Alec and the fear in his expression before he was swallowed by a closing portal. The heat of Edom floods back to him and he startles halfway upright. Sweat pricks his skin, his head swimming with darkness as a deep ache pulses through his shoulder, and he collapses back once again.

"Relax," a voice soothes, a clawed hand reaching for his cheek and Magnus wrenches away from it, startled by such an unexpected presence. He had thought he was alone. "Forgive me… I forget your mortal side makes you fearful."

Magnus shakily lifts his head, his eyes narrowing at the woman sat beside him. "Lilith," he mumbles upon recognition. She has taken human form. "What are you…" he begins and swallows hard, fighting the hoarse rattle of his voice. "Why aren't I dead? I was wounded and helpless… Why wouldn't you have killed me?"

Lilith tilts her head slightly, softly. "Did you want me to kill you?"

"Well, no, I suppose not."

"Then you should be grateful," says Lilith simply, glances skyward. "Your father wasn't one for ceilings I see… Gives you a nice view of that rift you're keeping closed." She turns back to him, a strange glint to her eyes. "Impressive how you managed to maintain the shield while you were unconscious."

"Instinct," Magnus explains concisely, lifts a hand to wipe at the sweat sheening across his brow. "What's your point?"

Lilith curls her lip in a half-smile. "Well, I had hoped that you may… see your way to withholding your magic for a second. So that I might slip through to earth."

Magnus huffs. "Why would I do that?"

Lilith tilts her head, apparently trying to hide her irritation. Unluckily for her, Magnus is uncommonly aware of emotions even while halfway to hypovolemic shock. "So I can murder that traitorous little wretch I call a son." Magnus brow pinches and lifts his eyes to the sky, fights the dizzying roll of his eyes. "Wait here," Lilith says.

Magnus wants to protest, tries desperately to lift his head. He doesn't want Lilith out of his sight, but she has melted into the shadows before he can deter her. Curling his hands into fists at his sides, Magnus has no choice but to wait for her return.

"Here," Lilith says, sitting herself on the edge of the bed with a roughly cut glass filled with black liquid in her manicured hand. Magnus eyes her with suspicion. "I've brought you something to drink. You must be thirsty."

"What is it?" asks Magnus, though he knows that he can't fight her even if he doesn't like what he sees. She could easily force the strange liquid down his throat with him being so weak. Compliance will be easier for now.

Lilith apparently makes the judgement to avoid that question. "It will help with the pain," she says, a hand coming to guide Magnus's head, tilting the rim to his chapped and broken lips.

Magnus recoils initially from the first taste, ash and blood filling his mouth, but he swallows and takes another mouthful as Lilith coaxes him. As overwhelming as the taste is, the liquid is smooth and sates his thirst. His lips are stained black when she lets him pause for air, his eyes narrowed in distaste.

"You're doing well," she utters. "Finish this glass and sleep."

"Why are you doing this?" Magnus asks, tries to push the glass away, but he is too weak.

Lilith doesn't answer. She feeds him another mouthful of the black liquid. Magnus takes it gladly. There is something addicting about it, something needful tugging at his gut. An overwhelming tremor racks his body suddenly, trails a drop of hot liquid down from the corner of his mouth.

The rim of the glass disappears from his lip. His muscles coil tight without his consent, shuddering in an uncontrolled seizure. Lilith braces a hand below his collarbone. Her strength pins him to the bed. Magnus clutches her wrist as tightly as he can manage while being so racked with tremors.

"You will grow used to it," says Lilith, watching the ichor pulse beneath Magnus's skin, lighting his veins black. "Be strong. It will pass."

Magnus clenches his jaw through it, doesn't try to fight the shudders as they ravage his body, knowing that it will be better to just let it happen. If he tries to fight, he will just make it worse for himself. He doesn't know how long he lies there simply letting it happen.

When it ends, his limbs are limp and lifeless and—no matter how hard he tries—he can't move them. There is an ache all through his bones, a kind of cold that leaves him weak and shaking. He is helpless. Vulnerable. It's the worse feeling in the world.

"Rest now," Lilith says, though her voice is fading. "When you wake, you can have some more. It will make you strong."

The confusion of hot and cold fogs his mind and darkness presses in hard against the back of his eyes. Magnus slips gratefully into the lull of unconsciousness.