The rush of seeing Jace, feeling him, brought her charging into the place she swore to never return among those she once belonged. It was impulsive—a recklessness that she hadn't allowed in years. But she had to see him.

Clary stood in the doorway of the Institute, arms clutched tight around herself, watching silently as Alec and Isabelle lumbered up and down the stairs carrying a growing number of moving boxes.

"Well you've always known how to make an entrance," Magnus clucked. Clary stopped her rush to leave, finding the others standing in between her and the exit. Magnus looked her up and down.

"Interesting outfit. Full gear; one would think you were preparing for battle."

Clary smirked humorlessly.

"I'm seeing the four of you. Best to be prepared."

Simon moved forward, not getting far before Isabelle gripped him tightly. Clary sighed, disappointed. She'd learnt some new moves since they last fought she was itching to try out.

Though her training made her forget, Clary was reminded of how small she was while her almost home emptied.

"Don't worry, I'm leaving," she spoke, brushing past them to the door. A hand grasped at her shoulder, gently stopping her. Her gaze met Alec's, soft and so unlike the others.

"You should stay. With everything that's happened, we need to help each other." His blue eyes were electric with intensity. "Jace needs you."

Clary hesitated, her shoulders dropping. Then, a whispered, "Are you crazy?" and the spell was broken and Clary was out the door.

Alone in an empty Institute, Clary found herself opening a familiar door and curling into a ball on his bed without knowing how she got there.

Clary was halfway down the stairs when the door opened again. Clary turned to tell Alec to let her go, but it wasn't him. Out of everyone, why did it have to be her?

Isabelle and Clary stood, staring but not saying a word, even as the minutes ticked on. Clary's gaze eventually strayed to Isabelle's protruding stomach. Despite everything, she felt a pang hit her. Isabelle straightened as she realized where Clary was looking.

"No matter what you think of me, you know that I will do anything to protect my family," Isabelle began firmly, leaving no room for argument. Not that Clary would.

Isabelle descended the stairs with Simon in tow behind her, each carrying the last of the boxes they would need to leave. As she spotted Clary, Isabelle dropped her box and wrapped the redhead in a hug. Over Isabelle's shoulder, Clary and Simon's eyes met. Her parabatai mark burned against her shoulder. Finally, he looked away.

Clary nodded stiffly and said, "More than most."

Isabelle paused, biting her lip before continuing, "Then you know that when I tell you to stay away from Jace, it's because I want to protect my brother."

"Or yourself."

Isabelle's dark eyes narrowed icily.

"Both of us have secrets we'd rather keep from him," she spoke with barely restrained venom, stepping closer. "Go see Eric. By not letting go, you're just hurting both of you."

"Spoken from the expert." Clary closed the distance between them and glanced down. "For their sake, I hope you aren't having a girl."

Clary left without giving her a chance to respond, though she heard a slew of filthy words being thrown at her until Isabelle's voice was but a distant memory, as Clary preferred her to be.

"No matter what has happened, we're here for you, Clary," Isabelle said firmly, gripping onto Clary's shoulders. "As far as I'm concerned, you're family."

Since when had Jace developed stubble? He stared at his reflection in the mirror for the first time since his life had been ripped from him. Gingerly, his finger rubbed his jawline where rough prickles took the place of the smooth skin he had the last time he looked in a mirror. His finger fell, as if sparked with electricity.

At least his face wasn't grotesquely maimed.

Still, his appearance was the least of his concerns. For once, he examined his body not with arrogance, but inspection. At the moment, Jace's best clue in figuring out what happened to him was himself. Aside from the stubble, his face was more chiseled; he went from boy to adult without even being there to see it. He ran a hand through his hair and froze, because his lion's mane was cut short. Where he normally let his curls grow out to just below his ears before giving in to Maryse's nagging to cut his hair, it had been sheared close.

There it was again, that stomach churning sense of violation. Whoever took him had clearly groomed him, likely multiple times across three years. Which might suggest that wherever he was, he was being taken care of. Could that be worse? Being tortured while those he loved were left to mourn him was one thing, but being cared for while his loved ones suffered? It was like being a participant.

He gripped the marble counter desperately. A haircut didn't mean he was there willingly. Once he knew everything that had happened, he could get revenge on whoever took him and get his life back. Unless Clary beat him to it.

Damn. He had been doing such a good job fending her out of his thoughts. Timer restarting: now.

After he got revenge—him and no one else—and retook his life, he could work on trying to make up for the time he missed. There was the complication of his loved ones feuding, but what's one more thing on the to-do list?

But first, Jace had to take off his shirt.

I bet Clary will be disappointed she left before this.

Shit. Timer restarting (for real): now.

Jace tossed his shirt onto the counter and focused on his torso reflected in the mirror. New scars that Jace couldn't remember dotted his body. Nothing too grotesque or indicative of torture, but there where skin was smooth. Jace spun and craned his neck backward to see the reflection. Another scar on his lower back, a thin one on his shoulder blade, and further defined muscle. Magnus had already hypothesized that Jace was awake wherever he was, but the scars and added muscle were further proof.

Three years taken from him and he was stuck without answers, control, or his girlfriend. He balled his fist and stared at his reflection. Three years older, helpless to change what had been done, with the stubble on his jaw to show it.

There was a knock and Alec pushed the door open, pulling Jace back to the present. His mouth was set firmly.

"I tried," was all he said, but Jace understood. His timer to not think about Clary never stood a chance, really. Alec eyed Jace and his deadening grip on the counter. "If you're thinking of punching the mirror, don't. Mom's here."

A jolt of excitement raced through him, but Jace paused.

"And?"

Alec sighed and said, "And the Clave is requesting an audience with all available Shadowhunters to determine how you're alive."

Dead or not, Jace could really use a nap.

The five had just descended the tunnels into the Silent City's underground network when there was a flash of movement and a force collided with Jace. His hand fell to his weapons belt instinctually, but the heaving sobs against his chest stopped him. Maryse clung to him in a tight hug, which he instantly returned. She held him as a mother held her son who they thought would never return.

Jace swallowed roughly. He was her son and she was his mother and she was desperately thrilled he was alive, her sparkling eyes told him. They drank him in, examining his older appearance. Gingerly, she grazed his stubbled jaw before recoiling quickly with a shake of her head. There was a time where he wouldn't have believed he would be on the receiving end of so much love.

"I didn't know whether or not to believe it when I heard," her voice shook. "How are you here? We thought…"

Jace nodded roughly, slowly taking a step back from the hug. Her grip remained tight on his shoulders.

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Alec supplied from behind him, witchlight in hand. "Magnus examined him and he believes Jace was never dead, but being held by someone."

Maryse straightened, composing herself into the stern and commanding force he knew best. "Well, we'll need to get an opinion from the Silent Brothers, especially given what happened the last time you were ressurrected."

Her eyes searched their group with sharp intensity.

"Where's Clary?"

The others shifted uncomfortably, some exchanging glances. Alec stepped forward dutifully and said, "This has been a lot for everyone to process. Clary felt that her being here, with everyone, would be too much of a distraction."

Simon snorted.

If Maryse noticed, she didn't let on. Her attention instead focused on analyzing Jace with narrowed eyes.

"I know that you don't remember what happened to you, but do you think that there might be a chance Clary brought you back?"

Jace shook his head, though his chest felt suddenly warm. He remembered that day on the beach where there had been darkness, then her voice: Jace. Anything in the world, yet she chose him when all they had shared were forbidden kisses and tortured glances; a love that had not yet known what love was, as it grew each day. Could she have done it again?

But then he remembered the way her eyes had widened not in joy, but shock when he arrived at her apartment. And if she knew he was alive, had brought him back herself, why would she tear through the infirmary in a rage at being left out of his reappearance?

"Clary didn't know. She looked at me as if I were a ghost."

To her, he may as well have been. But he was back now. He wasn't going away anytime soon.

"The Clave will want her to testify by the Mortal Sword just to be sure. It's not like she was transparent about bringing you back the first time," Maryse said.

Isabelle sprung forward, though Simon tried calming her with his eyes on her stomach. She brushed him off. "She's engaged, Mom. It's best that we just…leave her out of this."

There it was. Engaged. Jace knew what it meant when he saw the ring, but he hadn't heard the word said out loud yet. Acid, that's what it felt like. His bones were made of acid, his lungs were made of acid, his entire body was made of acid except for the heart beating in his chest, burning and dying within the body housing it.

"The Clave disagrees," Maryse pointedly looked away from Jace, but her hand gripped his shoulder more tightly. "And they are waiting on us. We should go."

Taking the witchlight from Alec, Maryse lead the group through the cavernous undergound tunnels. Jace purposely hung back a few feet, positioning himself alongside the others. Keeping his voice low, Jace asked, "Since when does the Clave host meetings in the Silent City?"

"They've been changing locations of every meeting for the past six months or so," Isabelle replied grimly. "You coming back is just another weird event in a stream of weird. Fae have been popping up dead with no idea of the cause, Lake Lynn turned to blood, demons disappearing…everyone's paranoid."

"They called us back to head the New York Institute because of everything going on," Alec began before Simon added, "Plus everyone else was afraid, given the curse."

Alec glared at Simon, looking ready to correct him, but Jace's head was spinning. The boxes stacked in the Institute's hallways began to make sense.

"Why weren't you at the Institute?"

Isabelle frowned, appearing years older. "After you—after we thought you died, it was too hard. Magnus and Alec traveled, then a few weeks later mom transferred to Chicago. Simon and I went with her."

Years of training allowed Jace to keep walking, letting his body run on autopilot as his mind was far away. He looked at Simon hard and unflinching.

"You left her alone?"

Magnus rubbed his temple.

"Herondales," he clucked. "Always the one track minds."

Jace flipped him off without glancing away, eyes locked on the best friend, the parabatai he would have expected to protect her if Jace couldn't. Simon puffed up his chest—larger than before, but still scrawny—and scowled.

"It wasn't like that. You dying, so soon after Max…Isabelle needed me too. We didn't—I didn't leave her alone," his voice shook. Though Simon claimed to hate Clary, it was clear some part of him still cared. "She had her mom and Luke. And we talked almost every day until the Clave transferred her to Barcelona."

Like a switch, the sorrow filling Simon's face flickered back to anger.

Tears watered in Isabelle's eyes staring up at Jace, whether from pregnancy hormones or the sheer charge of emotions from his return catching up to her. "We all visited. She was at Magnus and Alec's wedding. She stopped talking to us."

Simon put his arms around Isabelle and she sank into him while Alec pointedly looked forward.

Whether or not Maryse could hear them, she gave no indication. But when they turned the next corner and promptly announced "I'll let them know you're here" she wasted no time disappearing through the doors. They waited in uncomfortable silence, what seemed to be a growing pattern until Maryse returned a few minutes later, expression grim.

"They're ready for you."

Clary remembered that day in the sun, wearing the yellow romper. The cool breeze kissing them while they kissed each other, lying tangled in the grass. Laughing, talking, and smiling until her cheeks hurt. Full of vibrant yellows and greens she itched to paint that all laid waste to red. Red was all she saw now.

Like a ghost, Clary drifted from the lobby to the elevator and numbly pressed the button for her penthouse. Only when the doors closed and she was alone did she let herself fall apart. Her happy images always started out like that—happy—before she was revisited by the ghosts of what came next. Demons, the mansion full of empty rooms and empty faces, bathed in blood. Always, he would follow; why should today be any different?

"Well that was exciting," Sebastian crooned, leaning against the elevator wall opposite her. She didn't blink, having grown used to his intrusions.

"I don't want to hear it," she wiped away her tears. "Not today."

"Did you think golden boy's return would make me disappear?"

Hoped, more like.

The elevator doors opened. Clary quickly composed herself and ignored Sebastian following behind into her apartment and then bedroom. Eric stood up quickly at her intrusion, taking her in. Even though she had tried to hide her tears, he saw her red ringed eyes and puffy cheeks immediately. He frowned, taking a step closer, then back.

"So it's him then? Jace?"

Clary nodded. From the moment she saw him, touched him, felt his heartbeat, she knew. She would recognize his beating heart anywhere; within the thump thump thumping of his heart, she could have sworn they spelled out her name. And then Jace saw Eric and the beats screamed.

No longer able to keep still, Eric crossed the room and gently kissed her, though she didn't return it.

"Has anything changed for you?" His blue eyes probed her.

She didn't respond at first. Then, quietly, "Jace is alive, but someone took him. I'm going to find out who. They need to pay."

Albeit hesitantly, Clary took his tanned hands into her own.

"Nothing has changed."

Eric smiled and this time, Clary returned his kiss. It was different than Jace's kiss, which was pure sunlight, reminding her of that damn romper and that damned day. Eric's kiss was a promise of what was to come. The sunlight was gone, but it had been gone for three years.

"I have to go—"

"Thank Lilith," Sebastian drawled, now lounging on the bed.

"—But when I come back, we can work on finalizing plans?"

Clary nodded, briefly kissed him goodbye, and waited for the apartment door to shut behind him. Sebastian jumped up and stretched.

"About time. I hate being ignored during talks of bloodshed."

"Good. Leave."

With trancelike focus, Clary moved to the walk-in closet. Gear lined the shelves, as well as nicer outfits from designers Clary couldn't pronounce the names of. Valentino, Louis Vuitton, Versace, she couldn't be bothered and swept it aside. In the back of the closet were her old belongings: jeans, t-shirts, paint-stained overalls, and the yellow romper. It hung untouched and unwashed from that day, but she could never convince herself to get rid of it.

Numbly, Clary sat amongst her old belongings, absently running the romper through her fingers. She paused at the familiar gashes in the fabric's midsection, four parallel lines surrounded by large blood stains oozing outward. Tattered romper in hand, she burst upward and into the living room.

Alive or not, there was still a murder that day. Even if she couldn't be with Jace, she could do something.

The flames from the fireplace were reflected in her eyes as she painstakingly threw the daisy romper into the flames and watched it burn. Even as Sebastian rematerialized beside her, she didn't look away from the bloodied fabric consumed by fire and turning to ash.

"No matter how many tears you've shed, little sister, let the blood flow further," he whispered into her ear.

This chapter went through so many rewrites and I decided to be mean by cutting more information about Clary and Eric, but I gave you more Clary so it works out. We've been getting a bit more information so I'd love to know if you have any theories yet.

-A