When Jem left London by boat over sixty years ago, there were no cars in the streets and men wore top hats. Young maids with bonnets on their heads ran their errands.

Everything looked different today. Not only through the destruction of the war, but also in clothing and demeanor. In the monastery where Jem had lived for the last half century, the progress of society had passed him by. So now the new colors hit him with an overwhelmingness that he had seldom experienced.

And even though everything was so different, there were still enough details to remind him of his youth.

He almost cried when he saw Will's old favorite tavern. In the same place, unshakable, she suddenly stood in the middle of the ruins of the shelled building.

Jem remembered Will going there whenever he was particularly looking for trouble. He's been kicked out so many times that it's nothing short of a miracle that he keeps getting let back in.

Jem always thought the landlord was crazy for not banning Will from the house long ago. The gold that the boy possessed could not possibly repay the destruction.

Now, however, Jem believed that stubbornness had rubbed off on the building to save it from the same destruction that had ravaged the rest of the street.

Despite the sadness for his friend, Jem smiled as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

Here, in this town, he felt Will's presence like he hadn't in years.

He lingered for a moment before continuing on his way.

It wasn't easy at his age to find a person he hadn't known for so many years.

Will died over eight years ago, during which time Tessa could have gone anywhere. For what he knew, it was possible that she had already died herself. Maybe she would have made sense and left town.

Although he seriously doubted the latter.

Tessa had never worried about her own safety.

Neither Jem nor Will could ever convince her to stay out of trouble if it could help someone. The friends learned early on to be better able to protect her if they accompanied her.

As they walked disguised through the very streets where he was now trying with great effort to capture those memories.

All this time ago, he was carrying a cane due to an illness that robbed him of any chance of a few more years. He now needed it to support his decrepit legs in carrying his bony body.

Actually a nice thought if he could have spent the years with his loved ones.

Not that he regretted leaving, he would do it again if he could repeat the decision. Both the time he had with Will and Tessa and the time he gave them had been a wonderful gift.

By the time the massive Institute loomed before him, he was already out of breath.

The way from the tavern here, even in his ill condition he covered in half the time it took him now.

The institute was as he remembered it, and then again it wasn't.

It still resembles the church from which it was originally built. The gigantic iron gate - as always - closed his old home in a tight embrace. Weak and old as he was, there was no way he could open that gate even a crack.

What was new, however, were the toys Jem could spot in the yard, the many cars parked in the driveway.

Music emanated from the solid walls. It wasn't the music that Jem carried in his heart. This was more modern, more festive. Almost as if the war was forgotten in the building and Christmas had started.

A smile spread across Jem's face.

As Will and Tessa grew older, they passed the management of the institute to their son. Even if Jem didn't know until a few minutes ago if a Herondale was still in charge, it was the music that gave him certainty.

Jem knew Will would have thrown a party like this during the war. He would have written ridiculous lyrics to mock the situation with black humor, upsetting some with his tacky manner but distracting many from the real tragedy.

This was his legacy.

"May I help you, sir?" Jem had been wearing the hood of his cloak since he left the ship at the port. Even if he was half-English, his Asian heritage was still recognizable, and with the war raging not many locals were friendly to him. Nevertheless, he pushed his hood back so that the strange man could see him.

Because this one also had foreign trains. In the twilight of December, Jem recognized a slight tan that seemed to come from sunnier countries.

"You're a Herondale?" Even if he asked it as a question, Jem would recognize Herondale's blue eyes anywhere.

The young man tilted his head suspiciously. He couldn't have been more than thirty. His uniform identified him as a member of the British military.

"Owen Herondale, at your service."

Jem exhaled deeply, fighting back tears. He remembered Will's proud words when he wrote to him about the birth of his grandson. Owen Herondale, the only child of Will's son.

"... her grandson," he whispered in awe.

Although Jem had expected to meet the family, which was a little bit Tessa and a little bit Will, it still felt unreal to him. For so long they lived only in the words of letters, and now that their grandson was a grown man himself, he was standing before him.

"Excuse me?" Owen asked.

Jem smiled and shook his head. "Oh nothing, my boy." He regarded him for a moment before asking the question he'd come to ask. There would still be a time when he could meet the new generations of Herondales. "I'm looking for an old friend. Your grandmother, I think, Tessa."

Surprise settled on his face, as if he wasn't used to being asked about Tessa.

He stopped breathing for a moment and his heart pounded hard against his ribs.

What if she's dead? If Owen sent him to a graveyard? The air raids on London two years earlier had caused so much destruction that it was still seen all over the city. What if Tessa was among the victims?

Then there was pure shock on Owen's face. "Are you... are you Jem Carstairs?"