05: Ostrich

Robert's eyes flash, bright like steel, as he strikes. Hisswordleaves behind a trail of white feathers and crimson droplets. A raven hails from the night, chasing a bat with a sharp, fiendish scream, midnight spilled from its mouth. The feathers are swallowed by the noise. A cat's paw comes crashing through the clouds and the bird. A green tide swipes the bat away, no trail left behind. The air smells of ashes. Wind murmurs freedom in his ear.

"-lec" there's a voice. It echoes. The darkness shies away with a whine. The raven screams again. There's no air.

"-wake up-" the tide grows stronger. The water is sheer emerald and freezing. "Alec-" It covers his head and drowns the voice. His footing is lost.

"Please-" There's blood in the water. It leaves ugly, black marks over his skin. They look like words. Please (/plíz/, noun, a request)- the S stretching from eyelid to cheek, the E lodged just under his throat.

"-don't die-" the source of the blood is a boy he doesn't know. He has black hair, "-Please, Alec." And he is drowning.

x

The feeling registers before his mind has a name for it. Like fire, burning his flesh, gnawing on his insides, withholding his breath and choking him; coursing through his veins, conquering every cell, seeping into every tissue and bone. It strikes like searing metal, harsh and demanding, tearing him apart. There's darkness and blood, red behind his eyelids and acid in his throat. Emptiness shifts about him, a vertical flip too fast to keep up with, his heart snatched and thrown away for a beating, his lungs crushed, skin flayed.

Silence.

It's stifling, yet only when sound penetrates his skull does he realize the small comfort it had offered. It is everywhere- hissing and screams, dark whispers sugar-coated. Words slur together, molten into a single entity pushing against his senses, bombarding his thoughts until they, too, surrender and wane.

He is left with darkness and noise until there's a pull, and light. He opens his eyes and doesn't see anything but white. There's the sharp tang of blood on his tongue. Pain floods his senses at the very first inhale, but he appreciates the fact he can separate it from his own existence and define it, is glad it didn't swallow him whole.

There's a face, different from the first yet familiar- pale, black hair, dark eyes- above him and more noise. A sharp pull on his neck and a scream. The face changes and contorts. Something wet drips from it onto Alec's hand. The pain returns again and again, rhythmic like his heartbeat, like the screams.

Time stops and he is stranded. He is terrified. He wants out.

The world is black again. There is no pain. It brightens when his mind tires of tracking the trickling time. He opens his eyes and sees a room.

There are two faces this time, both he's already seen.

"Please," he can distinguish a word. It takes a while longer to dissect its meaning. "Wake up."

He blinks. His throat is on fire.

"Alec," a face says. The word triggers something, pulling on invisible strings to rise what the pain has drowned. "Alec," the face repeats. He thinks the word has a meaning, he can't figure what it is, though. He wants to ask, but his voice is gone.

The second face sighs in relief. "You screamed too much for that," it says. A hand enters his periphery vision. It shines in the light- shimmering with sparks and metal. "Don't talk, darling."

He tries to move but his body doesn't respond to his will. The mouth on the face pulls. "Drink this," it says, and something cool and smooth is pressed against his lips. A glass.

Liquid pours down his throat- it has the texture of fur and the taste of rotten eggs. "Sleep," the face says next, pulling the glass away. And there's that hand again. Sparks fill his vision until he's blinded.

The world is black again.

x

The face with the dark eyes has a sweet voice. He finds it lulling. It speaks to him and pleads, cries on his shoulder and tells him of a boy named 'Max' and persons called 'Mom' and 'Dad'. He tries to understand but the fog in his mind is too thick to penetrate, and he is too tired and worn to try. The face tells him it'll be alright, Alec, over and over, Magnus will heal you. The face- it has hands, hands with strong, thin fingers and sharp nails to grip his own palm.

The face holds him and mumbles don't leave me Alec, don't leave me brother.

The next time he wakes up, finally aware- Izzy's already gone on a hunt. There's a note by his bedside with 'don't you dare die' scribbled over it, messy- as if her hand was shaking.

x

"Please nod if you understand what I'm saying," Alec flutters his eyes open slowly, Magnus' voice assaulting his ears. He shifts his head for a better angle, and screams. It takes a while before he can breathe properly again. "I told you not to do that," Magnus tells him with an exasperated sigh, his voice tight and almost frightened. "Your neck looks like mince."

Alec doesn't try to move again, but attempts a glare. Magnus seems relived, but relief doesn't chase away the anger lurking at the edges. "Is this gonna be a permanent gig?" his tone is brittle, eyes not focused on Alec's face, fixating on his throbbing neck. It doesn't seem like he expects him to answer.

"I don't know," Alec voice comes out raw and weak, breaking. Magnus' seems surprised it comes out at all. "Is it?"

Magnus' eyes flare. Alec wonders what he's so scared of, why's he angry. "You are not invincible, Alexander. I can only save you so long."

Alec shakes his head and bites down the scream when pain shoots up his neck. "Do I have to tie you to keep you still? You know me well enough to realize I will and with great pleasure." Magnus' voice is harsh, but his hand hovers over Alec's neck to sooth the pain and it's trembling. His other arm pins Alec to the bed, firm against his chest. Alec doesn't try to move again.

"No, not this," Alec grinds out through clenched teeth. Magnus seems confused, a frown sneaking onto his carefully constructed mask of anger. "Is this gonna be a permanent gig?" Alec's voice gives about halfway through the sentence. He lifts a hand to gesture between them, but Magnus captures his wrist- an iron hold- pressing it down with a glare. "This," Alec repeats, another hand coming up to touch the side of Magnus' face, fingers light, barely touching his skin. "This." Magnus' expression softens. He lets go of Alec hand, capturing the one at his face, pressing it to his cheek, before tentatively kissing his knuckles.

"I'd like it to be," Magnus replies. He doesn't let go of his hand. "Just don't die on me."

A small smile spreads across Alec's face. "Good." His eyes flutter shut again, but he tries to fight it. "Good, me too."

Magnus looks astounded, the feeling too large to leave place for rage. His face glows with sudden warmth, like spring awakened. His eyes crinkle. He seems happy. Alec's eyes close on the image.

He drifts and forgets, waking up an hour later, and several times after that- screaming.

x

The first time he wakes without the pain as a trigger, the room is as dark as it had been all day, but Magnus is still there- Izzy isn't- propped on the bed by his side. "How are you feeling?" Something- his neck - throbs consistently, its rhythm easy to follow and soak up, but immensely hard to ignore. Magnus' fingers twitch, eager to cast anything to ease the pain, his eyes intent on finding any sign of it on Alec's face.

Alec doesn't let it show. Or tries not to.

"Sore." His voice comes out grating, rough. It's painful to speak. Magnus snaps his fingers and the throbbing stops.

"That's because you are an idiot," Magnus tells him. Alec doesn't disagree. It seems to please Magnus, but his face remains hard, his expression painted in sharp, brisk strokes. His anger grows without anything to counter it. "What sort of suicidal notion made you approach a demon while you're practically a mundane?" His words bite.

The reminder is a painful, low blow. Magnus' face tells him he's reached a point where he doesn't care where the hit lands as long as it leaves a scar behind.

"There was a girl." Magnus snarls at his reasoning. Alec wonders what did he expect.

"Isn't there always," Magnus snaps. "If you haven't noticed, you are not a knight. You lack the armor and the horse. Frankly, I think you'd look ridiculous riding-"

"You agree about the damsel, then."

"A were-girl," Magnus concedes with a grimace, anger slowly growing. "Who was stupid enough to-"

"Was?" alarm makes a quick appearance on Alec's face. It's the first time he thinks of her since the unconscious decision to run to her rescue. Guilt is a knife in his heart- twisting.

"Is," Magnus emends. "She's alright. Clary's call had impeccable timing." Alec slumps down in relief and stifles a groan as his muscles scream murder at him. "You owe her your life."

Alec's lips twist. "Well, she did say she'd make it up to me." His voice lacks humor.

"Are you being funny?" Magnus demands. He doesn't seem amused. "Do you think it's funny I got a call informing me my boyfriend's gonna hit the bucket? You think it's funny I had to use twelve spells just to get the poison out of your system because there's no cure for someone who's halfway between Shadowhunter and human? You think it was funny spending the last eight hours fighting for your life because you're an idiot who can't keep out of a fight even when it has nothing to do with you?" Magnus' eyes flare gold, hellfire alight behind his irises, deep seated worry its kindling, anger a veneer. Alec takes a hold of the hand clutching the sheets by his left side, squeezing the cold flesh.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. Magnus' eyes narrow in frustration, his mouth curling itself into a snarl. "I'm sorry I made you worry."

"You should be sorry you almost died!"

Alec shakes his head. "It's not what I'm sorry about." His other hand grips Magnus' shoulder, brushing near his exposed collarbone. "It's not what I'm apologizing for."

Magnus' mouth folds into itself- like a bonfire crumbling. His eyes dull. He lets out a sharp exhale and slumps down, his head unceremoniously falling on Alec's bed, near his waist, in a gesture of extreme exhaustion. He looks like a deflated balloon, sad and small, no air to keep it aloft and going. Alec's hand rests on his nape, scratching right by the hairline, venturing every now and then to twine fingers into his hair. Magnus' body is shaking. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Magnus' hand holds his tighter. "I hate it when you get injured."

Alec smiles tightly. "I know."

Their breath echoes loud like thunder in the silence. Magnus doesn't seem inclined to move, just shift his head slightly so it's resting on Alec's thigh.

Alec keeps on playing with his hair. They breathe.

"I'm sorry too," the warlock says after a while. His voice comes out muffled and slightly strained, apprehensive, not entirely apologetic.

"What for?"

"What I said before." Alec sees only the crown of Magnus' head, but he can gauge his expression- the harsh lines of his face. Alec knows that the apology is offered to settle the argument, not solve it. "About Jace. And you."

Alec nods, accepting, wondering if he has enough strength to solve Jace. "What about us?"

"I'm not gonna apologize about us."

A small smile spreads across Alec's lips at the firm, certain tone, the quick-fire admission that's almost instinctive; this time not apologizing. Perhaps one day, Alec won't feel he has to either. "I mean, what about us?"

"It doesn't change anything," Magnus insists, but his tone suggests he's done a poor job of convincing even himself of that.

"Doesn't it?" Alec figures it should. Magnus' past matters. Alec's lack of it does too. "I just," Alec's voice trails off. "It matters to me. I don't- I know it shouldn't. It does."

"Is there anything I can say to make it not matter?"

They both know the answer to that. Alec keeps quiet. Magnus' face contorts.

"Don't blow it up, darling." The warlock's grip on his wrist tightens. There's a subtle plea in his tone. Alec is willing to be convinced, hopes Magnus can, because he's the one with all the words Alec can never find. "It's just the past. It doesn't matter as much as the present."

But it does- because for Alec, it's almost the same. He has thirty years, less if he's average, more if he's lucky, or if he stays human. It means one chance at everything, just enough time to live a bit, love a bit. He doesn't think he has the time for heartbreak, for falling in love once more, for sleeping around and forgetting.

Magnus has, and had. Magnus has forever. Alec has this and he's losing.

"I'm not blowing it up. I don't even have the exact number to blow up."

"Do you want the exact number?"

He doesn't.

"Do you know it?"

"I can estimate."

"Do I want to know?"

He's curious, though. The kind of curiosity that kills the cat no matter how many lives it's got left. It's the kind of impulse his father taught him to resist, the one Izzy always yields to- the dark itch to pull the trigger, uncertain whether there's a bullet in the cylinder.

"Judging by your attitude thus far, no, you don't."

It would be best to leave it at that. Alec doesn't need nor want to want to know how many people he has to stand up against in Magnus' book, doesn't want to know how high he ranks. Yet, looking at Magnus now- with his rumpled orange shirt and hair so soft, body stiff- he can't help it. He asks "Did you love them?" and it's like pulling a gun muzzle against his head.

"Some," Magnus shifts his head to look at Alec's face imploringly. Alec doesn't know what exactly he's searching for, but stares head on, unblinking. Magnus' face is purposefully open, kept unguarded from Alec's eyes, Alec's question, Alec's doubts. "Are you going to ask me if I loved them more or less than I love you?" Magnus' cocks his head at a weird, birdlike angle, his eyes alight with something not entirely human Alec is absolutely fascinated by.

Alec's heart stutters when Magnus' words register. His guts twist and his mouth dries. "No," he shakes his head and tightens his hold. He hopes he never has to let go. "This is enough."

And it truly is, though his own reply lacks. He's always heard those four letters leave an immense impact once uttered. Alec never thought it'd leave him breathless.

The gun at his head slowly pulls away. Relief takes over- flooding every cell with the knowledge of feeling, of certainty, of him.

Magnus smiles ruefully. Alec thinks he understands. The hand not captured in Alec's vice grip comes to rest across Alec's stomach, Magnus' flesh dark against his own. "Don't die on me," Magnus says and tightens his hold. "I won't like that."

"I wasn't planning to."

"It's for future reference." Alec nods. It's a silent promise. After a pause, Magnus adds, "And stop running away. It's terribly insensitive of you. My weak heart can't take it, I'm much too old for that."

Alec cocks an eyebrow.

"Twice." Magnus sighs at Alec's befuddled expression and clarifies, "Simon. And now this."

"This was Simon too, actually."

"That's not the point."

"What is?"

"I can't track you," Magnus admits grudgingly. "Your body's changing constantly, even with the potion, and I can't track you. Every time you disappear, you disappear."

Magnus' hand grips Alec's harder, almost bruising. "But you found me last time."

"I've been searching for hours. I've also happened to be lucky. I may not be next time." Magnus' gaze tells Alec exactly what he fears might happen the next time he won't find him, the next time Clary won't be there to call him for help.

Alec ponders this, biting his lip. "I didn't know."

"Now you do." Magnus' eyes harden. "Promise you won't."

"I'll try."

Magnus shakes his head. "Not good enough, darling." His hand gives up its hold on Alec's palm and moves to remove a silver necklace from around his neck. It's thin and long with an inconspicuous gem pendant. It shines extravagant blue in the slight afternoon light, dim and colorless without it. Alec cranes his neck down, ignoring the pain, so Magnus can fasten it. Magnus murmurs an apology, but puts it on anyway. The gem feels heavy resting against Alec's chest. "That should do."

"What is it?"

"I got it in Peru last time I visited. It's a crystalized dragontear- very precious, very rare."

"How did you get it?" he asks, because he has a sneaking feeling he knows what it's for.

"I have my ways." Magnus' expression is smug, but his eyes remain carefully blank. Alec gets the hint. He's not going to press Magnus' many and mysterious ways.

"Is it going to help tracking me or are you just feeling generous?"

"Of course it will."

"How?"

"Because I won't be tracking you." Magnus' eyes glint, amusement washed in gold. "I'll be tracking it."

x

The next morning Magnus is busy with Luke's injury, Simon and Clary are nowhere to be seen and Alec meets the damsel he's saved sitting by the kitchen counter. She's short and heavily bandaged, hogging a cup of coffee and glaring daggers at the empty kitchen at large, ready to bite. Her eyes lock on him as soon as he enters the kitchen, intent, calculating.

Her nose is twitching.

A true werewolf.

"You."

"Me," Alec confirms, unsure if it's wise to admit that. Her eyes narrow cautiously, but she doesn't bare her teeth. He reckons it's a good sign.

"Here." She says and hands him the precious coffee with a tentative smile and the expression of a soldier sent out to the frontline. Alec takes the cup because he hasn't the heart to tell her he hates the stuff; she looks like she needs reassurance and about sixteen hours of sleep.

"Thank you." He sits across her, hunched over the small counter, the cold coffee set before him. Her smile widens at his words, not genuine, but getting there.

"Maia Roberts," she says, offering her hand. Alec shakes it. Her grip is firm and warm. "Pleasure to be saved by you."

"Alec Lightwood," he replies in kind, "I haven't really done anything."

"Right." Maia gives him a dubious look, one that says she thinks he's slow and possibly deranged, but it's something she's willing to turn a blind eye on for the sake of decency. She stares pointedly at his bandaged neck. He suppresses the urge to rub at it, fussing with his new necklace instead. "Well, I'm glad you showed up. Your kind doesn't usually do that."

Alec scowls.

"You are alright for a Shadowhunter," Maia assures him with a benevolent smile. "Never thought there's decent folk among you."

"Most of us are alright," he murmurs and sips at the coffee to hide his pout. It tastes like shit.

She offers yet another skeptical look and a long pause to suggest he hasn't got her convinced. She shrugs, as if to shake the upcoming argument, not because she thinks she's wrong- he can see the conviction on her face- but because she can't be bothered.

"Thanks," she says simply, but her voice is rushed, quiet, and her words as sharp as they are sudden. Her gaze falls heavy on his shoulders. He doesn't know what to say or do in response that's appropriate. So he nods, his eyes firmly fixed on the tabletop and the cooling coffee cup he isn't planning on drinking the contents of.

"You're as bad at this as I am," Maia observes quietly. He doesn't know if she refers to saving, drinking or talking, but reckons it's true either way. Maia seems amused. "No one's ever thanked you before?"

"I haven't saved anyone before," he explains. I did kill someone last week, though, doesn't feel like something he should add, so he doesn't. The silence is awkward but customary. Alec wonders whether it's his job to wreck his brains and find something to break it with. He doesn't feel like talking. It still feels like he should.

"Are you part of Luke's pack?" he asks after a contemplative silence, settling for formal trivialities.

"Yeah," Maia seems surprised at his interest. "Less than six months."

"How's it like?"

"Better than other packs. Better people, worse accommodation."

Her statement steals a surprised laugh from Alec's mouth. She grins. "How d'you know Luke?" she asks.

"Clary."

Maia wrinkles her nose, the left side of her lips lifting in a lopsided, charming grin. "That girl, she's way too ginger." She says 'ginger' as if she means something else entirely, but is too polite to actually voice it.

Alec smiles at her and shrugs. "She's Clary," he says, careful to keep his tone neutral. It still comes across as if he means something else entirely by 'Clary'. Maia makes a little sound that is more intrigued than surprised, mouth shaped like an O and eyes alight. Alec busies himself with the coffee. He doesn't want to talk about why, why Clary or why anything.

He lifts the cup to his lips and almost spits its contents out. He always forgets just how bitter coffee is.

"You gonna torture that coffee all day or can I come to its rescue?" she asks, not pushing it, the grin still playing about her lips.

"Be my guest," Alec hands her the cup. "I have no idea how you can drink this shit."

Her eyes widen. "Do shut up," she says. "Someone might actually think you're serious and murder you in your sleep."

Alec lets the doubt show on his face, a single eyebrow rising as a challenge. Maia looks as if she might be that someone.

"Some things are not to be said," Maia chides in the determined tones of a preschool teacher. She takes a sip and lets out a purposefully obscene moan, as if to prove something. Alec laughs. The sound is overridden by Simon's booming voice.

"This is a bad idea, worse than the Mentos incident." He sounds exasperated, voice sharp and pitchy, rising halfway through.

"We agreed not to talk about the Mentos incident!" Clary's voice snaps right back.

"I thought it necessary to inform you just how spectacularly bad this idea is. You need ground for comparison." Simon's voice gets gradually stronger. They must be headed to the kitchen.

"It's not that bad."

"How's drawing that on yourself 'not that bad'? Do you have any idea what it'd make you do?"

"I don't know- pat a snake. Wear a mini-skirt. Cut my hair."

"It's a fearless rune, not a Things I Find Mildly Off-Putting rune!"

Clary splutters. "I was talking about my hair."

"What if it's like a boggart- what if we end up with Mr. Matthews dressed like your gran?"

"I don't even remember my gran."

They enter the kitchen just as Simon waves his hands around, either trying to demonstrate the scale of stupidity involved or the general shape of Clary's gran with a single, grand gesture. Clary makes a face at him. He scowls in response. Then they notice Alec and Maia and blanch.

When it becomes apparent neither is going to explain, Alec says, "There's no 'fearless' rune." They don't seem surprised. He frowns. "There's 'courage' and 'brave'. There's no 'fearless'."

"Oh, so you're actually trying to make sense of it?" Maia inquires in a small voice so hollow it sounds like she's weighing her options against the Crazy Surrounding Her.

"Clary invented it," Simon offers. Clary gives him a glare, which Simon returns only halfheartedly. She turns to Alec with a pout he can't understand how Jace finds adorable.

"I don't know if it works."

"You can't just make a rune." The notion itself is ridiculous. Clary bites her lip and shows him a sketch.

"Mark me?" her voice suggests she knows she's going to be turned down.

"Where?" he asks, because he doesn't really believe it'd work, not because it's Clary and he just doesn't give a damn.

"Oh, so you're actually playing along?" Maia's tone acquires a new note of despair.

"On my arm." Clary lifts her right sleeve and shows him a spot just beneath her elbow. Alec marks her, trying to stay as true as possible to her drawing but his hands are shaking. He can feel the Stele resisting his touch. He probably won't be able to use it at all in a day or so.

The finished mark looks wrong and foreign on her skin. Fake.

"Well?" Simon asks, his eyes anxious. "Are you gonna blow up the room?"

"We said we're not talking about the Mentos incident!"

Simon grins. Clary fumes. Nothing happens.

"I told you," Alec says, because he wants to. Clary sighs.

"Maybe it takes time," Maia offers from her seat. Simon huffs.

"Don't encourage her."

Clary rolls her eyes. She opens her mouth to snap at Simon when the doorbell rings. It doesn't stop her.

"I'll get it," Alec heads towards the door. Clary says something he doesn't bother listening to. He opens the door with more force than strictly necessary.

Jace stands on Luke's porch, rumpled and far paler than he's been when he left Magnus' apartment. The voices behind Alec's back die down.

"Hi," Alec greets. Jace nods, shuffling his feet. There's a foreign feeling reflected his eyes- something Alec would have defined as anxiety were it anyone else. He doesn't know how to define it on Jace, so he doesn't try.

"How did it go?" Alec asks.

Jace murmurs, "I turned him down."

"Of course you did."

Jace's eyes widen. Alec tries to smile, but it comes out crooked. Jace doesn't move, but his jaw tightens until a vain on his neck shows. He's not looking at Alec at all. Alec turns around and there she is, staring at Jace like it's only him in the entire world. Then she turns away and plants one on Simon. For a moment, all Alec can think of is I knew she's no good and then he turns back to Jace and sees the heartbreak on his face. The weak afternoon light hits him at a weird angle- enhancing his features until he looks sharp and breakable. Alec's heart drops at the sight of him. It makes him want to strangle Clary, tell her she's stupid, can't she see what she has?

He doesn't say anything. He follows when Jace makes a silent, hasty retreat, running after him through the streets and forgetting to close the door.

"Jace, stop!" he calls, but Jace doesn't. He's faster.

When they're a few blocks away he turns around and bites out, "Stop following me," angrily, as if it's all Alec's fault. Alec almost wishes it was. He knows it'd be easier for Jace to be angry with him than with Clary.

"I won't," Alec says and takes a step closer. Jace acts like a cornered animal- his eyes running in all possible directions, his fists clenched, muscles tense, body trembling. He looks broken, the pieces too small to glue together. Alec wants to try, but doesn't know where to start looking for the shards.

"Why did she do that?" Jace demands, as if Alec knows the answer and is refusing to tell him.

"I don't know," Alec says, carefully. "She had a 'fearless' rune on."

Jace doesn't question the existence of a 'fearless' rune, just snaps, "And that's what she's been afraid to do?". He turns his back on Alec the second time in twenty-four hours, fleeing to lick his wounds and possibly wreck things. "Don't follow me," he says, but halts before he moves again, as if he's waiting. In a way, he does. It's an old habit.

The dragontear on Alec's chest gives a faint pulse, just a warm current that's more of a reminder than a demand; Alec doesn't move to follow.

Jace doesn't wait long. He's gone a few moments later, rounding the nearest corner practically running.

Alec sees him go, thinking perhaps what Clary's been most afraid of wasn't kissing Simon- but losing Jace.

Kissing Simon was just the best way to do it.

Magnus is sulking on Luke's porch when Alec makes it back. He seems genuinely surprised to see Alec, his face suddenly glowing. "I thought you went after him," he says, his long form slowly unfolding, his perch on the stairs abandoned. He's in Alec's personal space in less than a minute.

"I did."

"Did he run away?" Magnus' tone is awfully hopeful. Alec grins.

"No," Alec shakes his head. Magnus' hand comes to rest on the back of Alec's neck, his hold firm and unbelievably warm. "I cut the chase short."

"Why?" Magnus asks, hooking two fingers in the closest convenient belt loop of Alec's worn jeans, pulling him in until there's no space between them. They share breath and body heat and it's like all those childhood memories Alec never really had. It's all wonderfully simple and right for a while.

"Because you said stop running away," Alec says against Magnus' lips. It's all wonderfully simple and right until Magnus mutters:

"Someone's trying to break into my apartment."

A/N: I wish I knew what really happened in Peru, but as long as I don't, I think it's logical to assume Magnus has smuggled some rare, ancient gem that has immense cultural value.

I hope you've enjoyed this chapter :)

Excerpt from next chapter: Alec stumbles on something lying just a step behind his current footing and falls to the ground with no time for a yelp of surprise. He lands on a body, twisted and broken, bleeding from a large hole in the chest. It's a man, tall and dark-haired.