(( Disclaimer: I am sort of in a rush, so I didn't get to write everything I wanted to in this chapter but I plan on updating at least once more later today, so the next chapter will be much longer, making up for what I couldn't fit in here. You know the drill. I don't know The Mortal Instruments universe or any characters indigenous to it. Those all belong to their creator, Cassandra Clare. I do, however, own the plot line, the writing itself, and any original characters I insert into The Mortal Instruments universe. If you like what you read, please please please review! :D I hope you enjoy... ))

"O! my oblivion is a very Antony,
And I am all forgotten."

Antony and Cleopatra, ( I, iii, 92)

Simon never imagined he would yearn for the Mark of Cain as he did every moment since the battle with Sebastian, which at this point had been exactly a week ago. Having been offered a room in the Institute, under Isabelle's insistence, Simon had spent the last seven days tossing at night in his new sheets, sometimes waking suddenly in sweat. A phantom pain haunted his forehead, where the Mark once was, but every time he put his hand on it the pain turned to relief. Though he could not remember his dreams the following mornings, he had the feeling they mostly centered around the Mark.

It was a curious thing, to ache for freedom from a curse and then to wish its return to you.

That morning he and Isabelle made plans to meet for coffee at The Beanery, a new local spot Simon had the brief motivation to look up. Isabelle had mentioned needing to talk to him about something important, regarding a book she'd lent from Magnus; considering the recent atmosphere, Simon thought it would be nice for them to have their talk at a neutral, potentially exciting location. Not that he was trying to make it a date, or anything. He did, however, wonder what Isabelle would wear to meet him. Did that make a difference? Simon chided himself for worrying so much as he waited for Isabelle, leaning against the side of the building that housed The Beanery, as well as two other restaurants and an exotic jewelry shop.

Forty-five minutes had passed since the time they decided to meet, but Simon was not particularly worried. Isabelle's focus, ever since Jace had returned to his true self, had been entirely on her family and Clary. Though Simon knew he was at least somewhat important to Izzy, he did not want to push his luck by demanding for attention while her family was suffering immensely. Nevermind the fact that Simon, too, was suffering with his own family...

His thoughts strayed to Becca, and for a moment his mood oscillated between horribly guilty and elated. She had offered him what his mother could not, and although he knew it was taxing on Becca, to try to understand him, he was grateful enough to allow himself tiny blips of happiness. Like a storm cloud rolling overhead his moment of joy, the realization that Becca would age and die without him, that she would leave him someday, collapsed Simon's fleeting good spirits. He checked a glance at his watch, to distract himself.

Unfortunately, seeing that it had now been almost an hour since he and Izzy were to meet did not distract him from feeling terrible. He simply began feeling terrible about something else. "Where are you, Iz?" He muttered to himself, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone. As he pulled it out, dialing her number, he started walking in the direction of the Institute. It was roughly fourteen blocks from The Beanery, but Simon was no longer afraid of weather, since becoming a vampire, and he needed to burn all the excess energy zinging about inside him. A walk would be good, he assured himself.

Holding the phone to his ears, he waited as it rang repeatedly.

The dagger was wedged into the wall, fitting accidentally between two bricks. Alec did not retrieve it, but rather held his stele with a sweaty palm, breathing evenly as his eyes scanned the room. Admittedly, some part of him felt quite good at the surge of adrenaline. The break-up with Magnus was like sludge in his veins, dragging him down where it was alright to just let everything go. Now that he was in fight mode, in Shadowhunter mode, Alec felt like he was beginning to remember his true self. He was relearning an old skill. There were things worth holding on to, one of them being the immense satisfaction of punching someone obnoxious in the face. He twirled the stele.

"Where did you go?" Alec hummed pleasantly.

No answer. He spun a few times, gathering his sights for the smallest bit of movement.

The room remained still.

"That's alright, I don't mind a little game of hide and seek." Alec smirked, rocking back on his heels, preparing to spring forward.

Before he could, the woman's voice interrupted. "I do mind. I'm not here to play games." The sound came from over his shoulder. Alec quickly spun around. She stood, almost lazily, with her arms folded across her chest and her hair free from the ponytail she'd arrived with. Her hair, long and defiant, folded and fell over itself, creating a wide curl leaning towards one side of her face. She pushed the hair back with a slender, tan hand, and it fell into a different shape. When she stepped towards him, it swayed ever so slightly with her. The ends were heavy with rainwater. Her eyelashes were longer than he'd first noticed, and her eyes, brown and angry, were intrepid towards Alec's prolonged staring. He snapped his head, reeling away from the thought, and held his stele out towards her.

"You are the one playing games. You won't tell me who you are." Alec tried to engage her in conversation as his mind racked for the proper rune to use in this situation. He was not as interested in injuring or killing her as he was in capturing her. It would be no use to kill her. If she was a messenger she held value, and if she was the threat itself she held value. He scanned his memory for binding or trapping runes.

But before he could land on one, the young woman lunged for his stele and knocked it out of his hand. Alec propelled his body towards the wall, yanking the dagger out from between the bricks and rounding on the young woman. He flung the knife at her again, this time with more precision than force behind his aim, and it grazed her sleeve. The dagger hit the wall opposite him, and clattered to the ground.

A small tear was left on the young woman's sleeve, and the fabric of her shirt hung limp, exposing a patch of skin. She glanced down at it, her hair now covering her face entirely, and Alec heard the unmistakable timbre of a laugh.

"You have one more chance to tell me who you are," he half shouted, agitated by her cavalier reaction.

She slowly raised her gaze, meeting Alec with a contemplative expression. Her features smoothed after a moment. "I don't want to harm you. In fact, I'm not really supposed to, but no one polices us. We're not like you Nephilim."

"What?" Alec narrowed his eyes at her. "So you are someone's soldier?"

The young woman assumed an innocence in her face, shrugging. "Oops," her voice dripped sweetly, as the innocence turned to a smirk. "I've said too much, haven't I?"