Author's Note: Hey, guys, I'm back! If you started reading this story several years ago, I encourage you to go back and reread the earlier chapters, as I have updated all of them. I've made no major changes to the story itself, but I have fixed any grammar errors and made the writing more bearable, so its worth a read. Now that I'm all caught up on that, this chapter is the first new chapter since I stopped updating however long ago. Anyway, I look forward to finishing this, and thanks for sticking with me.

Author's Note: This chapter contains mentions of torture, captivity, mentions of drugging, mentions of nonconsensual sex/rape, and mentions of incest.

Chapter Fifteen, Part I

When Clary awoke, she felt as though she had fallen down two flights of stairs, along with what she imagined having a massive hangover felt like.

The night before was a blur of heat and icy fear, of pressure and confusion and hate, and the addling effect of the drug concoction she'd been given seemed to have carried over into the morning. But her body recalled all of the evening in its every gorey detail, reminding her of its events each time she dared to move.

A throbbing band of pain wrapped her forehead and her stomach felt somehow empty and overly full all at once, like the fruit and meat she'd been forced to eat the other day had turned rotten and rancid, and she needed to throw it up, along with all of her stomach acid, to be rid of it.

Her throat was horribly scratchy and dry—drier even than when water had been withheld from her for days, and as coarse as if she'd swallowed a mouthful of sand. Except it wasn't sand that her throat had taken to feel this way, Clary only wished it was.

As she rolled over under the quilt, she felt her back peel painfully away from the sheets, the whip lashes having been torn open again some point last night. They would never heal at this rate.

Her inner thighs felt so sore that she might have thought she'd done five hundred squats without stretching, if she couldn't so vividly remember those cold, cruel fingers digging into her skin and forcing them apart, bending them open too wide for too long. Her wrists, though unrestrained now, still ached as though she'd slept in metal shackles, and she was sure they'd be ringed in bruises when she finally worked up the courage to open her eyes.

But she wasn't ready to see the blood soaked into the sheets from where she'd been taken against her will. And she knew it would be there, because worse than all of the other aches and pains was the incessant stinging between her legs, the new tear along her opening that shouldn't be there.

And she really wasn't ready to see the monster who'd done this to her, her very own brother, sleeping peacefully beside her.

Clary wondered when he had finally slipped out of her, or when he had finally rolled his crushing weight off of her fucked out, unconscious body, when he had pulled the covers up over them like a couple settling down for bed, or if he had kissed her while she slept, or pulled her against him, drowsy with satisfaction. She almost started crying just thinking about it, and at last opened her eyes to blink the tears away.

Morning sunlight flooded the room, spilling in through the large windows. The sky beyond was a bright, cornflower blue, the last touches of marigold and violet fading away as the sun rose fully over the horizon. She couldn't see any land, just the blue sky and white, wispy clouds, and she realized she must be at least on the second floor of the house.

Looking around, she saw that the room was less ominous in the daylight, the red of the walls less of a dark, wine color and more of a scarlet or ruby, and the wood of the dressers and end tables a smooth mahogany. The four-poster bed was beautifully intricate, the headboard an extravagant, hand-carved twisting of poles, like intertwined branches, and the posts at each corner made out to look like tree trunks. The tester had been removed, though if it was in place, Clary imagined it might have been a delicate, dark green canopy with sheer curtains falling over the sides like the leaves of a giant magnolia.

She was lying on the right side of the bed, and when she at last rolled over, she found that she was blessedly alone. Still, she pulled the covers up around her breasts as she sat up slowly, fighting the expected wave of nausea that struck her. When she lifted her right hand to try and rub away the throbbing in her temples, she noticed a small, black band encircling her wrist.

Clary frowned as she examined it further, the bracelet a solid, shimmering metal that fit snugly to her skin and weighed practically nothing. If she hadn't seen it, she might not have noticed it was there with how lightweight it was, and though there was no space between it and her wrist, it was not uncomfortably tight. When she attempted to slide it up her hand, it remained fast in place, no give or stretch to whatever material it was made of.

Her first thought was that it must be some kind of restraint, but when she checked her other wrist and ankles, they were each bare. Her frown deepened as she imagined all the possible reasons Sebastian could have put it on her, but after looking it over a hundred times and finding nothing odd about it, she let out a nervous breath. Maybe it really was just a harmless bracelet, even if he only wished her to wear it as some twisted mark of ownership. It was better than a collar, she supposed, shuddering at the idea.

Giving up on messing with the band, Clary eyed the rest of the room and immediately noticed the two doors. One was closed and likely leading to the hall, and the other, Clary realized, was a connecting bathroom. She let out a deep sigh of relief at the sight of it, immediately scrambling out of bed, ignoring the aches in her body as she limped over to the open door.

The bathroom was just as fancy as the rest of the room, decorated with white marble counters and backsplashes, and along the left side of the room was a wonderfully tempting glass-doored shower with a rainfall showerhead. When she opened one of the cabinets and saw it was fully stocked with towels and toilet paper and soap and all other necessities, she practically cried out in joy.

She instantly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, glad to finally have something to cover her nakedness, and then relieved herself at the toilet. She was so excited to finally have a real bathroom that she nearly forgot that she was being held against her will, until she noticed a small padlock over the medicine cabinet. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight, and whatever joy that had taken over her fled.

The first thing she should have thought when she woke up without Sebastian here was to escape, not to explore her new quarters. Had she so quickly accepted being a prisoner? She felt her face heat up at the thought, and tried to push the self-doubt away. It wasn't her fault for being excited over a bathroom after being denied one for days. It wasn't her fault for not rushing to escape without a plan. And anyway, the house was probably crawling with Endarkened. She had time to take a shower and find some clothes.

She needed to find weapons, a stele, a way out of this new house, and she couldn't do it with the feeling of Sebastian's hands still lingering on her skin and a layer of dried sweat coating her from the night before. Gathering some soap and shampoo, and a loofah she found under the sink, she turned on the shower and stepped in. She turned the water as hot as it would go before washing her hair and furiously scrubbing her body, as if she might be able to peel off the defiled, top layer of skin. Still, as roughly as she buffed herself, the hickies all up and down her torso wouldn't wash away.

When she turned off the water and opened the glass sliding door, she was bright red with how hard she'd scrubbed, her muscles like putty from the relaxing heat, and she felt a hundred times better than when she first woke up. After drying herself off, she peeked out into the bedroom to make sure Sebastian hadn't come in, before opening one of the dressers along the wall.

The top drawer was filled with night gowns, all similar to the one that had been torn off of her yesterday. Groaning, she opened a few more to find more disgusting lingerie sets and lacy underwear, before she found a drawer filled with relatively plain shorts and tank tops. Clary picked out the most modest pair of underwear she could find, and dressed herself in a pair of small jean shorts and a red tank top.

As she finished dressing, she tried not to think about the fact that this room seemed fully stocked with things she might need, which meant Sebastian had been prepared to lock her away for who knows how long, and instead focused on preparing herself for how to get out of the room. Perhaps there was something in the bathroom she could use to break the door open. Or maybe if she was only on the second story, she could find a way to climb out the window.

Going to the window first, she saw that it looked down over a sprawling garden, filled with blooming wildflowers and blossoming fruit trees. A walkway cut through the foliage, partially overgrown with ferns and running plants that crept over the stones, and led to a little pound at the center. Beyond the garden was an open space of rolling hills that stretched all the way to the horizon. Wherever Sebastian was keeping her, she was willing to bet there were no neighbors within miles that would be able to help her—or hear her screaming. Not that any mundane would really be able to help her anyway.

Running her fingers along the window frame, she was surprised to find two latches, one on the right side of the window and one on the left. She was even more surprised when she found she was able to pry them open with her finger nails. They were stiff, and took a minute to wiggle free, but it seemed to be only due to age, or disuse, and not because they were locked in any manner.

But even though the window was openable, she was right in that she was at least one floor up; based on the distance to the ground, she would guess she was on the third story. The drop didn't look too far, but she had to remember that Sebastian had essentially stripped her of her runes. She had no marks of agility or strength that might keep her legs from shattering when she hit the ground—Clary was as good as any mundane here. There did, however, look to be a row of bushes beneath the window, bordering the edge of the house. They wouldn't do much, but they might break the fall some, if she had to jump. She looked back to the bed and wondered if sheets and blankets could actually be tied together into a rope, like they show in movies.

She was getting ahead of herself though. If she could manage to unlock the door, that was another option for escape. But which was better: risking a journey through the interior of a house she was unfamiliar with, and which was likely filled with guards, or jumping out of the window and giving herself the advantage of avoiding the inside of the house, but risking breaking bones?

If she did break a leg, she would have no chance at all of escape. Sebastian would find her screaming on the ground, or struggling to drag herself up those rolling hills, and would make her wish her only problem was the pain of a broken leg. No. If she was going to go out the window, she would need something that allowed her to safely climb out instead of jumping.

But first, she needed to examine the door. She didn't see any sign that it had been locked by runes, no carvings or marks on the wood, but it could just as easily be physically locked from the outside. Only one way to find out. With little expectations, Clary tried the door knob.

And the door swung in with no resistance, opening onto a long carpeted hall.

For a moment, Clary stood completely still in the doorway, frozen in shock. The windows had latches, and the door was unlocked. What the hell was going on here?

Hesitantly, she took a step out into the hall, bracing herself for an Endarkened guard to tackle her to the floor, or for Sebastian's voice to demand she return to her room, but nothing came.

The house was entirely quiet.

To her right, Clary saw that the hall ended at a staircase. To the left were several more rooms, each with closed doors, and then a turn in the hall. Her mind raced as she tried to decide what to do, adrenaline starting to flow through her veins and accelerate her heart rate.

Should she go straight downstairs and try to find the exit, or should she try searching some of the rooms upstairs to try and find a weapon of some sort?

Right or left?

The chances that one of these rooms had weapons, or a stele, was high, considering Sebastian's impressive stash of tools. But what if she ran into him up here? Then again, what if she ran into him downstairs and had no way to defend herself or fight her way past him to the exit?

As she stood debating, she suddenly recalled something he had said last night, when recounting what had happened during their escape from the old hideout.

Now, if you would like to drink from the cup, it's in the next room—

If she could find and destroy the Infernal Cup, maybe this horrific past week would have been worth it. Maybe hers and Jace's suffering will have been for something.

Left it is.

Cautiously, Clary crept towards one of the first doors on her left, glad for the carpet that hushed her footsteps. She pressed her ear to the wood, listening for any signs of life before entering, but when she tried the handle, it didn't budge. So there were some rooms that were locked. She quickly moved to the next door, listening for voices again and hearing none, and this time, the door swung open. She winced as it creaked, and though it was a relatively quiet noise, it seemed to echo through the silent house, and she hastily stopped its movement and slipped in through the ajar doorway.

The room was about the same size as the one she slept in, but with lighter wallpaper and more furniture. It appeared to be some sort of reading room, several chairs and lounges around the floor and a few tall bookcases stuffed end to end with books. At first glance, there looked to be no weapons or the cup, but she dug through the single dresser just in case. When she turned up empty handed, she moved back into the hall, closing the door quickly behind so it wouldn't creak.

The next two doors were locked, and she was beginning to become disheartened, considering taking her chances and heading downstairs, but when the fifth door opened she struck gold. It was a training room, and weapons were mounted all up and down the wall. She almost smiled as she shut the door behind her and ran over to a wall of blades, picking a few short ones off their stands. She spun around to look for a bag, or some way to carry the weapons, and couldn't believe her luck when she spotted a worn but sturdy belt, with numerous loops for hanging weapons.

Clary tied the belt around her waist and tucked the two blades on either side of her hip. She considered picking out a few more, but most of the other swords were long and heavy, like Sebastian's preferred Morgenstern blade, and she didn't want anything that might slow her down. She settled on taking one more dagger, this one small and thin enough that she was able to tuck it beneath the band of her jeans. It would be a hidden, last resort weapon, if she needed it.

After ensuring there was nothing else useful in the room, she made her way to the hall again. Now all she needed was the cup and she could get the hell out of here.

The training room had been the last door on that section of the hallway before the corner leading to the right, so Clary edged around the turn, sticking close to the wall. She was met with another long hall of doorways, and, now that she was armed, decided she would search them all as fast as possible before heading for the stairs. But just as she reached the first door and leaned in to listen, she heard footsteps. Her breath caught in her lungs and her feet froze in place.

For a moment, she thought the muffled sounds were coming from inside the room, but as the footsteps got louder, and she began to hear two different voices conversing, her heart dropped into her stomach. The noises were coming from further down the hall, around a corner she hadn't searched yet.

They were headed her way. And they were about to turn the corner.

As fast and as quietly as she could, Clary sprinted back in the direction she'd come. She thought about slipping back into her room and hiding the weapons, but all of the doors looked the same from the outside, and with her heart pounding in her throat, she couldn't remember which room was which.

"...and so we get stuck on watchdog duty."

"And that's a bad thing because?"

"Because we're missing out on all the action!"

Clary tried several knobs as she passed them again, and the first one that opened she threw herself into, pressing her back into the door. It was the reading room. Nowhere to hide in here, but at least it was unlikely that the Endarkened guards would come in. The thought wasn't any more comforting as the voices got closer.

"Yeah, yeah. Missing out on dying, maybe. We might have a good number on them, but attacking the Institutes is the last thing I want to be doing," said a female voice, young but raspy.

"You're crazy," replied a deeper, masculine voice.

"No, I'm just not dispensable. The Endarkened Sebastian sent to the Institutes are canon fodder. A first wave to distract and weaken their forces. To draw them back to one place. Any one with any true skill or value besides blind loyalty and the simple ability to swing a sword was specifically not sent for those attacks."

"I see, so that means I'm invaluable to the cause, eh?"

"Ha! More like you're so useless that Sebastian's saving you to be a meal for his greater demons."

"Hey!"

The banter went on as the Endarkened approached the door of the reading room, and Clary again held her breath, praying that they keep moving, that they don't stop at the door to her room and find it empty, and then the voices passed the room she was in without a beat of hesitation and continued down the rest of the hall and to the staircase.

"God, will you shut up? You stay on this floor, I'm going upstairs. I need a break from your whining," said the younger woman.

Clary listened as the man scoffed and turned to pace back down the hall towards the direction the two had come from, and simultaneously heard a set of heavy boots taking the stairs up another level. She let out a breath as they both moved out of hearing distance.

It seemed like they were pretty aimlessly wandering the halls, simply keeping an eye out for trouble, but there was no way Clary could check the other rooms on this floor now. Not if the male guard was going to be walking back and forth over this entire floor. She had to move downstairs quickly, before the female guard returned and moved down another flight. Cup or no cup, she had to go.

Clary took a deep breath and turned around, steadying herself before opening the door again. Except she had forgotten about the squeak in the reading room's hinges, forgot that she needed to open it quickly, and as she pulled the door inward, a long, echoing creak sounded.

"Adele?"

Clary gasped as she heard the male guard call out from down the hall when he heard the door whine. When the female Endarkened—Adele—didn't reply, she heard his footsteps start back in her direction. In a split second decision, Clary darted out of the room and ran for the stairs. She tried to keep her feet from pounding down the steps, unable to hear anything other than her own blood rushing in her ears. She didn't stop when she hit the landing to the second story and continued further down.

When she was almost on the first floor, she heard the Endarkened shout from the third floor. "Adele! She's gone!"