Clary

Clary stared at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights of the hospital room casting a sterile glow. Three months. Three months of tests, scans, and endless appointments, yet the answer remained the same: unexplained amnesia. Every week, she walked through the white halls of New York Presbyterian, clinging to the hope that Dr. Stieg, the neurologist with kind eyes and a weary smile, would offer a magical cure. But so far, there was nothing.

Unexplained. The word echoed in the hollowness of her mind. There was a life before the amnesia, a life filled with memories, but it felt like a foreign country, a place she'd only read about in books. The doctors spoke of her past. Her mother, an antique store owner? Simon, her best friend, an accounting student? Luke, the police officer? These were supposed to be the people who mattered, the ones she'd lost. But no emotions surfaced, no faces materialized behind the words. It felt like a fabricated story, a life borrowed from a stranger.

She'd met Simon's family once, offering empty condolences for their loss. His mother had been hysterical and hi sister, Becky, had a haunted look in her eyes. They had offered they had also grieved for Clary's mother but it had felt like an act she couldn't understand.

The past year was a blank slate to the NYPD as well. Disappeared. No trace. No explanation. It was as if someone had erased her existence, only to deposit her back a year later as a ghost of her former self.

The only remnants of her past were these overwhelming emotions – bursts of joy and crushing sorrow that ambushed her at random. A walk through Central Park could trigger a wave of inexplicable happiness, while the sight of ice skaters could plunge her into a pit of despair. Lately, the emotions had infiltrated also her dreams, transforming them into blurry nightmares that left her gasping for air, the terror clinging to her even after waking. Dr. Stieg suspected PTSD, a result of the trauma she'd apparently endured.

The Brooklyn Academy of Art offered her a lifeline. A full scholarship, a small apartment in Brooklyn – a chance to start anew. Child services, treating her like a lost child, had provided her the basic necessities. They had signed her up for the summer classes in the Academy. To keep her occupied and off the streets.

Clary closed her eyes, the silence pressing down on her. The world felt like a jigsaw puzzle with wrong pieces, a melody with discordant notes. She wanted to understand, to reclaim the life stolen from her. But for now, all she had were fragments – dreams, emotions, and a heart that ached for something it couldn't remember.

The August night hummed with warmth. A gentle sea breeze ruffled Clary's hair as she walked home from the Academy. Her studio apartment awaited, a haven of solitude in the hectic city. It wasn't much, but it was hers. Her life had shrunk to its familiar walls, to the rhythmic scrape of brush against canvas.

A voice, bright and insistent, shattered the quietude. "Clary!"

She turned, startled, to see Aria jogging towards her. During the summer program, Clary had built a fragile wall around herself, pushing away anyone who dared to get close. But Aria, with her warm smile and hair the color of cotton candy, had been impossible to avoid.

They'd fallen into a hesitant rhythm – speechless moments in the art studios, quiet meals where Clary mostly listened, a comforting presence that filled the void without demanding explanations. Clary didn't understand Aria's unwavering kindness, but sometimes, in the face of her own emptiness, it was a welcome respite.

"Lost in thought again?" Aria asked, her voice laced with concern despite the playful smile.

Clary forced a smile. Aria's presence, as always, soothed the chaotic storm within Clary. She was dressed in a flowy white dress that seemed to shimmer in the twilight.

Aria's eyes narrowed as she scanned Clary. "Why aren't you dressed up?"

Clary glanced down at her paint-splattered shirt. "Dressed up for what?"

A playful exasperation flickered across Aria's face. "Don't tell me you've forgotten!"

Clary stared at her, confusion clouding her features.

"It's your birthday, silly! I have a whole night planned – the best night of your life!" Aria declared, her enthusiasm infectious.

A wave of guilt washed over Clary. She had completely forgotten about tonight, their plans. Celebrating a lost year felt hollow, a cruel reminder of the gaping hole in her memory.

"Aria, I'm so sorry," she began, "but I don't think - "

"Nonsense!" Aria interrupted, a playful glint in her eyes. "Clary, you have this habit of canceling at the last minute. Tonight, you're not getting out of it." She winked, a silent dare.

Sensing Clary's reluctance, Aria softened her voice. "Let's make a deal. We go upstairs, you get ready, and we head out. If you feel like leaving, we can leave. No questions asked."

Clary sighed. Aria's unwavering friendship, a lifeline in the storm, was hard to resist. With a resigned nod, she allowed Aria to pull her inside.

Jace

Jace existed in a blurry haze, the past three months a relentless loop of sorrow and desperation. He'd taken to following Clary, a ghost of his former self haunting her steps. While she seemed to function, an unsettling emptiness had replaced her vibrant spark. The Academy had become her refuge, filled with canvases that seemed to mirror the fractured state of her mind. Gone were the realistic charcoal drawings, replaced by swirling, colorful abstractions.

He, on the other hand, remained frozen in the moment she left. The initial concern in the Institute had morphed into weary acceptance. "You need to let go," they'd murmur, their words a constant sting. "Move on." But how could he move on from a love etched into his soul? Every glimpse of Clary fanned the flames of grief, a bittersweet torture he craved despite the agony.

Nights were the worst. His dreams had turned into a relentless assault of memories, each one a fresh wound. The way he'd pushed her away, convinced she was his sister. The sickening guilt of his forbidden desires. Lilith's possession, twisting his love into a weapon aimed at her heart. He almost taking her life. Yet, together, they'd weathered all the storms, their love a beacon in the darkness. But this time, he was alone, his heart shattered to pieces, beyond repair.

Training became his only solace. He pushed himself to the brink, the sting of exhaustion a pale imitation of the real pain. Blood streaked his knuckles, muscles screamed in protest, but the hollowness within remained unyielding. A few times, he'd collapse from sheer exhaustion, only to wake to concerned faces – Izzy's worried frown, Simon's helpless gaze. Their gentle pleas, whispers of what Clary wouldn't want, fell on deaf ears. Sometimes, he'd lash out, a feral anger boiling over. Other times, a chilling silence followed. The Institute became suffocating. He was a hollow shell, adrift in a sea of grief.

Even going on mission offered no thrill anymore. The stench of sewage filled Jace's nostrils as he sprinted down the Brooklyn sewer tunnel, adrenaline a bitter cocktail in his veins. A pack of Shax demons had descended on the city, and he and Alec were on cleanup duty. But even here, in the cold, fetid underbelly of the city, her memory clung to him like the stench of decay. Even the thrill of the hunt, once his reason for existing, now tasted like ashes in his mouth.

He'd lost track of Alec in the labyrinthine darkness when a guttural screech echoed ahead. A Shax demon, its barbed carapace gleaming in the dim light, lunged at him. Jace barely parried the blow, the stench of sulfur assaulting his senses. They grappled, a tangle of limbs and desperate strikes.

He lost his footing, his seraph blade clattering in the muck. But before the demon could deliver the final blow, a streak of silver flashed through the air. The demon convulsed, disintegrating into a shower of golden sparks.

Jace slumped against the wall, gasping for breath. Alec materialized beside him, face grim, and activated an iratze rune on his side. The wounds stung as they knitted closed.

"Jace," Alec's voice was a low growl. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Jace stared blankly into the darkness. Truth be told, he wasn't thinking at all. Everything was a constant reminder of her absence – the mundane, the thrilling, it all echoed with the ghost of Clary.

Alec's voice hardened. "This isn't what she'd want."

Jace flinched, the words cutting deep. They'd been here before, after Lilith's apartment exploded, when the world had crumbled around him under the weight of a supposed loss. He couldn't bear the thought then. He couldn't bear it now.

"She's gone, Alec," Jace choked out, his voice hoarse. "Gone, and she's not coming back."

He turned away, disappearing into the inky blackness of the tunnel. Alec's voice trailed after him, a desperate plea echoing in the silence. But Jace didn't stop. The darkness, suffocating and familiar, swallowed him.

Jace emerged from the fetid darkness of the sewers, the city lights a harsh contrast. Brooklyn stretched before him, each street a reminder of lost laughter, stolen kisses, whispered secrets. He navigated the familiar streets on autopilot, his steps carrying him towards the one place that now inflicted a fresh pang of sorrow with every visit. Today, of all days, the anniversary of their first meeting, held a particular weight. A day that once symbolized the start of a love that defied everything, now stood as a cruel monument to what he'd lost.

He reached her building, cloaked in a glamour, and took his familiar position across the street. With his rune enhanced hearing, he strained to catch snippets of her conversation. His heart lurched as Clary's laughter floated down to him. Laughter that no longer held the familiar spark of joy, replaced by a bittersweet echo. Then, she appeared. Beside her, another woman, radiant in a flowing white dress. But Jace's gaze was fixed on Clary. Gone was the girl he remembered.

She wore a black leather dress, its fierce lines a stark contrast to the vulnerability he once knew. A glint of defiance flickered in her green eyes, once so trusting. Around her neck, a choker adorned with swirling symbols, almost like runes. A pang of longing, sharp and searing, ripped through him. The memory of tracing runes on her skin, feeling her warmth against him – a phantom sensation that intensified the hollowness within.

The taxi pulled up, swallowing them in its yellow glow, leaving Jace alone on the deserted street. The weight of his isolation pressed down on him, a suffocating silence where her presence once resided.