Izzy

Izzy paced back and forth across the polished floor of the Institute's operations center, the rhythmic click of her high heels a frantic counterpoint to the tense silence. Alec, Jace, and Magnus huddled around holographic table with shimmering blue world map, brows furrowed in frustration. After yet another week, their search for Clary had yielded nothing. She had vanished without a trace.

Jace, a restless storm of worry, tapped a furious rhythm on the table with his fingers. Every avenue they explored had led to a frustrating dead end. Magnus had combed his warlock contacts for any who might have portaled Clary out of New York. But whispers traveled swiftly in the Shadow World, and no one, not even the most disreputable warlocks he knew, had heard a peep. The NYPD had no record of a missing woman with fiery red hair, let alone one accompanied by a cryptic, tattooed old man. Even Jace and Alec's parabatai bond enhanced tracking had failed to pick up a single trace.

The memory of that night was burned into her mind – the sickening lurch in her gut, the sudden severing of their connection – it had been like Clary was ripped from the world, leaving behind only an unsettling silence.

"Wards," Magnus muttered as he ran a hand through his already-tousled hair. "Powerful wards must be shielding her. And whoever took her knew what they were doing."

They'd contacted Institutes around the world, hoping for a stray clue, but all inquiries had come back fruitless. Their only lead, the ravener demons in Vienna, had turned into another dead end after Jace and Alec scoured the city.

But Izzy refused to give up. She'd swallowed her pride and reached out to Aria, hoping to glean any information about Oskar. Aria, eager to help, had revealed more about their quest for the mysterious man. While her parents remained tight-lipped about Oskar's whereabouts, Aria swore she'd seen someone with immense antlers leaving Clary's apartment on the day of her disappearance.

"I know you checked Vienna," Isabelle insisted, gesturing towards the map displayed on the screen. "But I just have this… feeling that Clary is in Austria. Just maybe not in Vienna. I've been researching remote areas around here." Her finger traced a path across the map, leading towards the majestic peaks of the Alps. "There are old hunting lodges scattered throughout these regions. Someone could easily disappear amidst those."

A flicker of realization crossed Magnus's face. "Wandering Hunter," he said, a thoughtful note in his voice. He met their curious gazes. "I have been thinking about the warlock with antlers – I have always dismissed him as a mere myth. Perhaps I was mistaken."

"Isaac Laquedem," Magnus continued. "One of the oldest warlocks alive, rumored to be older than even Jonathan Shadowhunter himself. Legend has it he retreated to a secluded estate in Austria over a century ago."

"Austria," Izzy breathed, the word a spark igniting a renewed fire in her determined gaze. "Then what are we waiting for?" she demanded, her voice sharp with urgency. "Magnus, portal me there."

"Izzy, we don't know if this means anything," Alec said. "We were just there, remember? No one in the Vienna Institute knew anything."

"What else can we do?" Izzy shot back, frustration creeping into her tone. "Trust me. I know she's there." She turned to Jace, searching his face for support.

Jace hesitated, the lines of exhaustion etched deep on his face. The past weeks of searching had taken their toll, leaving him weary and on edge. "Alec," he finally said, his voice gruff, "this is the only lead we've got. Maybe there's something we missed in Vienna."

"Fine," Alec said, his voice tight. "But we're going with you. All of us."

Alec met Magnus' gaze. "Let's go then," Magnus said and with a flourish of his hand, a swirling portal shimmered into existence before them.

Jace

The Vienna night air was a frigid slap in the face after the familiar warmth of the New York Institute. Oskar-Morgenstern square stretched before them, deserted and silent beneath the watchful gaze of distant streetlamps. Across the Danube River, the Vienna Institute loomed like a stark sentinel - a concrete tower, Alec had informed him, repurposed from a bygone era's war as a flak tower.

They walked in tense silence, the desolate cityscape doing little to ease the gnawing worry that clawed at Jace's insides. Weeks of searching and dead ends had frayed his nerves thin. As they reached the middle of the bridge, a figure materialized against the backdrop of the darkened city. Clad in a long, brown cloak, it stood with an unsettling stillness. Jace reacted instinctively, fingers tightening around the hilt of his seraph blade. Beside him, Alec's hand subtly moved towards his bow, the familiar glint of silver catching the faint moonlight.

The figure tilted its head, the movement fluid yet unnatural. Slowly, it raised a hand, pulling back the hood of its cloak. A gasp escaped Izzy's lips, and breath hitched in Jace's throat. Red hair, fiery and unmistakable, cascaded down her shoulders. Clary.

"Clary!" Jace shouted, his legs propelling him forward, the bridge blurring beneath his rushing feet.

"Jace," she said, her voice a melodic whisper that sent a shiver down his spine. Something felt...off. It was the subtle details, like how the moonlight seemed to catch her eyes differently, a flicker of something alien in their depths. But in the face of his overwhelming relief, Jace brushed it aside.

"We've been looking everywhere for you," he said, reaching for her. Clary reached out a hand to meet his, her touch cool and unfamiliar.

"I'm here now," she said, her voice a touch too monotone. A sliver of doubt, cold and sharp, pierced through the euphoria. This wasn't right. This wasn't Clary.

Panic flared in his chest, hot and suffocating. Before he could even register the movement, his body reacted on autopilot. With a sickening wrench, he drew his seraph blade and plunged it forward.

A surprised gasp tore from the figure's lips. For a heart-stopping moment, Jace froze, the world seeming to slow down around him. Had he…? But then the illusion shattered as the figure's form flickered and distorted. The red hair dissolved, revealing leathery black skin and razor-sharp claws. The ravener demon, disguised as Clary, roared in fury. Before it could react further, Alec's arrow pierced its chest, a shower of black ichor erupting from the wound. The demon screeched again, a sound of pure malice, before dissolving into a cloud of black smoke that dissipated into the night air.

Jace stood stunned, his hands trembling. Alec was by his side in an instant, a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Easy there," he murmured. "Good reflexes."

Magnus cleared his throat. "Well, at least we're getting closer."

"We need to get to the Institute," Alec said, his voice tight. But a voice from behind stopped them in their steps.

"Greetings, Nephilim," the figure said from the far end of the bridge. "I see you seek Clarissa Morgenstern. Allow me to facilitate your journey," it said before turning and walking away from the Institute and towards the deserted square.

Jace and Alec exchanged a wary glance. A knot of unease tightened in Jace's stomach. This was definitely a trap. With a silent nod, they set off after the figure. Finally, they reached a towering structure that cast an inky shadow over the square.

"Where's Clary?" Jace demanded, his voice taut with barely controlled urgency, his seraph blade held at the ready.

The figure stopped and turned to face them, its form shrouded in the darkness. "Safe," it replied. "I will take you to her."

"That's a kind offer," Magnus said, his voice laced with cautious curiosity. "Though before we accept your...assistance, wouldn't you mind introducing yourself?"

The figure chuckled, a dry rasping sound devoid of warmth. "You may know me as the Wandering Hunter. But please, call me Isaac."

"What have you done to her?" Jace asked with murderous voice.

"Why would I do anything to her?" Isaac replied cryptically. With a casual snap of his fingers, a swirling portal materialized in the air before them, shimmering with an otherworldly light. "Now," Isaac continued, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, "I would hold on tight if I were you. You wouldn't want to get lost in limbo, would you?"

Jace stared at the portal, his mind a mix of suspicion and desperation. The thought of leaving Clary in this stranger's hands was unbearable, and they had exhausted all other options. With a silent growl, he glanced towards Alec, Magnus, and Izzy their faces mirroring his internal debate. Finally, with a resigned nod, Jace stepped forward into the swirling portal.

The world solidified around Jace with a nauseating lurch. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, before his eyes adjusted to the lavish scene before him. A grand hall, its high ceilings lost in the gloom, stretched out before him. Faint traces of faded frescoes adorned the walls, hinting at a forgotten grandeur. A long, ornately carved table dominated the vast space, its surface polished to a mirror sheen. At the head of the table, cloaked in shadow, sat a man.

Fury, a red-hot ember, ignited within Jace. This had to be Oskar. The man who'd taken Clary, leaving a gaping hole in his life. Every muscle in his body coiled, ready to launch him across the vast expanse of the hall. But before he could even twitch, a searing pain erupted in his chest, stealing his breath. He found himself pinned back by a tendril of pure, radiant light, emanating from the hands of Isaac. It squeezed the air from his lungs, the sensation akin to being caught in the grip of a vice.

"Easy there, young Shadowhunter," a voice, smooth as ice and sharp as a blade, echoed through the hall. The man at the end of the table gestured towards Isaac and the tendril retracted with a snap, sending Jace crashing to the wood floor. He tasted dust and anger. Izzy and Alec rushed to his side, but he shoved them away, a growl escaping his throat. His eyes narrowed at the shadowed figure.

"Where is Clary?" he demanded, his voice laced with a barely contained fury that promised a world of pain.

Silence met his question. The man at the table remained motionless, his shadowed form an infuriatingly unreadable presence. Jace felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple, the tension thick enough to cut with a seraph blade. Just when his temper threatened to explode, the shadowed figure finally stepped into the light.

Oskar. The name echoed in Jace's mind. The man was handsome in his own aloof way, with sharp cheekbones and a sculpted jawline. But the thing that truly chilled Jace was the utter lack of warmth in his eyes; they were cold and calculating, like chips of polished obsidian.

"There's much you need to understand," Oskar finally spoke, his voice surprisingly gentle with a strange sincerity. "And I'm more than willing to share it all. But first," he gestured towards a line of steaming cups on the table, the scent of some unknown herb swirling in the air, "tea?"