A/N: A chapter each in the same day (over here anyway), wow! There's more I had in mind to write, but I really wanted to get this chapter out before my trip, so this will have to do for now…

~~ Rye ~~

Rye had spent a number of days simmering in his denial. How could his parents lie to him like that? It had to be some kind of big mistake, surely. The kind where he'd wake up and laugh over how weird and wacky his dreams had been. He was prone to getting such dreams, after all. He continued to take the Silent Brother's medication habitually, trying to ignore the bitter aftertaste. All he'd ever wanted was to be a normal Shadowhunter. He didn't want demon blood or strange abilities or even immortality. Why could he not have a normal, plain existence? Maybe, if he kept taking the Silent Brother's medication, then he could keep pretending he was just a Shadowhunter for a little longer. That he was just like the rest of his family.

Eventually he forced himself to stop taking it. The warlock had made out that it would be bad for others if he didn't, right? And how would he know what was the truth and what was a lie if he didn't try it? He had little to lose, in reality. While he started to feel better than ever in terms of his physical health, his mental health continued to decline. There were too many things to think of, and he still couldn't face the fact that his parents had lied to him. And what would Milo think? His brother was his only friend, and he didn't know how he would cope if he was disgusted by him or if he pushed him away.

Needing time away from his room – as well as to silence his increasingly growling stomach – he headed to the kitchen, once he'd put on the contact lenses, just in case. Of course they weren't an exact match for his normal eye colour, but they were close enough for someone who didn't know him well.

However, once he made it to the kitchen, all he could do was stare into the pantry blankly. When was the last time he'd eaten? He barely remembered. It was isolating without his family to speak with, and he felt the emotions swirling around inside of him, although they were not quite enough to feed his hunger.

"Hey." Rye froze at the familiar voice, not daring to turn back and look at her. It was Grace Springfeather, he recognized quickly. She was the closest to his age at the Institute and a number of people had pointed out that fact, and had urged him to befriend her. The problem was that he wasn't good at making friends – especially with girls. But still, they'd spoken on a few occasions, with Grace initiating the conversation every time. She seemed much more confident and outgoing than him, and he could only admire her tenacity in private.

"Oh… hey," he replied in return, the words a little stuck in his throat when his mouth grew dry.

He listened as she walked over closer, peering into the pantry beside him. He couldn't help but take a tentative step back, so he wasn't as close. "Can't decide what to eat?" she assumed. "Indecision is kind of our enemy, you know."

He stared at her back. Her brown hair was tied up in a ponytail, and he found that it was easier to stare at than at her directly. "I guess…" he mumbled in response.

She rattled off some food suggestions, but it was hard to follow what she was saying over all the voices and emotions rattling around in his head.

"Rye, are you okay?" Finally, he realised she was looking back at him, with the hint of a worried frown.

When was the last time he was okay? He couldn't recall. The emotions inside him only swirled more vigorously, wanting to be set free. Worry. Anger. Betrayal. Hurt. Pain. Sorrow. Fear. It was all too much, and he gritted his teeth, inhaling sharply, before he finally felt an unexpected release, as they left him.

A second later he realised that Grace was doubled over, her hands clutching her head, as if in pain and she cried out.

Had he done something? The worry returned and he could hardly breathe as he reached out to touch her, tentatively. "… Grace? Are you okay?" he asked, his voice much too quiet and scared. What had he done?

"Ugh, I feel so awful," she said, making a face as she slowly straightened. "What on earth just happened? I feel so… so…" She struggled with how to word it, as if unable to quite comprehend it. "…dreadful. My emotions are all over the place." She looked over at him, and he could see the mix of pain, fear and sorrow in her gaze. "Rye…"

No. He couldn't face it. He swiftly drew his hand back, taking some quick steps backwards. "I'm-… I'm sorry," he stammered, his fear quickening his words. "Please don't tell anyone."

That was all he could manage before he hurried out of the room, making his way back up the stairs the fastest he'd ever managed. It was best for everyone if he just stayed in his room.

What was wrong with him?

~~ Savannah ~~

"I have wanted to claim your tongue as my own. To be close to you, with no layers of clothing to separate our skin." Her voice remained low enough that he would have to listen carefully to catch it all, and her hand shifted from his, to slide against his chest. "I have wanted to explore your wings, until I know every pattern and every vein." She didn't shy away from even that thought, even if she rarely mentioned them. "I have wanted to pin you beneath my body and make you feel things you have never felt before. I have wanted to hear you moan my name, until you are breathless with pleasure." She stopped there, studying his expression. "That is a glimpse into only some of my thoughts of what I've wanted to do to you. I'll save you from the rest."

The next day, Savannah had admittedly been distracted in her Shadowhunter duties. A usually tedious demon hunt had not felt so annoying as usual, when she had plenty to let her thoughts catch on. Leaning a hand against the shower glass as she cleaned up that evening, she swore under her breath. She had not meant to make such an admission to him. She'd never intended on letting him know that she loved him. It was easier to pretend it was meaningless if she didn't, and to keep him from having any kind of power over her. But it had just come out, and there was no taking it back now. How could she have been so reckless? Not getting attached had always suited her just fine. Get too recklessly close, and one only got hurt and sloppy, dropping their game, as she had seen time and time again with her own boyfriends. And here she was doing the opposite of what she always preached.

Finishing up in the shower, she grabbed a towel to dry herself off, before getting changed into a short silky nightgown. As she thought, it was easy to settle into her usual night routine, cleaning her teeth and brushing her hair. It had ended badly as well, when he grew defensive and started to accuse her of things again. She let out a small sigh. Why must he be so stubborn and frustrating, when she knew that he enjoyed it just as much as she did? He elicited enough of a reaction that she knew that for sure. Desire did look good on him, as she'd said, and she often found he was better at showing how much he wanted her, rather than trying to express it aloud. The way he clutched at her and melded her lips to his own. The way he pulled her closer until their bodies were tangled together, inseparable from each other's. It was warm and desperate and passionate and lustful. She loved seeing all of those emotions on him.

He'd even allowed her to touch his wings, and she'd taken the thought of making him feel pleasure through them seriously. She did not approach the topic lightly. They were a touchy subject, certainly, but he had to trust her somewhat, to have let her near them. She'd never felt anything quite like them. The veins and the details were so intricate, that it would take a year to even attempt to memorise them.

Selecting her body moisturiser, she worked on spreading it onto her arms, before focusing on her long legs. It was a practiced and smooth motion, always careful to look after herself. But, if she closed her eyes, she could imagine it was his fingers gliding along them. They were not completely soft, his palms, finding they were partly calloused and scarred from growing up holding weapons, his fingers long and agile. They were adept at mapping out her skin. The previous evening had been particularly satisfying, as they had both drawn out the time, getting through just part of the list of what they both desired. Neither of them had been in a rush, content to draw the pleasure out. She had ticked off many things that she had mentioned to him, as well as some that she hadn't. Did he think about it in as much detail as she did?

Was this not a power over her – the ability to influence her very wants and desires? How could she be impartial in her work when her thoughts were stuck on him? She was unused to not having a tight grasp over her emotions. But yet, she couldn't help but think it was worth it. It was an exhilarating, heady mess, but it was her mess.

Her nails grazed her skin in a barely-there touch, letting her imagination do the work. Her skin was flushed when she opened her eyes to glance in the mirror and she stared back at her reflection for a moment. Did he like seeing her so undone? Her makeup long gone and her body giving way to her pure reckless impulses.

Getting into bed and lying under the sheets, she found her body was still aflame at her thoughts and she had to respond to it. She would get no sleep for a while yet, her heart beat insistent in its quickened beating. Her fingers grazed the peak of her breasts in a tease, before dipping lower, and sliding the nightgown up her leg. She closed her eyes as she got comfortable, adjusting her fingers into place.

There was only one way to get relief.

~~ Ethos ~~

Later, Ethos returned to the Seelie ruins that he had taken Kellan to. As if he would still be able to feel his presence there. As if he would still be able to see the wisp of his smile. It seemed as good of a place as any to think. His horse wandered as he sat with his back leaning against one of the old stone walls. Even then, his cloak was carefully spread out around him, his posture poised and controlled. While he had considered playing his piccolo to try and draw out some of his own thoughts, he found the melody failed him.

Ethos had never felt such distrust before, from a Court that he had always respected and given his everything to. Did the Court think that he would not handle Kellan's heart carefully, and guard it with his own sword? He would sooner harm himself before he would let it be mishandled by anyone, even if he had been sorely unprepared for such a responsibility initially. But Kellan trusted him, and that meant something. Kellan, who he knew would not judge him, even despite his discrepancies when compared to the rest of the Seelie. It felt strange to be so seen, unused to anyone seeking out his gaze at events, or fumbling for his hand. To have someone care so deeply about him and his thoughts. Was he not a barren and sterile entity that was usually considered a part of the background, more than anything else?

Despite all of the new ideas and things that Kellan initiated and spoke of, Ethos always felt comfortable and safe with him. He was unused to the language of touch, but he was slowly learning it, as if it were a song, and Kellan was his teacher. Could it one day become second nature? Despite his uncertainty on the subject, he found it was rewarding to be able to observe Kellan's responses, finding him fascinating to try and read. As if perhaps if he could understand them, then he could imagine what it might feel like himself.

His fingers raised to reach under the top of his shirt, carefully pulling out the demon tooth necklace. He let them glide over it, all the grooves now long since familiar. Things were much too complicated, and he found that he didn't want to stop seeing Kellan. He did not think he could bear the thought of never seeing his light-hearted grin again. His brilliant red curls that seemed to have a life of their own, and the welcoming twinkle to his different coloured eyes. The ever-present friendliness to his tone, and his good-hearted nature that always sought to see the best in everyone. Perhaps, if he listened hard enough, he could still hear the whisper of his laugh carried on the wind.

While beautiful in their own way, Ethos found that the ruins were not nearly as interesting without Kellan there to share them with. He was not used to preferring company over being alone with his thoughts. Was he being selfish, by taking up the Prince's time? He did not deserve it, he knew, but yet he could not help but long for it, all the same.

His horse came over to nudge his shoulder gently, as if trying to convey something. Ethos found it strangely hard to concentrate. "I miss him too," he murmured, reaching out to pat her.

To an old acquaintance,

There is no need to apologise for your late reply when mine is even later. New York has kept me very busy, along with my writing and other personal matters. It feels like I have little time for much else, these days.

I've known a number of warlocks long-term, even if not business related, and I find your words a little biased. I get along fine with them. But of course it wouldn't surprise me if you don't find it as easy or as natural to get along with others. As for your other comment, who said I have ever stopped being repulsed by the blood on my hands? Killing has never been natural for me. Demons are a different case at least, even if killing them is one of the least desirable parts of the job. But it's a necessity in order to protect the mundanes and our way of life. So I do what I must, as we all do.

I was admittedly a little surprised by your positive comments about my book. You have always been one of my biggest critics after all, and I didn't expect many niceties, so it was a pleasant surprise. I don't agree with your comments about the subjects themselves, but of course that's to be expected. I'm certainly proud of what I've managed to create. Perhaps I can make a difference, even in such a small way. I've had positive and negative comments about it of course, but the positive ones make it all worth it. I'm getting used to the judgements, by now. If you think that the Clave would have disliked this book, then you should wait until I finish the current book I'm writing. It is certainly not one they will approve of, considering the subject matter. Unfortunately for you, you'll have to wait until it's published to find out what it's about. I've only told those who are close to me any details about it. The people who have been there for me. Which of course is not a category that you fit into, so you'll just have to be patient and wait and see. In any case, I doubt you'll be keen to read it.

I think my stories are enough rebellion for now. I will never be the Clave's favourite, but I don't think that's any real loss.

Make sure you give Amalia my regards,

Steff