Am trying to write, I promise ahhh. Here are some quick attempts that turned into a decent length chapter somehow. (Full disclaimer, I did not proofread at all).

Luca's mind caught on Steff and he allowed himself to delve within the Void.

Contorted shapes, black tendrils, and jagged teeth. They snapped at him as he reached further, gathering the energy within himself. It was like holding fire, feeling it sear and burn where it touched his skin, although it started behind his throat first and into his lungs. Malice and trickery invaded his veins, seizing control of his muscles for a few seconds before he regained himself, fighting against them. His hands pressed against the alter for support, finding it was the only thing that kept him upright and steady. His eyes flickered open and his mask was off, but he still did not see. Greater demons had never come easily.

The energy deformed and buckled within him and he had to stop himself from lashing out at a nearby worker. There was too much soul inside a limited mortal vessel and he would not have been surprised if he was torn apart entirely from the sheer animosity he had been attempting to embody. Fury and then silence. He felt strangled and yet, alive.

What do you seek, warlock?

The words did not leave his lips, but they invaded the sound around him anyway. Blood ran from his nose and he tilted his head down, letting it drip steadily onto the ground. He couldn't be concerned with such things.

"Information. I simply wanted to confirm something," he managed to say, though speech grew painful if he continued for too long. "Something that might have happened quite some time ago. Recently, in your time, I suppose."

How naive you are to think you can get information from me.

"And yet, you have already given me answers. Your thoughts are mine." His control wavered. A wave of nausea hit him, threatening his hold on the demon and shaking his focus. No amount of resistance could fend off the sudden and overwhelming urge to poise his nails to his abdomen until they split the skin and separated bone from sinew. The taste of blood ran down the back of his throat, and then his grip was lost, the demon wrenched from him violently, painfully, like someone had reached inside of him and ripped his insides out. A gasp was pulled from him, red flecks at his lips. One of his workers stalled nearby with a small towel, waiting for the cue that he was safe to approach. The demon was gone, slinking back to whatever part of the Void it came from.

His palm burned and he tugged off his gloves, a new black symbol etched where plain skin once was. Such a small price to pay for what he wanted to know. He flicked his hand and the worker finally stepped forward to start cleaning up the blood.

"Let's try again tomorrow," he said, as a declaration to no one in particular, and his workers nodded silently.

Blake had woken up in the morning with a slight bit of disorientation, but nothing terrible. He hadn't had enough of the scotch for it to warrant a headache or anything past that. The previous night, he'd been trying doubly hard to watch his words, but also not show he was having to focus unbelievably hard on his thoughts. Alcohol had a tendency to force his guard down, whether he liked it or not, and he found he acted on impulse at times when under such an influence. Of course, he didn't have much experience with it, but that was what he remembered from the few times he'd let himself drink more than he should have. Why people resorted to drink as a way of making them feel better, he wouldn't ever understand. He liked to keep his senses sharp.

He'd always found it simple to keep his distance from others, despite sometimes being tempted into recklessness. His slip-up with Savannah was a fluke; he'd had something to drink and she was objectively attractive. It was simple if he looked at it like that. If he hadn't drunk anything, he wouldn't have acted so impulsively.

Getting ready for any day errands was a mindless task, leaving the cloak folded up on a nightstand and reaching for a jacket instead. Annoyance prickled at his nerves when his wings caught. The idea of blood purity had never made much sense to him. The Seelie Queen nor the Unseelie King had wings, and yet they were revered. Such a double standard made him sigh. He'd be a better fighter without them, as they were an easily accessible weak spot. A cut on them was never life-threatening, but the pain one felt was sometimes unable to be pushed aside. He'd set a knife to one as a child, consumed by the idea that he'd be better off without him, but he couldn't go through with it and carried a slight scar across the base of one of his wings and a memory of cowardice as a result. Looking back, it would have been a stupid thing to do, but he'd been young and hadn't yet understood the complexities of hierarchy.

A knock at the front door made him shake off the last of his tiredness, a dagger making its way into his hand on instinct. People who came to his door could never be trusted. He'd learned that a few times, after some incidents. There were times he'd let his temper get away with him in the Towns, and while he was better with it now, there were still others that he'd upset. Of course, nothing worried him more than Unseelie he'd wronged, which seemed to be growing in numbers those days.

Opening the door, he caught a glimpse of an Unseelie's face, shrouded in a cloak, and he stepped back to let her in, though he didn't lower his dagger. He'd learned enough to know to not assume they would not attack, even if just for fun. Now, he kept his daggers poisoned.

"How civilized you've become," the Unseelie remarked, pushing her hood off as she glanced around the place. "Do you have the items we asked for?"

He shut the door quietly, moving to a table to pick up a few vials in his free hand. The faerie woman reached for them, and he stepped away, pointing the dagger in her direction carefully.

"What about my end of the bargain?" he asked, his voice cool and accusatory. "What I want."

She snickered, but didn't come closer. "Don't try to reason with me. We're not going to give you the position."

"I definitely wasn't your best at this," he said, lowering the dagger before sticking it into the wood of the table. "So you must have been desperate to start coming to me. What happened to the others that were more familiar with this trade? Killed?"

"We don't need you. Don't be stupid," she remarked, shifting to run her fingers against the nearby countertop. "If you don't give me the poisons-"

"But you're coming to me. The Unseelie is coming to me. My skills must have some worth, and I'd be a much faster worker in the Faerie." He considered the vials, the viscous liquid within clinging to the glass walls. "I don't see why it's so hard to just give me the position and ask for me back. I will come, if they call."

In frustration, her hand started towards a knife at her hip, but he already withdrew the dagger from the wood, spinning it once and holding it in her direction as a threat. He took a step back, if only to gain some distance between them, still keeping the vials firmly in his grasp. Sometimes he wondered why he desperately wanted to go back in moments like those, but nothing in the mundane world would mimic actually belonging to a faction. He missed the Faerie too.

"We won't beg," she growled, straightening. "Not for someone who chose the Shadowhunters over his own family."

He resisted the urge to hiss, his grip on the dagger tightening. "And I suppose finding a gate from the Faerie and making one's way to my place to do business with me and updating me on Unseelie affairs is how our faction treat traitors nowadays. It seems like I'm valued."

"You're lucky we would even let you back," she continued, disrupting his train of thought. "You didn't even kill the Shadowhunter girl that one time. We're going easy on you, do you realize?"

"And the Unseelie must be desperate if they're going easy," he said finally, tossing her the vials, which she swiftly caught. "As if I'd want to live with a faction like that."

"You are a poor excuse for an Unseelie," she said, backing up towards the door, pocketing the vials. "We will be monitoring your movements."

"You're lucky I don't cut your tongue out," he muttered, watching as she slipped outside and pushed the door closed. He had to wait a few minutes before it felt safe to go back to his usual routine, setting the dagger down and organizing his things. His mornings were not usually so unkind.

What would have happened if an Unseelie had visited while Savannah was over? He often regretted revealing to her where he lived, and knew she was not opposed to showing up where she was uninvited. His instincts would push him to fight for his Court, but they would take him having a Shadowhunter over as him going back to his traitorous roots. Their trust would not be won back twice. Inwardly, he cursed, picking up a few empty vials to set them in a drawer. He'd been getting too reckless and the previous night was an indicator of that. It was easier to make him feel almost better if he just blamed Savannah.

His wings were sore. He'd slept on his back, for some reason, staring up at the ceiling. There were a lot of things he'd done recently that he normally would not have done. Flushed cheeks and unsteady hands. Nervousness had almost grown foreign, and he wished it had stayed that way. He could not help but feel as if his current life was starting to grow ill-fitting and tattered, not so collected and simple as he sometimes convinced himself it was.

Ethos sat by the stream cleaning his piccolo, though his mind could not fall into the rhythm of the mindless task. He was too nervous about Kellan's state - if he was hurt, and if they would be able to get him back without causing further damage. While he did not think that the people at the Institute would harm him, for he was the Shadowhunter's family after all, he still did not know what to make of all the variables. It calmed him slightly to think of how to tackle it. Strategizing had never been his job, but Kellan had called him wise a number of times. He did not truly believe him, but he supposed he had to hope it was at least a little bit correct.

"Leave. I'll take over."

Lifting his gaze, Ethos could spy the figure of the guard being approached by Aspen, who seemed in his usual low spirits. He wasn't quite sure why every time they seemed to meet, whether it was in the Seelie or on the battlefield, they always had some quarrel. While he knew he had not done anything to warrant such treatment, it still made him think he had done something wrong.

The guard shook his head, hesitant. "I was told to stay-"

"Bullshit. I'm your supervisor. I can handle it, can't I?" Aspen shooed the guard away, who seemed reluctant to argue. Ethos didn't blame him, and he stood up on instinct to not be rude. The Hunt had never cared much for hospitality, that much he knew, and though it was not necessary, it was of upmost importance in the Seelie. Even if Aspen was pure, he did not know how to greet him. He wasn't from either of the Courts, but he was still pure, although he supposed that meant little when hierarchies were not as rigidly enforced outside of the Seelie and Unseelie.

He opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it when Aspen looked over at him, finally starting over. There was a malevolence in his expression and deep-set annoyance, and Ethos could not place what Kellan saw in Aspen. His gaze flickered to the swords at each hip, wondering if he'd draw them, but the other faerie's hand just hovered by one of the hilts, not quite touching it.

"Don't look at me like that." Aspen finally spoke to him, a level of scorn in his eyes. "I know what kind of Seelie mission you're on."

"I am only here to try and avoid war," Ethos started tentatively, keeping his eyes lowered in humility. "I am at your disposal to get Kellan back in whatever quiet way we can."

Narrowing his eyes, the other faerie started closer, scrutinizing him. "So you can what? Seduce him to the Seelie? Is that what you're here for?"

"I'm here on orders, but I do not wish for him to be unhappy. I am...not even the best person to go to if one wanted someone seduced." The words were uncomfortable in his mouth, and Ethos tried to choose them wisely. He did not fancy another sword in his shoulder. "My words are genuine."

"I don't care." Walking up close, Aspen reached out to brush a few fingers against his hair, disturbing where it was carefully styled and tamed. "You're pretty for someone that's impure, I'll give you that. Other than that, you act like a servant. His taste is skewed if he'd go after you."

"Go after? You might be mistak-"

With a laugh, Aspen cut him off. "You already know how he feels about you. I know too. Don't try and bluff it. I'm sick of dealing with Seelies."

Ethos wasn't sure what to make of the last part, thinking the other faerie seemed not quite alright, and he suddenly wished he was armed. Violence was never something he resorted to, but he did not know if he would need to defend himself. It was clear his presence was not welcome in the Hunt. After such danger the Hunt had faced in the past, he couldn't blame them. But he was wary nonetheless, avoiding his gaze and keeping his movements slow and his hands at his sides. His cloak brushed the floor and he wanted to lift it slightly, but he forced himself to stay still.

"Regardless of...what he may feel, that does not change my mission here." He bowed his head imperceptibly, troubled. "I am on your side for the time being, and I will not do anything to endanger your Hunt. My fight is not with you."

"No, and that's good for you." Starting to circle him, Aspen seemed to take him in and assess. "A fight with me is not one you'd want to have."

Calmly, Ethos gathered himself, unwilling to be intimidated at the hands of a faerie that seemed to take some enjoyment in finding fault in him. "I once asked of his friends in the Hunt, and you were the first person he named. He must care for you, and vice versa."

"The care of people doesn't concern me at the moment." Even so, Aspen stopped in front of him, lifting a hand place a few fingers under Ethos' chin to force him to look up. "You are lucky I don't carve you up. I am usually not very nice to outsiders that are in our territory. Still, it would certainly worsen relations with the Seelie and we don't want that, do we?"

He did not know if he was supposed to answer.

"Do we?" Aspen's question came again, more forceful that time.

Ethos didn't move. "No. Conflict is not my goal."

"Good. Glad we got that straightened out, sweetheart." Pulling away, the other faerie hissed at him before starting away to where the guard once stood, and Ethos assumed he would stay until the next guard came to change shifts.

The birds were silent. Though he wanted to, he did not sit down right away, simply standing by the stream and trying to let the sound of the water drown out his worries. Something that usually helped in the past no longer seemed so effective. Unable to relax, he shifted his attention to Aspen's back, hypersensitive to any movement he made. Every now and again, he'd rest a hand against his sword and glance back. With any luck, the next guard would come over soon. Was such an environment safe to bring Kellan back to? Ethos just swallowed and kept vigilant. He could only hope that they would call a meeting soon to strategize before their delicate peace lost balance.