Life carried on for Luke.

The girls were sound asleep, when he arrived back at the bookshop, and Rita did not come calling.

He maintained control of his transformations. Work on headquarters and the restaurant was progressing as well as it could. The pack was content with him, and he was content with them.

He did not hear from Valentine, but he hadn't expected to.

Magnus crossed his fingers, hoping beyond hope, that the two of them had not heard, yet knew he was not so lucky, when Amatis grinning, said to him, "So, Maia told me something surprising."

"Does no good deed go unpunished?" Magnus bemoaned, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Has it been causing you problems with Alexander?" she asked, trying and failing to suppress laughter.

"What is it?" asked Jocelyn, and Magnus sighed. So very close, to avoiding all this. Except that was only wishful thinking. It would have gotten round, sooner or later. Normally, he enjoyed the spotlight, too. And he was certainly now the center of these two's attention. Thank goodness at least, Luke was not here. Clary and Simon were also not present, out doing who knows what.

The three women had only just arrived this afternoon to visit, and were with him currently in his home. He did so love a party, even a small one, and he'd missed them.

Their absence had also, incidentally, created the vacuum that allowed this horrendous rumor to grow. And grow… and grow… Unfortunately it became all too quickly apparent, Amatis enjoyed it too much to muster the required incentive to squash it. "Lucian didn't even feel the need to tell me he was seeing someone."

"You are incorrigible, Amatis – but my dear Jocelyn, what ails me is this: my purely platonic socializing with Luke has been misinterpreted by members of his pack."

Jocelyn blinked, before clarifying, "The pack thinks you and Luke are… what? Dating?"

"Yes, the pack, the local fay, Camille and her nest; by all current estimates, the entirety of the New York Downworld now believes our relationship is most amorous."

"Is it?" Jocelyn asked point-blank, causing further laughter from Amatis.

"No, of course it isn't! I would have not described it as a 'rumor' if that were the case!"

"Really Magnus, how did this even start?" Amatis asked, finally allowing him the chance to elucidate. "As I said, Luke and I have been socializing. I told you I have changed my ways, particularly my sleeping habits, to accommodate Alexander's unholy preference of waking early? Well, when he is not in town, and I am awake, I will visit Luke at his house before his shop opens.

"This did not, obviously, go unnoticed by Maia and Malarie. At first, they were most concerned, thinking something was wrong – that would be the only cause for my visiting at such an hour. Everyone is used to me being asleep, you see. Partly what allowed this to perpetuate, to all corners of our tight-knit community – but after Luke and myself repeatedly assured them there was no danger, after many visits they still looked puzzled. Then, I saw the metaphoric light bulb appear over Malarie's head. Maia quickly came to the same conclusion, after some telepathic communication between them, and then, one of the smuggest looks I've ever seen appeared on her face.

"Maia is shockingly menacing for such a petite young woman, and she both congratulated and threatened me to not hurt the boss, even warning me not to make her take the claws out.

"I inquired of them why they thought I was there – I was catching their drift at this point, however I wanted to hear them say it aloud – and Maia replied she could see why I was, and I quote, 'playing dumb.' That it must be awkward with me seeing Alexander Lightwood. Which facilitated Malarie asking if I had already broken up with Alexander.

"Luke then asked the girls why they thought I was there – he was emphatically not catching their drift, or simply suffering from a severe case of denial, which Malarie happily relieved by stating, 'We think you're boyfriends, sir!' – They are deferential to Luke – to which Maia could not control her impulse to quip, 'Didn't know you swung that way, sir.'

"Luke could of course not look to me, this would only implicate us further, in our imagined love affair, so he instead asked if there was anyway he could convince them not to tell anyone this. And that we were friends, he did try that, but as you can only so very well imagine, that did not placate the girls one eensy teensy little bit, but since he is my friend, and we are friends, I have continued my morning visits with him.

"I've told Alexander there is no truth to this, and most fortunately, he believed me. One of the rare few who does, yet the most important, in my eyes, and when I'm in one of my rare jovial moods about it, I enjoy perpetuating it. I took it upon myself to send Luke a bouquet of roses for Valentine's Day. Yellow roses: I didn't want him to get the wrong idea. We're already confused enough as it is."

Amatis and Magnus continued to chat, meanwhile, Jocelyn was deep in thought. She doubted a werewolf pack was well versed in the meanings of flowers and their colors. Yellow for friendship. Magnus repeating they were only friends, but an excessive number of times. This rumor had staying power. The girls had to have picked up on something, some undercurrent between Luke and Magnus; perhaps improperly named, but there regardless. Was Magnus lying? About his reasons for visiting Luke so frequently?

Or… did he know something he couldn't say. Valentine's Day. Her erstwhile husband. Flashed to Luke, so drained at Magnus' warehouse, guilt stamped on his face, trying to tell her something. About his meetings with said ex-husband. The marriage rune had faded. Only a memory, and the children between them.

She had been reproachably blind, to Luke's feelings for her in their younger years. If she hadn't been, the scene she remembered remarkably clearly would have made more sense at the time: Luke obviously grieving, what could have been and what would never be, the day of her wedding. Valentine had not been blind; he rarely was, except to his own flaws.

Yet it was not Luke, whom she remembered clearly, whom she had a sense of warning about in that moment: it had been her groom, the glint in his eyes, terribly pleased with himself, like the cat who ate the canary. Satisfied to have Lucian curled at his side, while at the same time eying her appreciatively in her wedding dress.

She was too young, too inexperienced, to understand. It came more later; glimpses and glimmers, between Lucian and her husband that seemed to possess potential for something else; something at that time, she couldn't have named. Something else she had forgotten, amongst the wreckage. Perhaps it had been unearthed, after their parabatai rune had gone as well.

"Valentine," she stated, experimentally, to test her theory, watching Magnus the entire time, who chose to keep quiet.

"What about him?" Amatis asked instead.

"Has he been back? Has he been back to see Luke? Don't lie to me, Magnus."

Now it was Amatis who kept quiet, scanning between the two of them, attempting to understand what was happening, what had shifted.

"Perhaps this is a question better posed to Luke himself…"

Why would Magnus know? Luke would not have told him, but Magnus had questioned him in the summer. She had assumed it was simply that, but knowing Magnus, and knowing her own thoroughness, she too would not have been satisfied merely with someone's word. Had he stumbled upon something he wasn't expecting, by forcing Luke to speak truthfully? The same thing Luke had felt he needed to confess to her?

She almost wished it weren't true. Not for her own sake, but for Luke's. He must be so heartbroken, and so unsure of himself.

It was sweet of Magnus to give him flowers.

"I will, but at least one of us needs to be prepared, for this will be an extraordinarily painful conversation between him and I. So Magnus, do he and I both the courtesy, and confirm for me ahead of time what I already know: are Luke and Valentine seeing each other? Non-platonically."

Amatis drew in a long, slow breath, sat back in her chair, and Magnus altered his manner significantly, no longer a jester, but the authoritarian she knew he was capable of being when the occasion called for it. Probably thought he was going to need to break up a fight, so she clarified,

"Despite my manner, anger is not my immediate reaction to this." It was more due to the intensity of having a long standing mystery unexpectedly solved.

"Luke almost told me," she continued, "and I am the one who told him he didn't have to."

Magnus smiled, rather sardonically. "It is not Luke, I fear you are going to harm."

And she smiled too. "Well it's a good thing Valentine isn't here, isn't it."

"So it's true, Magnus?" Amatis interjected, asking cautiously.

"It is," he answered, and Jocelyn was caught in the thrill of vindication, only to quickly plummet to the complicated reality, when Amatis spoke again, "Jocelyn, let me talk to him first. With Lucian. That way you will both be able to prepare yourselves – though I'm liable to kill Valentine myself, at this moment. He had that smug smile of his, at one point in my conversation with him, when we inadvertently talked about this."

"What were you discussing?" Jocelyn asked.

"Nothing of consequence, it just digs at me now – but I said to him how private they always were with each other; that I would never have been able to get him to tell me what they talked about, in the summer, even under normal circumstances. And now we know the circumstances were even more unusual that we thought… oh Jocelyn, I'm not even sure he'll talk to me, much less you, about this."

"He doesn't have to say a word. I am more concerned with what I need to say to him, than anything he needs to say to me."

"Magnus, how did you find this out?" Amatis asked, and he sighed. "I used a truth spell on him. I merely wanted to know whether Valentine was a threat. I promised him I wouldn't say anything."

"That must have been difficult for you, Magnus," Jocelyn empathized.

"I was tempted to tell you both; many times. I made Valentine come here and speak with him when he was stuck, wondering if it was somehow part of the problem."

"And what did Valentine think of that theory?"

"He was irritatingly calm and collected; one might even say 'smug.' Though I hasten to add, I believe his feelings are genuine."

"I believe they are too," Jocelyn begrudgingly admitted.

"Only makes me want to kill him more," Amatis said, and Jocelyn nodded in approval, before adding, "If only he hadn't made such a complete mess of things.

"Well, if you two believe yourselves capable of curbing your enthusiasm for murder, I was still planning on throwing a dinner for you."

"We'll manage," Amatis answered for them both.

Clary decided it was not her imagination; things were definitely, extremely awkward. A dinner for the ages, unmatched in sheer strangeness. She and Simon were trying their best, but it was difficult to say the least, with her seriously dating Jace.

Her nerves were already frayed: it was weird being back in Brooklyn. Must be a tame version of what her mom felt being back in Idris. Lot of memories, two different lives, that didn't make much sense alongside each other anymore.

She already knew Magnus was pissed for a multitude of reasons. The rumor about him and Luke had reached even her and Simon's ears; Simon had laughed for a good five minutes, easily. Was good to hear him laugh, actually, a real laugh, not the nervous chuckling he had started doing around her, trying to act like he wasn't crushed. Finally, someone else's love life was more troublesome than his own, at least for a moment.

But Magnus was also pissed for a similar reason Clary was pissed. Jace and Alexander had met in Idris; she'd introduced them, and they were hitting it off like wildfire. Must have been what Luke felt like after introducing her parents. Because now, the two only had eyes for each other, and the only thing they could talk about was whether or not they should be parabatai or not.

And though Luke was often pretty quiet, he went noticeably even more quiet, when that was being discussed. Which was understandable. Completely understandable.

He was also a werewolf pack leader, which was taking her some time to get used to. Wasn't so much the idea of werewolves, just… him. Him being a werewolf. When he was stuck as a wolf, it was easy. But when he was walking around, he looked like Luke. And Luke didn't scream "werewolf" to her.

But he'd been one for a long time. Longer than she'd been alive.

Things smoothed out a little bit, as dinner went by. Simon couldn't really help himself, he was always talkative. And speaking of talking, she needed to initiate another awkward, private conversation with Luke, so she took advantage of Simon recounting one of his school mishaps between dinner and dessert, to corner him.

"Can I talk to you? Alone?"

If he was surprised, he didn't really show it. He just nodded, and they walked away from the others. Went out into the hall, and found a small, nondescript room to sit down in. Nondescript, as in, she wasn't sure why Magnus had it. Not nondescript in decorating. Nothing about Magnus' décor was nondescript. His décor was over the top, to an almost painful degree. Too many fabrics, too many colors.

Still, could never accuse him of being boring.

"What is it, Clary?" Luke asked, looking completely out of place amidst the cacophony, in his usual uniform of jeans and a flannel. She was so used to seeing him in it, it was comforting; it seemed like the only thing that had stayed the same.

Still, time to spit it out, what she wanted to talk to him about. "It's about Valentine. Well, specifically, something Amatis said that freaked me out. I've given Mom such a hard time about marrying him: 'How could you fall for such a charming guy? Haven't you seen the movies? Everyone knows they're trouble.'

"Though I just realized, no, Mom was not watching American movies in Idris. But, once when I was visiting her and Amatis, Amatis said that Jace and Valentine are similar.

"I told her they were nothing alike, and she said, 'Really? Charming, popular, gifted, blond.' She even thinks Jace is more arrogant than Valentine was, and then turned on me, asking, 'How would you even know?' Your sister is kind of blunt sometimes.

"But it got me thinking and I realized she was right, I don't really know him. And you know the saying, 'Daughters marry their fathers?' Hence, my freak-out? Then I decided, I want to know for myself.

"Jonathan has been telling me about him, and asked if I wanted to see him, and I took him up on the offer. It was… interesting. Valentine gave me a gift. Some jewelry. I'm wearing the earrings now. Said he got the set – there was a bracelet, and necklace too – as payment for clearing out a demon nest. That he would have 'presented' me with a Morgenstern family piece, but he, and I quote, 'Did not want to draw any undue suspicion towards yourself.' Does he ever stop talking like that?

"But anyways, just for fun, I asked him what he would have named me. Tempest, he told me. Tempest. At first I wasn't sure whether to be offended, whether he was joking or something, I can't really tell when he's joking, but when I thought about it, I… I liked it.

"And I liked him, more than I thought I would. It's confusing. It was easier when I just think thought he was a jerk. And I was mad, thinking he didn't care about me, but then I was mad he was so awful, why would I want him to care about me. He said he wants to see me again. That I'm important to him."

Clary experienced an unwanted swell of emotion, at the thought of it. Got duped by the charming rich guy, just like her mom. Scrubbed her eyes, which for some reason had started to tear up, and Luke pulling her into a hug didn't exactly help matters. The whole thing was so stupid, but she let him hold her, for a long time. Could still remember him carrying her around on his shoulders, her, him and her mom walking down the street. Remembered feeling safe, like it finally, wasn't just her and her mom on their own.

And now her family had expanded even further. A demonic older brother, and a father with a massive god complex, and having literal angel blood didn't help matters.

But now that she'd gotten the explanation out of the way, she could get to the question, except right about when she got her emotions in check enough to ask, Luke spoke first.

"Your father is a complicated man. But I know he would never have abandoned you, if he'd known… and no, he never stops talking like that. Your grandparents, his parents, his relationship with them was… I won't say distant, but it was formal. They spoke like that too."

"Would you sit down with us, me and him? It's too awkward between him and Mom, and… I'd feel more comfortable if you were there. I want Simon to be there too, and Simon's already nervous on a good day… and I'm nervous too."

Luke nodded, and she was filled with relief. Then she was filled with a combination of agreement and outrage, at his next comment. "I do like the name Tempest for you."

"I know, right? But I can't tell that guy, because it just adds to his god complex!"

Luke chuckled, to her surprise. Wasn't easy to get him to laugh – knowing more about his past, was a little easier to understand why – but his response made her break out into mirthful, or more likely maniacal laughter herself: "Probably one of his worst nightmares. His daughter referring to him as that guy."

And Luke's take was confirmed by Amatis and even her mother, when Clary repeated that part of the conversation back to them, once they joined the others.

"More than a nightmare. Unthinkable," her mother joked grimly.

"Please Clary, say that to his face," Amatis urged. "You can get away with it, being his flesh and blood."

"And I assume you are wanting me to host this proposed meeting with that guy, aren't you, Biscuit?"

"Thanks for offering, Magnus!"

"Oh no, she actually is somewhat like Valentine, isn't she. Ordering people about..."

"Don't even joke about it!" Clary snapped back.

"I'm afraid I'm not. Might have to come up with another nickname for you. Biscuit's a little too sweet."

"Biscuits aren't actually that sweet, you know, compared to a cookie or cake," Simon countered. "Besides, I don't like it. Tempest. She's Clary. You're Clary. Good choice, Mrs. Fray. End of story. But speaking of ordering people about, I'm not so sure it's a great idea for me to be apart of this upcoming meeting–"

"You're going," Clary interrupted.

"There's really no need for me to be there, is there? Luke will be there, and he's a much better choice–"

"You're meeting my father. You'll both be there. End of story."

Simon sighed. "Hate having my own lines used against me."

And Clary internally sighed too. Just because she'd ordered everyone around didn't make her any less scared about it.

The next morning found Amatis drumming her fingers against her brother's kitchen table. She had taken up residence in his office again, with a pile of blankets currently substituting as a bed. As she had reminded Lucian when he fretted about it, she had slept on much worse.

The shop was closed for the day, the girls were out. This was the best possible time she could do this, and she had to stop herself from procrastinating any further. They'd had breakfast together, they'd just now had lunch, and despite her utmost attempts, she could not find any way to gracefully lead into this. She only knew for certain she wanted Lucian sitting down when she said it.

"You know, I think I kept up the place better!" she teased him, after cleaning up the kitchen.

"I won't argue with you there," he replied.

She went over to the couch, sat down, hoping he'd take the hint, and he did, joined her there.

"Something wrong?" he asked, and she sighed. Of course he would know.

"Yes, there's something I need to talk with you about. It's… about you and Valentine."

"What is it?"

"I know that it's become… romantic, between the two of you. Jocelyn figured it out. Had some intuition when Magnus was talking about his and your dating conundrum. Magnus didn't want to say it, but his face gave it away."

Lucian wasn't visibly upset at this revelation, however she could tell he was shutting down. Wasn't moving, wasn't speaking, had to double check to make sure he was still breathing. Like a turtle gone into its shell, she used to tell him, when he was little, when he did it.

"Is… is Jocelyn angry with me?" he managed, when he had recovered enough to communicate.

"No, she seemed… well, she seemed to think this was a long time coming, actually."

"I wasn't planning on it. It just… it felt right. And he and I… we don't… we don't have any plans. I don't know what's going to happen… Are you angry with me?"

Amatis had only briefly considered how she felt about this. She couldn't say she shared Jocelyn's foresight. She had eventually realized her brother had fallen in love with Jocelyn, when he was younger. He wasn't particularly obvious about it, just as he was not particularly obvious with any of his emotions, or his problems. She'd had to develop a sixth sense of sorts, for when he was truly ill as a child; otherwise, he'd carry on as if nothing were wrong.

This was in fact, a novel conversation for them; for though she had eventually become aware of his feelings for Jocelyn, she'd never discussed it with him. Was surprised he was willing to discuss this, as much as he was. She had prepared herself for the possibility he would shut her out completely on the subject.

"I'm not angry. I'm… well, frankly, I'm angry with Valentine."

"…I'm the one who started it."

"Darling, remember who you're talking about. He convinced an entire group of people their deepest desire was to overthrow the Clave. That they wanted to. That he had nothing to do with putting the idea in their head. And he's had no problem continuing with you, has he."

"...What am I going to say to Jocelyn?"

"She made it plenty clear that she needs to say something to you. I… I asked her to let me speak with you first, but she is determined, and well… we all know Jocelyn's will. May I call her, so you can get it over with, or do you need a little more time?"

"…No. You can call her."

Amatis kissed him on the cheek on her way out, and sent up a silent prayer: for this to go well, as well as it could.

Jocelyn had walked and walked the streets she called home. Too antsy to hold a brush, to consider colors, to compose on a canvas. Needed motion, needed momentum, to get her through what she needed to say, to work through reoccurring feelings.

Until she wound up at Luke's door, and then in his kitchen, the two of them awkwardly staring each other down, attempting to discern what was not yet spoken.

This was difficult, as neither she nor Lucian were the most verbal of sorts. She could when she needed to – and certainly more easily than he could – but it was not her preference. She had in fact given very little explanation to him when she insisted she needed to run off on her own, after the Uprising. He'd only read her inflexible stance and the set of her jaw when told him, and he had understood.

And she could see the ghost of past smiles between Lucian and Valentine, when they hadn't realized she was within sight. Lucian terribly happy, somewhat shy, and Valentine confident but in a calmer way than he normally displayed.

Also remembered her own joy, when she'd first seen Lucian seemingly risen from the dead. When she had ventured out into Brocelind Forest, at Ragnor Fell's intel he was alive and well. Desperate for aid, and to hear his voice, seldom used as it was.

And she found him, after the initial jeers of the pack questioning what a woman like her was doing out all alone. And they were right, it would have been a terrible idea, if Lucian was not the master of them all – as odd as that was to witness, the lot of them kneeling while he alone was left standing.

He was haunted but initially she hadn't cared. Ran to him, placed her head on his chest, over his heart. Very much still beating. Her husband had spoken too soon declaring him dead. She had initially assumed Lucian would never take his own life. It was only later when she learned a challenge for leadership of a pack was a fight to the death that she had read between the lines, to what more likely occurred that day. A coin-flip at best. A wish for it to be over at worst.

But back then, they had gone to speak in private – or what passed for private there, a canvas tent. Just as they were speaking privately now, and as fate would have it, both conversations were about Valentine, and Luke was haunted now, too.

"You don't owe me an explanation. Just listen to what I have to say. As Amatis may have already told you, this isn't the first time I've considered you and Valentine like this…"

It was difficult to describe an intuition, a knowing – they could be so fleeting, quickly passing, simply imagined. Difficult to give him proof, to make him believe this possibility between them had been there from the start. She could have recalled to him that moment from her ill-fated wedding day when she had interrupted them; she could have recollected any number of other small instances where she had felt the same, that she had intruded.

Instead, she picked the most painful of junctures, the crossroads as it turned out to be for all of them: the night Lucian was bit. And probably a night Luke did not remember well, given the part he played.

How Valentine had sent a raven ahead, telling her to prepare bandages and warm water, that Lucian had been injured. How he'd lumbered into the house, both Lucian and his broadsword slung across his back, breathing heavily as though he'd run. She led him to a spare bedroom, and he'd placed Lucian – unresponsive – down on a bed and set to work removing his shirts, so she could see all too clearly his mangled shoulder, still bleeding. She had urged her husband then to let her handle things, for him to tend to his own injuries, clean himself up – clumsy with fatigue, as he currently was, he would be of no help, would only make things worse. He thankfully heeded her bluntly worded advice, but she was in a nearly panicked state herself.

She knew what was coming. But she made herself focus on the matter at hand. Lucian had a wound and it did not matter what that would do to him down the line. Valentine had already attempted healing runes and his would be stronger than any of hers, yet she applied some more all the same, as well as gave the wound a thorough cleaning.

She was just applying a fresh bandage when Valentine returned, raw as she had ever seen him. She could imagine what was going through his mind – this pack had claimed not only his father, but had marked his parabatai too.

Later, she considered Valentine had done all this on purpose. Lured Lucian out into the night, and let the night have him. She had even asked him this, when they met again face-to-face, after all these years. He shook his head, told her it was hubris, not malice – at least, not maliciousness directed towards Lucian, that led to that particular hunt.

She was inclined to believe him. He was not the greatest of actors; he could only manage certain roles, ones that put him in a position of power – teacher, leader, husband – persuasively. Grieving and furious and afraid, he was that night. Never emotions he willingly inhabited.

And he had abandoned his fastidiously maintained appearance: his hair wet and askew, shirt crumpled, pants precariously and off-centeredly tied at his hips and eyes openly weeping when he looked upon his parabatai, lying prone on the bed.

Valentine was himself exhausted and since she knew he would not rest anywhere else, encouraged him to stay, while she went about hiding all evidence this had occurred. Dumping the red tinged water, wringing out the bloody rags. She would burn the shirt he'd worn, clean their weapons.

When she returned to offer food and drink, she intruded once again, upon an intimate scene between the two. Lucian, somewhat coherent, able to manage light conversation, and Valentine lying beside him, propped up on his side, repeatedly running his fingers through Lucian's hair. A fool's errand, ever hoping to straighten it out, but it was obvious that was not why Valentine did it – though the gesture appeared to be more for Valentine's benefit than Lucian's, judging by the fretful motion of his fingers.

And she now told Lucian how she tried to dismiss the thought that came into her head, that she had stumbled upon lovers. It was perfectly natural in such a situation for the two of them to be in such a position. Particularly two parabatai.

Jocelyn would have crawled in the bed with him if Valentine hadn't done it. Would have felt compelled to do so with any close friend after enduring such a shock. Had in fact, crawled in bed with Lucian after she'd found him reborn in Brocelind Forest. Didn't believe him when he'd insisted he was alright, just wanted to lay there and hold him. Just as she appreciated when he'd held her in Paris right before they'd parted ways, after the Uprising, after finding her family home burned to the ground, her son gone and another child on the way.

He may have felt for her as a lover, yet he had held her as a friend. Jocelyn wondered if that time was perhaps why Clary had taken such an instant liking to him. He was the only one, besides herself, who knew from her old life, and it was not an instant love she witnessed in Luke's eyes when he had shown up on her doorstep and saw Clary for the first time; he had already loved her from afar, without ever having laid eyes on her.

Seeing Valentine again, she was not blind enough, or furious enough, to forget why she had married him. His charm and good looks were intact; his eyes still radiating a striking intelligence. All qualities that had gotten the best of him. But as Clary had been questioning her, and as she had been questioning herself, had she been madly in love with him? Attracted – absolutely, as Amatis had agreed. Fascinated, intrigued, infatuated – yes, yes, and yes. She'd even enjoyed that she had at first denied his advances; the thrill of saying no to someone who rarely heard the word; and the pride that she was who he chose.

It had hurt to leave him; that he had betrayed her confidence, making her an unwilling subject in his demon blood test. But the rune had not taken long to fade. Leading the fight against her husband had proven to her, she was far stronger than she had imagined. It had not torn her apart, the way it had torn Lucian apart. He did what had to be done, but took no pleasure from it; and she had interceded in their battle at the Accords not because she believed Valentine did not deserve to die, but because she knew neither of them could bear the weight of having killed the other.

Perhaps deep down, she'd had faith one day Valentine would recognize his parabatai still walked the earth. And apparently, he finally had.

Luke had waited a long time, and she wasn't exactly sure how to do this, to give her blessing without it coming across as insincere. Wasn't sure how to express to him, that she believed his love was true, truer than hers had been, without making a mockery of her choices, without making this seem simpler than it actually was, except to invoke her earlier proclamation to him: "Do what you need to do. I will not leave."

Luke openly stared at her, unusual for him, before eventually nodding slowly, uncomprehending, and she risked doing what she had wanted to the moment she stepped in the door, stepping forward and reaching out, to which he openly flinched, fearing a strike, before eventually relaxing in her embrace. She was a petite woman and he was a man of above average stature, however she was surprised how easily she was able to enfold him. He was slimmer than last summer.

She had known everything that had happened took a toll, yet it still disturbed her to feel such tangible proof. Lucian had always been so steady, her rock. Had helped her immensely, throughout her entire life. She'd been willing to go it alone, but slept so much better once he'd found her again in New York. He forgave her for leaving him. Forgave her for not loving him the way he'd wanted her too – particularly when everything would have been so much easier, if she had – so to hear him mutter, "Forgive me," was unequivocally wrong.

"There is nothing to forgive."