Song inspiration: Can't Stand the Silence – Rea Garvey

Chapter 107 – The Fairchild's Burden

The last time the Inquisitor's office had been as cramped as it was now, I had stumbled upon a corpse as I had tried to confront Jonathan. The thick carpet had been soaked in blood, only to be washed over by a wave of liquid adamas. Today, much of the furniture has been replaced. The gaping hole behind Imogen's desk, left by the melted adamas, had yet to be sealed, revealing a room lined with towering bookshelves behind her shoulders. Filled with antique bindings and crumbling spines, the small library seemed to guard the secrets of the Nephilim. Without the wall, its dusty scent had drifted into the office, settling over everything like the heavy humidity of a midsummer day.

Equally, I thought back to one of my first stays in this room. Back then, I had been forced to sit to my right, where Jonathan now sat. Jace, then as now, stood behind the chair that Imogen had assigned to me today. But unlike in my memory, he did not loom behind it like a stiff, impenetrable wall. With his arms resting on the chair's back and his weight leaning against it, I felt his breath like a steady current against my scalp. His knuckles brushed my hair in an absent manner. Like a magnet that always sought a touch despite the proximity. We still had not had a moment alone. The events were piling up like the books in the adjacent library.

"I did not ask for all of you to be here," Imogen said in a didactic tone. Her light blue eyes wandered from Jace to Isabelle and Adam, who were positioned on either side of Jonathan's chair, and finally to Alec and Magnus. They had made themselves comfortable on the seat cushions on the opposite wall of the office. Relaxed like two cats, they seemed completely out of place, which only widened my grin. Each of them had neither an invitation nor a reason to be here, and yet they were all here. "I only asked for Clarissa and Jonathan."

"Clary," Jonathan corrected automatically. "Only Valentine ever called her Clarissa."

Isabelle made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed giggle. When I gave her a long look, she coughed behind her hand and pressed her red lips together as if her life depended on it. I was relieved to hear her laugh. An expression of absence had inhabited Isabelle's eyes since the painkillers had worn off this morning. Even without our connection, her behavior spoke volumes. Withdrawn into herself, we had exchanged only a few words. The march through the streets of Alicante had managed to distract her for a moment, but whatever thoughts had been running through her mind since Meliorn's encounter on the battlefield hung over her like dark storm clouds.

"Clary," Imogen repeated reluctantly. I could count on one hand how many times she had called me Clary. In fact, I was pretty sure I didn't need all my fingers. She continued all the more insistently. "It does not change my point." Again, she eyed our companions and again she could not hide the hint of surprise that crossed her face when she spotted Jace's fingers in my hair. Every little sign of our love seemed like another nail in her coffin.

On normal days, I had not cared about Imogen's opinion of our relationship. After yesterday, a small part of me was annoyed at her reaction. Jace and I had literally barely been able to keep our hands off each other since we had been reunited on the battlefield. It had been less than twelve hours, and yet I took Jace's pain seriously enough to not want to leave his side. Like planet and moon, we rotated around in each other's atmospheres, unable to deviate from the course that held us together. Jace had become clingier since my supposed death. His terror was too deep for me to hold back for Imogen. Or for Jonathan.

My brother frowned as he followed Imogen's gaze. As soon as we slipped into his field of vision, his expression darkened. If Imogen and he had anything in common, it was the aversion of Jace's and my devotion.

"We are simply here to support our friends in difficult times, Inquisitor." Adam, his name at least partially redeemed thanks to his participation in the Mellartach retrieval mission, had put on an innocent expression. Although his interrogation had exposed him as a liar and manipulator, and Imogen didn't look like she believed a second of his kindness, his friendship with me was no secret either.

"We're here as living proof that they're already members of the Nephilim community," Isabelle explained, and despite her sadness, her excitement hit me like a heat wave. Knowing how much this official appointment meant to my Parabatai sparked a feeling of happiness in my chest. "And to celebrate them, of course!"

Imogen didn't raise her head as her pupils climbed to Isabelle. The left corner of her mouth stiffened disapprovingly. Like a teacher who had to correct a childish mistake. Her long, loose hair made her look unfamiliar and foreign. "Only mundanes can join the Nephilim community, Miss Lightwood. All Nephilim are automatically part of it."

I turned my chin, and Isabelle was already looking down at me. It wasn't hard to imagine her rolling her eyes. Hypocrite, the Parabatai bond whispered, her face brightening a little as my agreement flooded it.

"Not officially, but a name change is no small thing. It's their first true decision within the community that isn't made on the basis of war." This time I didn't take my focus away from Imogen, who was again skimming through some papers disinterestedly and paying no attention to Isabelle's overly friendly words.

"Technically, this would be a task for the Consul," Jace's grandmother said, now with a wave of displeasure, as if she had bitten into something bitter. "However, she assumed that you would prefer to discuss the pleasant details with me. Due to our close partnership over the past few weeks..." Her sentence trailed off, but her gaze fixed on Jace told me exactly what else Jia must have said.

A quiet laugh reached my ears from somewhere behind me. I could not decipher that it was Alec until Jace's fingers in my hair began to tremble with amusement. If words were weapons, he would have definitely dealt her a fatal blow with the following. "Don't be so grumpy, Grandmother. I know you like Clary."

I brought my body to a standstill, even stopped breathing in an attempt to make myself invisible. I was sure the Inquisitor would rage – she would not tolerate such disrespect. At least from anyone except Jace, I remembered however, when Imogen's only reaction to her grandson was to quickly open her mouth. Even more quickly, she closed it again and put on a disinterested mask.

A deep sigh later, she pierced Jonathan and then reluctantly me with her icy eyes. "Since there are hardly any records of your family since Valentine's marriage to Jocelyn, a name change is not difficult. The only documents relating to you, Jonathan, are your birth certificate and the entry the family trees records. And since you were born after the faked death of your parents, Clari– Clary, there are no records of you at all. In the family trees you will both be listed under Jocelyn's name, Fairchild, but your father's entry under Morgenstern remains obligatory."

After a brief nod from us, Imogen continued. "As you are the last living heirs of the Morgensterns, name change or not, you are entitled to all property of that name. Here is an overview." She pushed one of the thick, stamped government documents over to us.

Jonathan and I both hesitated before looking at it – neither of us was remotely interested in any of the Morgensterns' inheritances. The list included a property in Alicante, another in the Idris area, our father's hideout on the border and several in Switzerland. There were also frozen and now reactivated gold reserves and other objects that meant nothing to me.

"Are we obliged to accept the inheritance?" I asked into the oppressive silence.

Imogen nodded. "What you do with it is up to you. Whether you give away the properties, squander the gold or destroy everything is your decision."

Jonathan and I looked at each other. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. "Having a house in Alicante does not hurt. Where else are we going to live?" He didn't miss the way my face twisted of its own accord. I have a home. But with the end of the war, the Lightwoods' hospitality had been strained enough. My brother misunderstood my reaction. "We do not have to stay here if you do not want to. We can go to Switzerland. Or we can sell everything and buy something that has not been poisoned by Father. A fresh start would do us good."

Above me, Jace stiffened. Isabelle also shifted her weight thoughtfully from one leg to the other. How would she cope with losing me after Meliorn? I could not leave if she was in this state of mind. I had to be there for her, just as she had been there for me. Besides...

"My life is here, with my friends," I said carefully, unsure of how to broach the subject with Jonathan without making him feel left out or hurt. "I want to–" The thought never left my tongue. I want to stay in Alicante. But neither Jace nor the Lightwoods actually lived here, I suddenly realized. They had all lived at the New York Institute before we were ordered to Alicante for security reasons. But now, with Valentine dead, those would be suspended. So how long would they stay here before they went back to New York?

"Before you make a decision, you might want to consider this," Imogen interjected, her eagle eyes registering my every move. She slid the second document directly towards me. "The Fairchild family lived in many places. In the nineteenth century, mostly in London. However, some of them ended up in the United States in the twentieth century."

Indeed, one of the houses on the long list of Fairchild properties showed a Manhattan address.

For a moment I thought I imagined a gentle smile on Imogen's lips before she continued. "The Fairchild line is not extinct, so you are only entitled to the property that belonged to your mother. The property in New York is not one of them. However, after a brief conversation with Callida Fairchild, I learned that it has been empty for decades. When she heard that I was asking on your behalf, she willingly signed it over. As a token of gratitude for your sacrifices in the war."

Neither I nor Jonathan could say a word. My brother's face reflected suspicion. He was not used to receiving things as gifts. Not without something in return. A wave of surprise washed over me.

"Clary got a house as a gift?" Isabelle, who under normal circumstances would have surely let out a shriek, managed only a surprised restraint. Her fingers gripped my chair in relief. I wasn't going to leave, I was going to stay with her. "Hopefully it's big enough for three."

"We have our own property in New York, Izzy," Alec remarked dryly from the sofa, a shade too exuberant. He, too, was worried about his sister. "And in London. And in Paris. You could move out at any time!"

It was customary for the leading family of an Institute to reside there. What applied to Maryse and Robert, however, didn't apply to Isabelle. She ignored her brother, and a tired grin lifted the veil of dejection a little. The mischievous sparkle in her pupils was absent. "Since Alec will probably move in with Magnus soon and Jace will just hang around with you anyway, I might as well move in with you. Parabatai should not live too far apart!"

"I do not think New York is the right benchmark." Adam's mouth twitched, and Sebastian Verlac and his Parabatai appeared in my mind's eye, separated from each other by several countries and the Mediterranean Sea.

"I'm sure the house will be big enough," I said, trying to force a gentle smile. "And even if it isn't. We're Parabatai."

Curiously, I looked at my brother. But he immediately averted his eyes, his teeth clenched grimly and his arms crossed in front of his chest. He made no secret of the fact that he didn't like my plan to return to New York.

To my surprise, Isabelle raised her voice again. "You have to know, Jonathan, that I like to exaggerate sometimes. I'm just happy that Clary, as my Parabatai, won't be living on the other side of the ocean. If you're okay with choosing New York."

Blinking, Jonathan raised his green irises. As if he wasn't sure that he had actually been spoken to, his gaze vacillated over Isabelle for a few seconds before he finally opened his mouth. "If Clary is happy in New York, then we will go to New York." Warily, his focus slid over to me.

"It is decided then." Imogen rose from her chair before anyone else could voice their opinion. Judging by Jonathan's white knuckles on his clenched fist, he wasn't far off. She looked at us again, searching our eyes in turn. She took a deep breath. Direct but not hasty; reserved but not unkind. Like a judge before delivering a verdict, holding onto the knowledge for one final second as the only one who knew its contents. "Clary and Jonathan, from today on you are no longer Morgenstern's, but Fairchild's."

I had not expected to feel any different. It had been a symbolic decision. A rapprochement with the Nephilim and our mother, who's past we wanted to connect to. The burden of the Morningstar would not just disappear because we had a different name. It was an attempt to embrace what Jocelyn had given up when she had chosen Valentine. An escape from him, but above all from the versions of ourselves we had been under his patriarchy.

As Fairchilds, we were independent. While Clarissa Morgenstern had been a cold, ruthless warrior, Clary Fairchild would be exactly who she wanted to be. No obligations, no punishments, no violence. Just me, and the freedom to discover who I could have been in a world where I had not grown up under Valentine's wing.

A fragment of this new world now held out its hand to me and I took it with all the zeal to close the past chapter. Our fingers slid against each other. The warmth of his skin sank deep into my body and spread through my veins – ran through me like a burst of energy, penetrating every last corner of every bone. An old, familiar flame. The only fire to which I voluntarily surrendered myself.

"Clary Fairchild." The name rolled slowly over Jace's tongue, as if he had to taste and test every syllable. "Morgenstern. Fairchild." Finally, he shrugged his shoulders with mock dispassion. The heat of his hand around mine spoke a clearer language. Something incalculable glittered in his golden irises. "At this point, a third name wouldn't make much of a difference either."

While I frowned in confusion at the meaning of Jace's words, Isabelle sucked in a sharp breath as if she had been hit – in a good way. Meanwhile, Imogen seemed to be choking on something – judging by her horrible cough, she must be terminally ill. Magnus and Alec whistled in awe. Meanwhile, my brain was whirring, trying to understand a meaning that everyone before me seemed to have grasped.

Third name?

I had just tilted my head when Jonathan suddenly rose from his chair, so abruptly that it slid harshly against Isabelle. Now it was Jace who furrowed his brow as I shifted my attention from him to my brother. Jonathan glared at Jace as if, after Valentine's death, he was searching for a new arch-nemesis.

Jonathan's anger toward Jace made something click inside me. My eyes widened ever so slightly. Heat was burning holes in my cheeks, but I had never been a coward. So I turned back to Jace, whose self-satisfied smile revealed that he had caught on to my reaction. One of those smiles that was meant for me alone. Warm, loving and lulling, and free of any pretentious arrogance.

"Maybe you should think of a second name instead. Then we would be on the same level." I could not help but add a teasing note as I brushed the hair from his forehead. Partly for Jonathan's sake. Extinguishing his anger without smothering Jace's love in the process was a balancing act. A temporary solution.

It was high time that Jonathan and I finally talked. About the past and the future.

"It is time to go," Jonathan said sharply. "It is time for the Morgen– Fairchilds to get their well-deserved rest."

I smiled at my brother and reached out my arm to him. He stood there stiffly, unable to make sense of my gesture. "Come here," I finally demanded of Jonathan. When he took a suspicious step toward Jace and me, without taking his eyes off Jace, I grabbed his shoulder and wrapped him in a tight hug from which he could not escape.

"It's over," I murmured into his shoulder. Even on tiptoe I could not reach his ear. "We are free, brother. Come. Let's start building a new life."

I felt him nod cautiously, but he pulled away from me too quickly. Doubts were growing behind the faltering wall of distance that he was barely maintaining. The parade through the city, the questioning in front of everyone had drained him. Everyone in the Shadow World now knew him, but he knew no one. It was more than exhaustion that was gnawing at Jonathan. I didn't try to imagine the full extent of his emotions. I would not be able to anyway. He needed to finally talk to me. But just like with Jace and Isabelle, we had not had any chance to do so yet.

Maybe he saw something on my face. A reflection of my thoughts. Or maybe he felt the same. "It is over," Jonathan echoed after me. "Let us go."

oOo

In the end, we remained dependent on the Lightwoods' hospitality for now. A brief stop at the so-called Morgenstern townhouse quickly made it clear that it was nowhere near a livable condition. Having stood abandoned for twenty years, the house resembled the ruins of the Wayland estate, where our father had once held Ithuriel captive in a secret basement. With the few remaining pieces of furniture draped in sheets and every surface buried under thick layers of dust, it would take weeks to restore the house into a place fit for living. Even Jonathan, who detested the idea of sharing a roof with strangers, had to admit as much.

Robert Lightwood welcomed Jonathan and me without much interest. He seemed relatively indifferent to who he shared his four walls with. I had crossed paths with him maybe twice in the past three months, so I wasn't surprised by his easy agreement. Maryse had already returned to New York with Max but would be coming to Alicante for the official celebrations at the end of the week. They weren't alone: many were returning to their Institutes and cities. After all, the Shadowhunters had a mandate to fulfill toward humanity. So, slowly but surely the city was emptying out, which was fine with me. Fewer eyes to follow Jonathan's assimilation.

Since this assimilation would only be accompanied by an emotional processing, I offered him my room. Jonathan needed the private retreat more urgently than I did. A place where he could let the walls fall and turn completely within himself. To be able to deal with the past three months without being observed.

Naturally, Jonathan had protested, his eyes narrowed like a knife at Jace. Since the Lightwoods' estate had no other guest rooms, I had planned to sleep at Jace's. Although I had not expressed the thought out loud, Jonathan had of course put two and two together.

Isabelle, brilliant people reader that she was, had recognized the situation and defused it before my brother could even part his lips. "You can sleep in my room, Clary. My bed is big enough for two and we haven't had the opportunity for the obligatory Parabatai pajama party yet." I had not been the only one throwing her a grateful look.

A few hours later, I was showing Jonathan around my, now his, room. Even if showing him around wasn't really the right word. I moved around the room, making space in the closet and borrowing clothes from Alec for him, since he stubbornly refused to wear anything from Jace. Meanwhile, he perched on the chair in front of the vanity like a startled animal, his sharp eyes tracking my every movement. Each time my gaze brushed his, my heart clenched at the reminder that they were green again — like mine. Like Jocelyn's.

Not knowing what Jonathan was thinking – not knowing how to act, I started talking. It wasn't like me, but with his focus locked on me and with his wall of silence between us, I suddenly grasped at the loosest blades of grass — anything to keep myself from falling into silence as well. Every time my voice failed and my brain frantically searched for a new topic of conversation, my heart began to pound. Monologue, because Jonathan never answered.

There was no more war, no enemies to defeat, no goals to achieve. There was nothing we shared except a dead pair of parents. Even the demons that plagued us weren't the same – because even though I didn't want to admit it, he himself had become one of them.

Before, I would have known how to deal with him. Today, he seemed unresponsive to any of my attempts to revive this hair-raisingly fragile bond between us.

"I got you new towels," I said, putting the three towels down next to him on the otherwise empty dressing table. My fingers, a barely perceptible tremor running through them, glided over the rough fabric. I counted to three in my head and listened to my heart pounding more vehemently with every second. "I've already shown you the bathroom, but maybe you'd like to see it again?"

My brother moved his chin in refusal and suddenly got up from his chair to stagger over to the window. As if I had come too close to him and he needed to flee. I was almost surprised that he didn't jump out of the window to escape. Instead, he remained there. With his back turned to me and his arms crossed behind him, his gaze searched the distance.

It was sunset.

In vain, my brain searched for words. Five minutes passed. More. At some point I started to wonder if he had been ignoring me from the beginning.

"Should I go?" The question was unfair, I knew that. Our father would soon be dead for exactly one day. But my limbs ached with tension. With fear.

Suddenly I wished I could go back to the fear of death. It had been easier to bear than this. Its cause had been of a final nature. This ... I didn't know where it would lead us. My lungs could not breathe, afraid that the relationship between us might be irreparably damaged. That I would get nothing but silence from my brother.

As expected, Jonathan didn't answer my question. The pounding in my ears was so loud that I didn't hear my feet sliding across the carpet. Towards the door.

Then his voice finally rang out across the room. "Is that Mother's stele?" Hoarse and distracted, as if his mind had followed his gaze into the distance.

My legs remained still, and I swayed in place. Confused, I tilted my head until I found the object he was talking about. My stele and the red velvet cushion were resting on the windowsill, next to Heosphoros in its star-embroidered sheath. Not knowing what to do with my few possessions, I had left them there for the time being – away from the relocation.

A clipped sound escaped his otherwise controlled demeanor. I didn't have to look to know what had stolen his attention. Reverently, his fingertips traced the family photos that Jace had pocketed for me at the Morgenstern Mansion.

"And?" he asked, more demandingly this time.

"Yes," I replied just as briefly.

Jonathan took no notice of me as I approached him from the side. His eyelids pressed tightly shut, he traced the surface of the stele. Every curve, every notch in the adamas. As if he could hear her voice, feel her presence. Because he wanted to be close to her. Because he longed for his mother. Because the longing for her didn't simply end with adulthood. Because years later, you still yearn for a warm hand, a comforting shoulder and a soothing murmur. Especially when the way to those safe arms was impossible.

"You can have it if you want," I heard myself say. As if I were being controlled remotely, because my own pain threatened to overwhelm me. Because my fear of losing him was being pushed aside by the agony of seeing him break.

"I do not deserve it." It was barely more than a whisper, but he delivered each syllable in a firm statement that brooked no argument. As long as Jonathan believed it, I would never be able to convince him otherwise.

A deep, shaky sigh crept up my throat. "Luke was right. She would be proud of you, you know that?"

His temper burst as if the demon blood had never left his veins. Wild as a tiger and angry as a wolf, Jonathan whirled around to face me. "I do not care what some filthy Downworlder says." Hissing like a snake, his fist clenched tightly around our mother's stele. As if it were all that was grounding him. "I killed her, Clarissa. She is dead and no one knows what she would feel!"

The shock of his sharp reaction made me stagger back. My pulse began to race in agitation. Because even though he looked as if he would explode with rage at any second, the sight relieved me. Not because it reminded me of the demon. The months under the servitude of the demon blood had changed Jonathan. But he spoke. In a paradoxical way, the scene reminded me of the evening in the Lightwoods' gardens when I had tried to lure Jace's angelic power out of him by provoking him. The adrenaline in my veins felt familiar.

"You knew her for twenty years. She betrayed her husband to protect me from the demon blood. What do you think she would have done if–"

The stele flew across the room, missing my head by mere centimeters. It crashed against the wardrobe before rolling across the floor with a sharp clatter. This time, I didn't flinch — I turned to stone.

"I do not want to hear anything else!" My brother had never been the type of person to raise his voice in anger. The demon had, but not Jonathan. Just like Father, he didn't need noise to convey the full extent of his emotions. Just like Father, he knew how to emphasize each word just right to give the person he was speaking to awe-inspiring goosebumps.

I almost rolled my eyes. "We need to talk, Jonathan," I said through gritted teeth, ignoring the stele that had come to a stop somewhere behind me. "Not today, not tomorrow. But someday. And throwing things at me won't change that. You're not twelve anymore. And that was ineffective even then."

"I do not have to do anything." His chest rose and fell frantically. We stared at each other as if we were about to get at each other's throats. Was I crazy for feeling glad? He relaxed his hand a little, as if he was about to throw the next object at me. "Stay out of my business, and I will not throw things at you, little sister!"

"Your business?" Suddenly, I snapped. Jonathan and my room swayed before my eyes. A red veil settled over him, as if he were blushing with shame, or anger. This time it was my own. In the blink of an eye I was in his private space, pressing my finger so hard against his chest that he flinched. "My mother is dead, you bastard! My father is dead. And for three months, you, big brother, were … gone. I believed you dead. I mourned you. Yes, you have a huge burden to bear. But it's not your burden. Our mother's memory doesn't belong to you alone."

Jonathan's lips puffed out, his angular features sharp as razors. Instead, I took my own knife and stabbed him with words. "Yes, you're a fucking murderer, Jonathan. Is that what you want to hear? It doesn't change your innocence. Mother would never blame you for that. Never."

"One more word from you and I–"

"And what?" It wasn't an empty threat, but I didn't care. Repeatedly, I shouted every word in his face like an annoying, little sister. "Mother would forgive you! She would be proud!"

I ducked in time to avoid Jonathan's fist, which was about to grab my shoulder. In the blink of an eye, half the room lay between us.

"I don't deserve forgiveness. And I certainly don't deserve her pride," he snarled, the adrenaline of his anger making the trembling in his muscles disappear. Jonathan's body loomed over me like a block of ice, inescapable in every move he made, lying silently in wait. This was the brother from before. The angrier, the calmer.

"Don't you understand that she wouldn't want you to lose yourself in this grief? She would want you to move on and find closure. I know that–"

"You do not know anything!" This time I had to turn to the side to avoid the empty vase that had been standing on one of the low bookshelves. Hopefully, it wasn't one of a kind… It smashed against the wall next to the open door. Open because I had been walking back and forth and closing it would have suffocated me. "You are meddling in things you do not understand! It is easy to say all that, but you are not in my shoes. You do not have to live with the fact that you are responsible for the deaths of not just your mother, but also your father! You do not understand anything about my burden!"

"You did the right thing! He had to die! I would have done it myself if I could! Don't you believe me?"

"I believe you, Clary. I really do. But it was not your place to kill him!"

Trying to reply, I almost choked on his statement. "Why?" I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, shaking. "Why? Because you're better than me? Do you still think I'm not your equal?" Over the weeks I had built up my own collection of weapons; had hidden them from the Lightwoods in the strangest places. The knife I threw got stuck in the window frame; vibrated with elasticity.

The louder I yelled, the quieter he whispered. "No," he growled, barely audible, but threatening enough to send most people running. With a jerk, he pulled the knife out of the frame and rotated it between his fingers. "For the same reason I surrendered myself to the Inquisitor. It is not always about strength, Clary. You still think exactly the way Father taught us. I had to kill him in your place because I had already sinned. You were free of sin, and nothing was going to change that because of me. You alone uphold the honor of the Morgensterns."

"It's not always about honor, Jon. You're just as trapped in Father's beliefs as I am. We're not Morgensterns anymore. You have to stop trying to protect me from everything. I can make my own choices. I decide whether to forgive you for your actions and I do. Mother went with me. I know what she thought about you and the demon blood. I–"

"I told you to shut up!" Jonathan hissed like a mad dog, pointing the tip of the knife straight at me. "That is enough–" Mid-sentence, he broke off. His pupils darted away from me. The dangerously thin control over his expression slipped from his grasp. "You have no business being here."

Jace stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the knife in Jonathan's hand as if he were trying to snatch it from him by telekinesis. Tapping his own fingers over the hilt of his seraph blade, he rushed to my side, his nose flaring. While Jace must have seemed furious to my brother, I could see through the rage. Fear lingered in his tense jaw.

I wanted to scream. Jonathan had his trauma and Jace had his. Jonathan's actions weighed too heavily on his shoulders. My supposed death was too fresh for Jace's defense system.

"You're pointing a knife at your sister. I think I'm exactly where I should be. Put it down. Now."

"Jonathan," I growled in warning before his mouth twisted into a cruel grin. He had been the demon long enough to now retreat into these behavioral patterns.

When Jonathan threw the knife, Jace tried to throw himself in front of me. I pressed my arm across his chest with all my strength so that he remained standing on my right. The blade whizzed past me to the left and pierced the wall with a hum.

"What, do you think I would hurt my own sister?" Jonathan asked provocatively, baring his teeth. "This is none of your business. Get lost. Before I hurt you."

"Enough." The words exploded out of me and when I threw the knife at him this time, it grazed along his upper arm. Cleanly through the hem of Alec's borrowed shirt. A graze. A warning. Because it seemed that Jonathan needed to see blood to come to his senses.

With a silent Jace behind me, who was sucking in his breath in astonishment, I stomped towards Jonathan and stood in front of him. The fact that I was smaller than him didn't matter. He, on the other hand, didn't look at all astonished; he had probably seen it coming. "You don't threaten the people I care about. Is that clear?"

"Crystal clear." He sounded bitter and accusatory at the same time. Somberly, he looked past me at Jace.

"I want to help you, Jon," I murmured, close to tears again. It disgusted him, at least to a certain extent. Crying was forbidden. Crying was weakness. "I want nothing more than to help you. I just don't know how. Please talk to me. I'm desperate. You're standing in front of me and yet you're miles away."

"I will not talk about anything in front of this stranger."

"I love this stranger. So you will have to accept seeing him by my side. He belongs to me, just as you belong to me."

Indignation flashed across Jonathan's eyes. His feet carried him away from me. "Family first," he spat at me. "He is not family, Clary. He does not share our blood."

"If I send him away, will you talk to me? Can we finally stop this game and start working through this? If you need more time, that's fine, but please say something. I want to help you, my brother. Let me help you, I beg you." Slowly but surely, my desperation fought its way to the surface. It paralyzed my tongue and made my jaw tremble.

My brother. Had he forgotten who I was? That I would always protect him? That I would cross every obstacle with him? That I would die for him?

"For you, all of this is so easy to say." My heart stopped when Jonathan started talking. Because all the edge had disappeared, and his voice only resembled the ghost of a person. As if he had already mentally withdrawn from the conversation, locked the windows and shut the blinds. "So easy," he spat the accusation at my feet. "Forgiveness here, coming to terms with it there. I am not an abused animal, Clarissa, I am a human being. You are not in my body. You throw words around, but you can sit back and go back to your life, no matter what happens to me. Do not get me wrong. I am glad that you have found a life outside of our family. I surrendered myself to them so that you would not have to give it up. But it prevents you from understanding me. Father has taken away any chance I had of this life. Because what do I have left without him and without the war? You have your new life. But I have nothing left. Because I am nothing but a warrior and your brother. Without Father's plans, you are the only anchor I have left … while your world revolves around so many others. What I am trying to say is ... you cannot understand my situation. Neither my guilt nor my ... pain."

Jonathan didn't wait for a reaction from me. He rushed past Jace and me, to the door and on. Fled.

He needs more time, a voice whispered in my head as I slumped my shoulders.

But it was more than that. More than time. Jonathan felt lonely. Alone against the rest of the world. Alone with his guilt and his ... pain. An admission, however small, but of great importance for Valentine Morgenstern's son.

I wanted to run after him.

I wanted to scream at him that I knew exactly what this loneliness felt like. That it had almost broken me myself. Instead, I stood in the middle of the bedroom, knowing deep down that he would not listen to me, would not believe me. Because to some extent, he was right: I would never fully understand him.

Instead, I let him go.

Today was my second-to-last day at my internship—and a very sunny one at that. My trip to Thailand is just around the corner, and I'm sooo excited! Until then, I'm hoping to finish writing this fanfic. Now that I have two weeks off, I really want to tackle it.

How did you like this chapter? I'm quite fond of it myself—there's a lot being tied together, but at the same time, new things are beginning. Jonathan is such a joy to write; he brings something special to every scene, and I truly enjoy working with his character!

See you next week!
Skyllen