The Institute felt cavernous without her. Jace sat at the long, oak dining table, its surface scarred by years of Shadowhunter meals and war plans. Plates sat untouched before him, the steam from a half-hearted breakfast curling into the cool air. The silence was louder than anything else, punctuated only by the clink of his knife against the plate as he idly pushed eggs across porcelain.

He couldn’t remember the last thing he’d said to her before the mission. Something mundane, probably. Something that now felt painfully inadequate. His gaze drifted to the far corner of the room where her favorite mug sat, still stained with the remnants of yesterday’s tea. It hadn’t been cleaned, as if doing so would erase the last tangible proof that she had been there.

Jace closed his eyes, and the ache in his chest tightened, sharper than any blade. He could still see her—her sharp smile when she teased him for his cocky remarks, the way her eyes softened when she thought no one was looking. He could hear her laugh, a sound that cut through his armor like sunlight through storm clouds. Now, the shadows in his mind felt heavier than ever.

The cold crept in, settling over him like a second skin. He hadn’t slept. How could he, when she was out there, somewhere—or worse, nowhere? Each moment without her felt like a piece of himself was unraveling, leaving him hollow and raw.

“I thought you’d call,” he muttered to the empty room, his voice hoarse. The words hung in the air, brittle and unanswered. The comms had gone silent hours ago, her voice cut off mid-report, and the search parties had turned up nothing. Still, he kept his stele close, as if carving runes could somehow conjure her back.