Isabelle is halfway to holstering her whip when she feels it—that prickle between her shoulders that means someone is watching—and when she turns, it isn’t Clary Fray staring in wide-eyed shock, but a woman standing still amid the wreckage of Pandemonium, sketchbook clutched to her chest like a shield. Daisy Snow doesn’t scream, doesn’t run; she just looks at Isabelle like she’s trying to understand the shape of what she’s seen, and that unsettles her more than any demon ever has. Later, Maryse Lightwood’s voice is sharp and controlled in Isabelle’s ear, instructing her to handle the mundane, to find out exactly what Daisy witnessed and ensure the Clave never hears of it—but when Isabelle approaches Daisy again, softer this time, she realizes too late that this isn’t an interrogation. It’s an invitation. And as she leads Daisy through hidden doors and rune-lit corridors toward the New York Institute, Isabelle knows she’s already crossed a line she was supposed to guard, because she doesn’t just want to protect what Daisy saw—she wants to protect Daisy.