She looked out then, through the crowd, and saw Simon with the Lightwoods, looking at her across the empty space that separated them. It was the same way that Jace had looked at her at the manor. It was the one thread that bound these two boys that she loved so much, she thought, their one commonality: They both believed in her even when she didn't believe in herself.

We came to see Jace. Is he alright?" "I don't know," Magnus said. "Does he normally just lie on the floor like that without moving?

Let the sky rain potatoes," said a musing voice. "Let it thunder to the tune of Greensleeves.

And I would do it again. I love you, Jace Wayland-Herondale-Lightwood-whatever you want to call yourself. I don't care. I love you and I will always love you, and pretending it could be any other ways is just a waste of time.

Weapons, when they break and are mended, can be stronger at the mended places. Perhaps hearts are the same.

She had never imagined that the kiss would be so brief and desperate and wild. Or that it would taste of holy water. Holy water and blood.

There was something about Jace, though, that made her want to push him, crack that shell of cynicism and make him admit her believed something, felt something, cared about anythinng at all.