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Dru barely heard her. She pushed through the throng after the sound of Livvy’s voice, lights strobing across her face, the music from the stage—Simon’s low bass line threading under Eric’s voice—suddenly too loud. “Livvy,” she called. “Livvy.”

“This way.” Her older sister’s familiar voice floated back to her, under the sound of the music and the babble of voices. “The door to the storage room. Left of the bar.”

Dru squinted through the smoke and lights. She could see the door, paint peeling, No Admittance—Storage scrawled across it in red. It rattled on its hinges, as if someone had pushed it, or pulled from inside. She glanced around; no one was looking. As quietly as she could, she pressed the door’s metal bar down, and slipped into the room beyond.

It was dark enough to take a few moments for her eyes to adjust. The room smelled of damp cardboard. At the far end were metal steps going up; most of the floor was covered with tangled wires and stacks of boxes. Concrete pillars spaced out at various distances dripped dirty water down their sides.

“Why—” Why are we in here? Dru had started to say, but an invisible hand clamped over her mouth. Livvy’s hand. She felt her sister’s hair brush her cheek as the ghost leaned in.

“We’re not alone,” Livvy said quietly. “Did you notice Clary leave the dance floor?”

Dru nodded. “She went to look for Maia,” she whispered, although with the hand over her mouth it came out more like Shwenlookmay. Livvy understood her well enough, though.

“Look over there,” Livvy murmured. “Under the windows.”

The windows were set high up in the wall. They had chicken wire nailed over them. Through them Dru could catch the faint sounds of the city outside: the rain on the pavement, the whoosh of traffic. And if she looked down…

There were Clary and Jace, half hidden behind a pillar. Jace, all in black, was hard to see, except for the mop of his bright gold hair. Clary, in her silver dress, was easier to make out. And make out seemed like the right terminology—Clary had her arms around Jace’s neck, and they were kissing like it was going out of style.

“Okay, seriously,” Dru whispered. “Did you bring me here so we could watch Clary and Jace canoodling? Because that seems perverse.”

Even as Dru watched, Jace slid his hands down Clary’s body, over the soft silk of her dress, cupping her hips in his palms. Dru squinted her eyes half shut. “Livvy—”

“I brought you here because you’re the only one who can hear me,” Livvy said. “Or knows I exist. And because that—that’s not Jace.”

Dru, who had been about to back out of the room in embarrassment, stopped and stared at the place she guessed Livvy was. “What?”

“I saw him earlier. He was standing in a corner, watching Jace and Clary dance. He was glamoured, but obviously I could see through it. Besides, Jace was still on the dance floor when you followed me. How could he have gotten here before you?”

“I…” Reluctantly, Dru looked back at Jace and Clary. They had, for the moment, stopped kissing, so that was something. Instead they were staring at each other. Clary was smiling at Jace, but he wasn’t returning the smile. Instead, there was a look on his face of intent possessiveness, a look that made Dru uneasy.

“This is where we met,” Jace said, tracing a finger across Clary’s lower lip.

“True.” Clary glanced around with a smile; Dru edged behind one of the pillars. “It was gross then, and it’s gross now. Do you remember—”

“Hush,” Jace said, and kissed her again, which made Dru wish she could bang her head on something. Jace was really going for it, kissing Clary as if he were about to leave forever on a train to an unknown destination. Was it Dru’s imagination, or was Clary stiffening up a little, as if she was uncomfortable? One of Jace’s hands dropped to her shoulder, sliding down the thin strap of her dress, fingers slipping across her bare skin—

Clary broke away. She was flushed, breathless. “Jace,” she said. “Slow down. Anyone could come in here.”

He gathered her hair up in his hands, letting the long red curls slide through his fingers. “Let them.”

Clary smiled, but there was an uneasiness laced through her voice when she said, “Is everything all right?”

“I’ve just missed you,” he said. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He reached for Clary again, but she stepped away, frowning. A moment later, brilliant light lasered through the room. Bright, pure white witchlight, raying out through Clary’s fingers as she held her rune-stone high. It threw everything into an almost shadowless relief: Dru could see the filthy corners of the room, the cracks in the concrete floor, the flaking green paint on the metal staircase in the corner. It was as if she’d just applied a Vision rune. She tensed, worried Clary and Jace could see her, but they were too focused on each other. Clary was staring at Jace, her green eyes wide.

“You’re not you,” she whispered, and the uneasiness in her voice had sharpened into fear. “You’re not Jace.”

“Clary,” he said, and now Dru was staring at him as hard as she could, trying to make out what about him was different. He looked like Jace to her: tawny hair, gold eyes. But Clary would know him better, would know his expressions, his scars, the placement of his runes, his clothes—

Dru blinked. Jace had been wearing black jeans and a black sweater. Now, with the bright light illuminating everything, she saw he was wearing a dark woven top, like a tunic, and dark trousers. In the dim light they’d looked similar to his previous clothes, but in the pitiless witchlight, she could see the difference.

On his feet were soft, sturdy-looking boots. They reminded her of something.

“Don’t say my name like that,” Clary said. Her voice was shaking. “Who are you?”

“Jace Herondale,” he said. “I have no other name.” He took a step toward Clary, and another. “You know me, Clary. I’ve loved you as long as I’ve known you. I loved you when I thought we could never be together. I loved you when we lay in that bed in Idris with only our hands touching—”