Chapter Text
Alec’s furious with himself, desperately grasping onto that red-hot anger in an effort to ignore the oppressive fear, the darkness that’s threatening to crush his chest. It’s not like he hadn't briefly considered this could happen - Alec runs through every outcome in his head, every facet of every possible plan, during the rare breaks in time when things quieten down.
Which are even rarer since they had met Clary.
Still, he’s mildly insulted that Valentine had decided to capture him and not her - his own daughter. He supposes, with the last ounce of his self worth, that it’s because of the parabatai bond and not because he’s weak. He must want to enforce Jace’s loyalty.
What’s the use of a physically injured soldier when you can inflict the obedience of pain through someone else, after all.
They won’t kill him for a while, at least. Not until Valentine either lashes out - he remembers the story of the falcon, remembers the way Jace had told it; hushed with the subconscious knowledge of wrongness, but steady with the unwavering certainty in his father - or perhaps, and he knows he’s being ridiculous, they’re brothers, but there’s still that awful doubt - until Jace stops caring.
He intakes a sharp inhale of breath, before testing the tight bonds. It’s futile - this is Valentine they’re fighting, so he expects the awful burn of constrictive magic when he lashes too hard but it still makes his throat tighten with panic. They've already done something to him - there are cuts littering his body, light enough to not seriously injure, but deep enough to have made him grind his teeth and swallow his screams in an effort not to yell out in submission. He refuses to give them the satisfaction.
Once - Alec thinks - they may have even injected him with something, and part of him wonders what his mother would do if it turned out to be downworlder blood. The other part he feels within the sting of unfallen tears. He’d opened a new chapter of his life, he thinks bitterly, in his own handwriting, and he hadn't even begun to revel in that new-found freedom.
Fleetingly, he thinks of Magnus, with a soothing kind of regret. They hadn't been given the chance to go on their first date yet. He wishes he could have explored that part of himself. He hopes with morbid numbness Isabelle will use his death as fuel for her strength; that it won’t break her. More so, he hopes they aren't dumb enough to attempt a rescue. Alec can almost feel the thrum of that awful energy from gathering demons, and worse, he knows - as he was dragged struggling into a cold damp room and onto the slab of stone he’s tied to - that they had passed too many shadowhunters to keep track of.
Alec tries to grasp and hold onto the pleasant memories; Isabelle’s laugh, her sisterly teasing, the genuine steady affection she has for him. Magnus’ lips as Alec had stolen a kiss - which still makes his face burn every time he remembers their softness, their declaration. Magnus sent him into a stammering wreck every time the two of them looked like they may be making progress, but he wishes he hadn't taken it so slow. There was the wariness of the difference in their life spans, sure, but Magnus would not expect to be dealing with Alec’s mortality so soon.
The coldness is seeping into his bones - his shirt had disappeared in favour of slashing at his skin. At least there is an underlying warmth to the pain.
Alec’s eyes droop, and briefly he tries to summon the rage again, the fighting spirit.
Tired, so tired .
If only he had the energy to fight - to take from those who were going to take everything from him.