"Don't worry, fair maiden!" Isabelle cries out, throwing open the bedroom door. "I am here!"

Clary doesn't move from where she's sitting on her bed. This is a stupid game. Why does she have to be rescued? She is perfectly capable of tricking the guards and sneaking out of her "tower" herself. She doesn't need to be rescued.

"You have to say, 'Thank you, my brave knight. With you, I will never fear again.' I can't take you from the tower if you don't," Isabelle frowns. She taps the floor with her umbrella-sword and pushes her helmet, one of Luke's old hates, so it won't block her sight.

"Why?"

"Because it's in all the stories."

"All the knights are boys in the stories and you're not a boy."

Isabelle nods, scrunching her eyebrows together in thought. "So we make our own story, with a girl knight and—What do you want to be?"

"I want to be a princess," Clary says decisively. "I want to be a smart princess, who doesn't wait until she gets rescued, but who rescues herself."

She watches her friend as the dark-haired girl takes in this information. After a few seconds of thinking, Isabelle nods.

"I'm a knight, you're a princess. You got kidnapped, and when they lock you in a chamber, you find a way out, because you're really smart. I'm following the kidnappers and start to fight my way inside. We meet halfway and we steal a horse for you because you are one of the best riders in the lands, and then we ride to safety. Okay?"

Clary likes this story much better. "Okay," she says with a smile.

Her friend nods happily and runs out of the room and down the stairs.

"I am here for princess Clary!" Isabelle cries from the living room, starting the story.

Clary jumps off her bed and goes for the door. She takes one of the bobby-pins from out of her hair and pretends to pick the lock. A strand of red hair falls in front of her eyes and tucks it behind her hair impatiently. Her mom can fix that later. And she just got kidnapped, she's allowed to look a little ruffled.

When she's managed to "unlock" the door she peeks out. Meiko, a raccoon, and There Khan, a tiger are standing guard. She has to distract them. She looks around her room. Raccoons eat almost everything and tigers eat meat.

"I'm sorry Sebastian," she whispers to the plush fish as she grabs him off her bed. She throws him into the hallway, and Meiko and Shere Kahn go after him.

With the guards distracted she runs down the stairs. Halfway, the princess runs after her night.

"Milady," Isabelle says, bobbing her head. "I've come to escort you home."

Clary giggles at the seriousness of her friend's voice, but when she speaks her voice sounds as grave as Izzy's.

"Thank you, lady-knight. But you can't expect me to get out there unarmed."

Isabelle looks surprised at the sudden addition to the story, but her face soon clears when she gets an idea.

"Of course not. I know where I can get you a weapon, milady." She grabs Clary's hand and pulls her down the stairs and towards the front door. She takes Clary's umbrella from the stand and presents it to her. "I bought this one for you. I hope it is acceptable."

Clary accepts her "sword." Inspecting it carefully, she says, "This is a gracious gift. We must hurry. I have distracted the guards, but it won't be for long."

Izzy nods in understanding. "This way, milady."

Clary lets herself be guided to the garden and to the patch of grass by the fence.

"Will you be safe here?" she asks.

"Yes, at least until the morning."

Clary nods and shuffles a little closer to her friend. When she's close enough, she places a quick kiss at the corner of Izzy's mouth. Isabelle startles and looks at her questioningly.

"Why did you do that?"

"A princess always kisses the knight who rescues her. To thank him. Or her."

"Okay. Then what?"

Clary thinks for a moment.

"They hold hands," she decides. The stories aren't very clear on that, but it makes sense. When you like someone you kiss them and you hold hands, her mommy and Luke do it all the time.

Isabelle nods, putting down her sword so she can grab Clary's hand.

They stay like that until Clary's mom comes in to tell them that Izzy's dad is at the door.

"But she was supposed to sleep here," Clary pouts.

"I know, honey," her mom says. "I'm sure she can come stay over next weekend."

Clary keeps her pout, but she nods. She helps Izzy take off her armor (kitchen gloves and knee and elbow pads they stole from her mom's closet). They hold hands until they reach the front door.

"I'll see you Wednesday," Izzy says, waving goodbye.

But Clary doesn't see her on Wednesday. And Isabelle doesn't stay over next weekend, either.

"It'll be fine, sweetheart."

"Are you sure?" Isabelle asks. "I mean, we've helped a lot of hunters, who've broken the rules, but we're still Shadowhunters. We're Lightwoods."

Her dad squeezes her hand in reassurances.

"You said Inquisitor Herondale sounded like she'd be okay with us staying at her Institute. And from the stories floating around, she's not a traditional Inquisitor."

"That doesn't mean she'll want me."

"Are you sure it's the Inquisitor you're nervous about?"

Isabelle sighs. Her dad's right. She's not that worried about the meeting with Inquisitor. If she tells them they can't stay, they'll turn around, drive to the nearest airport, book a ticket to London, and live there for the next ten years. No, she's worried about Clary. She hasn't seen or heard from the girl in ten years. She doesn't even know if she's still in New York. Or alive.

Ten years ago, they had to pack up and leave New York on a moment's notice. The Morgenstern house had burned down, killing the majority of the people in there. Rumor was that the one survivor was out for Shadowhunters, so her parents had grabbed their things and they'd moved. After that, her life became a whirlwind of training, school, and eventually hunting.

Five months ago, the demons of New York had turned her wild upside down for a second time. News of a demon, terrorizing the small town, had reached them. Isabelle had discovered her aunt's hand in the burning down of the house. And once she'd started digging, she'd found a lot more buried bodies. Now, most of the Lightwood family and their associates were behind bars, excepting she and her dad. They'd been offered witness protection, but they both knew conventional law-enforcement couldn't protect them. They would need a little more power to stay safe.

She checks the GPS. They've almost arrived at the meeting point. Herondale had told them they would just meet outside New York. After her dad has parked the car, she gets out and checks her surroundings. It's strange. She hasn't been here in almost ten years, but it feels like coming home.

"Leave your seraph," she says.

Her dad frowns but does as she says and puts his seraph blade on the driver's seat before closing the door.

"You sure about the 'no weapons'? The Inquisitor hadn't said anything about that."

"We're not here to fight them, dad. We're here looking for shelter."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," a voice says, coming from behind them.

They both turn, fluidly moving into a fighting stance.

The man that steps out from behind one of the trees look familiar, and as he comes closer, Isabelle recognizes him from the newspaper clippings. He's a little more built and the ears aren't as pronounced, but the eyebrows and the shape of his face are definitely the same.

"Jace Herondale," she nods. "We understood we had a meeting with the Inquisitor."

"She's here. I'm here to make sure you are alone."

"We are."

Jace tilts his head. He's looking into her eyes, checking for a lie. After a while, Jace nods. He doesn't look happy about the fact he doesn't have an excuse to kill them. She doesn't blame him.

At a nod, more people emerge from the treeline. Isabelle does a quick count. There are nine of them, all girls and boys her own age, but only two of them are armed. One of the guys is holding a bow, and a blonde girl is fingering the electrum in her hand.

A guy with spiky hair and glitter on his outfit steps forward.

"Hi," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Magnus Bane."

The guy with the bow face palms and she can see Jace rolling his eyes and sighing.

"Hey, you're not supposed to get chummy with them. You're supposed to support us and be all, don't hurt them or I will hurt you. Bring out you're magic and cat eyes," the guy with the bow and arrow says.

"But they don't seem hostile," Inquisitor Herondale explains, her eyes widening. "And they're unarmed."

The guy with the bow shakes his head with a despairing look and waves his hand at him to proceed.

"Right, the rules," the Inquisitor continues. "We only have one, really. You kill anyone, we're coming after you. The police is in the know, so moving to another part of the city won't help you."

Isabelle nods in understanding.

"That's it?" she asks to make sure. It's very little. "You don't want us to surrender our weapons?"

"We want you to help us," the Inquisitor says, shaking her head. "New York is literally a beacon for all the stories, and we could use your experience."

A lot of scenarios had played through her head, this had not been one of them. She'd expected at least some hostility and mistrust, but Herondale is essentially asking them to join her. One glance at her dad tells her he's just as surprised by the offer as she is.

"We'll be glad to help," she assures them with a relieved smile.

"Great," the Inquisitor beams.

The guy with the bow steps forward then.

"This means you'll be working with me a lot. I'm Alec, the planner, and researcher, along with Clary."

Isabelle sags with relief. Her old friend is alive and protected. She looks closer at the group in front of her. She can't find Clary amongst them. The girl would've grown up, but her red hair definitely would've caught the Shadowhunter's attention. She turns back to Alec, who is watching her closely.

"Where—" she starts.

"I'm right here." Clary steps out from behind the tall guy wearing a scarf. At first glance, she doesn't seem that different. Aside from being a little taller, she's still the princess Izzy remembers. Clary is wearing a pair of jeans and tennis shoes, with her hair in a braid. She's standing tall and confident. At a second glance, though, Isabelle can see the sadness and pain that confident exterior is hiding. She knows Clary has seen things that no one should have to. She knows because she's seen them too.

"Hey, Clary," is all she manages without her voice breaking.

"Izzy," the girl nods. "Do you have a place to stay yet?"

"We were going to stay in a motel until we find a more permanent place."

"You can both stay with me and my mom," Clary says, walking towards her. Isabelle has no idea how she manages to walk like she's on a catwalk. "I'll drive with you so I can show you the way."

Izzy is certain her dad is about to say that he still remembers the way from dropping her off three times a week, but she shakes her head.

"Thank you," she says instead.

They've put her up in Clary's old playroom. It shocks her that she's sleeping here.

The drive over had been silent except for Clary her dad when to make a turn. Isabelle had wanted to ask her old friend a thousand questions. How she'd ended up with the Shadowhunters. If she's still top of her class. Why she hasn't gone to college. But all those questions are stuck in her throat.

She sighs and turns onto her stomach, pulling the blankets around her tightly. She can't get comfortable. Every time she closes her eyes she sees the pain that's edged itself into Clary's face. She wants to take it away, mound it back to softness, protect her so she doesn't need that armor of confidence to get herself through the day.

Isabelle sits up and kicks away the sheets. She needs to talk to Clary. There's no way she'll be able to sleep before she does.

The house is dark and quiet, but there is light coming from under Clary's door.

"Clary?" she whispers and knocks softly. "Can I come in?"

There is the sound of carpet muffled footsteps, and then the door opens. Clary's eyes are red and her face looks splotchy as if she's been crying. Without thinking, Izzy wraps her in her arms and hugs her close. To her relief, Clary hugs her back.

"I missed you," Clary mumbles into her shoulder.

"I missed you, too."

The other girl pulls back abruptly and walks to her bed. She sits down, exactly like Isabelle remembers her, in charge and on a mission.

"Did you?"

"My parents told me I could write to you, but always later. We moved around so much in the beginning, there was so much later, that I got scared you didn't want to be my friend anymore. And then, with all the training, I didn't know what I could write about." She moves towards the bed. When Clary doesn't move away or tells her to get lost, she sits down on the edge of the mattress. She puts her hand on top of Clary's and squeezes lightly. "I'm sorry I didn't write or call, later."

Clary moves away her hand and grips the sheets tightly.

"Maybe it's a good thing you didn't."

Isabelle frowns. What was Clary saying? Why would anything matter?

"What—" she starts, but Clary interrupts her.

"I don't want to be too much. I've been sleepwalking a lot. There are motion detectors on our doors that have to be turned on every night to make sure I don't wake up alone in the woods." She's crying again. Isabelle pulls her further onto the bed and tucks her in. She goes to sit back on the edge of the mattress, but Clary grabs her hand and pulls her down next to her. "But even if there is no sleepwalking, I still wake up alone. I'm so scared of waking up alone, that I'm afraid to go sleep sometimes."

"You're not going to be alone tonight," Isabelle assures her. Her throat feels thick and she wants to cry for her friend, but Clary doesn't need her sympathy tonight. She just needs her to be there. "You can sleep. I'll be here."

Clary curls into her chest. Izzy runs her fingers through the long red hair until she falls asleep.

"Clary, wake up." The voice sounds calm, but urgent. It's a kind voice. It doesn't belong in this place where kindness isn't even a distant memory. It's a myth. "You're dreaming. Wake up." She's being shaken now. The hands feel rough, like worker's hands, but they don't hurt her. They're kind, like the voice. She wants to see who the voice and the hands belong to, but she's afraid that the voice is no so kind. She's been deceived before. "Please," the kind voice begs in a whisper. It sounds so sad.

Clary blinks open her eyes. Isabelle is leaning over her, kneeling next to her on the bed, face contracted in worry.

"Clary, you with me?" Izzy asks.

"Yeah." And she is. It takes her a while to realize that she's actually awake, sometimes, but not this time.

Izzy's face floods with relief.

"You were breathing heavily, and you looked like you were in pain," she says, lying back down, so they're facing each other.

Izzy's face is soft, but there's still a hint of concern in her eyes. Clary suspects she looks like a mess. Not surprisingly, since her head hurts, and she can't seem to unclench her hands.

Isabelle reaches out with one hand, brushing a couple stray hairs out of her face.

"I'm sorry. For waking you up," Clary says, relaxing a little and leaning into the touch.

The other girl shakes her head. "It's okay. Do you—do you still want me to stay?"

"Yes," Clary says, a small grateful smile on her lips. She moves closer and wraps her arms around Izzy. "It's like when we were little."

"You mean when I rescued you?"

She pulls back a little and raises her eyebrows. "No, when I rescued myself and you brought me a horse to ride home on."

"Right, sorry," Isabelle smiles. "You are the smart princess."

"And you are my knight." She kisses Izzy softly. This time she doesn't miss Izzy's lips.

"I see your aim has improved." Izzy is grinning and even in the low light, Clary can see that her eyes are twinkling.

"Careful, or you don't get to hold my hand."

"I apologize, milady," Izzy says, twining their fingers together.