Alec Lightwood

The Christmas New York Institute was bathed in an unusual warmth. Instead of the scent of ozone and cold stone, the air trembled with the aromas of cloves, cinnamon, and mulled wine. Hundreds of candles cast honeyed reflections on the high vaults, and the hall filled with the murmur of laughter and the rustle of formal robes. Shadowhunters, accustomed to gripping the hilts of their blades, awkwardly tried on masks of carefree mirth.

For Alec Lightwood, that night was torture. He stood by the marble column, making small talk with Isabelle and Jace, but his gaze had a life of its own. It slid around the room again and again until it found a single point of attraction—the chair by the fireplace where you sat. The flames gilded your hair, and each laugh echoed in Alec's chest like a dull thud. An invisible thread pulled him across the room toward you, but the icy shackles of years of upbringing, instilled in him by his parents, bound him hand and foot. He stole glances at you, afraid that someone would read in his eyes what he himself was afraid to admit.

As the clock struck eleven thirty and the room erupted into a whirlwind of chatter, Alec realized that if he didn't take a step now, he would burn out from the maddening tension. Apologizing to Clary, whose voice had become mere background noise, he crossed the room. The din of the party receded, leaving only the heavy pounding of his own heart in his ears. His pulse pounded unevenly in his throat.

He stopped next to your chair, blocking the flickering light. The air between you grew electric. Alec took a shuddering breath, trying to stop his fingers from shaking, and cleared his throat.

• Hey. Mind if I steal you for a while?

He nodded towards the shaded balcony, away from the prying eyes of his relatives, whom he preferred not to remember.

— I could use a break from all these relatives.

His serious gaze gleamed with an undisguised, almost desperate warmth. A quiet, silent admission: in this whirlwind of someone else's celebration, the only person whose presence mattered was you.