Light Shadows • Alec Lightwood

The rhythmic clink of a dagger against wood echoed softly in the spacious, open-plan loft. Talia, seventeen years old and outwardly calm, twirled the bandaged hilt between her fingers, her gaze fixed on a worn paperback. The scent of roasted chicken and her mother’s triumphant squeal drifted from the kitchen.

“Mom!” Clary’s voice, a bright contrast to Talia’s quiet existence, pierced the air as she burst into the room. “You won’t believe it! Simon just tweeted—Clary got into the art academy!”

Talia’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her own acceptance to Harvard two years prior had been met with a far more subdued, almost perfunctory, “Well done.” She tucked the dagger into her pocket, the familiar weight a small comfort.

Clary, a whirlwind of vibrant red hair and boundless energy, paid her no mind, already wrapped in their mother’s exuberant embrace. Talia returned to her book, the words blurring. She was used to being invisible, to being the quiet shadow to Clary’s light. But tonight, as her sister celebrated a future she couldn’t yet fathom, the quiet felt heavier than usual.

“Happy Birthday,” Jocelyn announced, handing Clary a small, wrapped box. Inside, nestled on velvet, lay a stele. Talia stiffened, her gaze meeting her mother’s across the room. Jocelyn’s expression was unreadable, but the subtle tension in her posture spoke volumes. The Shadow World was encroaching, and Clary, blissfully unaware, was about to be pulled in.