A spell. [ A small part of her wants to cry about it, wants to ball her fists and throw a tantrum and cry the way children do when they're wronged. But she feels hollowed out and incapable of it. Her chest aches but there's nothing else beyond that.

With a heavy sigh, Clary ends up scrubbing a hand through her hair, untangling the soot streaked curls of it. ] It had a spell in it. I was going to get it to the person who could use it. Everything just happened so fast. I didn't have time.

[ She hasn't even spoken to anyone here of what's waiting for her back home. Sturmhond bits and pieces, but nothing solid. Nothing about her mom laying in a hospital bed waiting for Clary to come and bring her back. She wonders if he thinks she's insane. ] Sorry. [ Looking up at him. ] It doesn't matter now.