The hotel room smelled like blood, smoke, and cheap whiskey.
Jace stood in front of the cracked mirror, shirtless, the fresh gash across his ribs still leaking slow, stubborn drops of red. He grimaced, grabbing the bottle of liquor from the counter and pouring it straight over the wound. It hissed like a live thing.
He caught his reflection—the tired eyes, the bruised knuckles, the raw scar stretching across his chest from the shard's last eruption.
A monster in the making.
Or maybe he always had been.
Behind him, Lena lounged on the battered sofa, still in her torn combat leathers, legs stretched out, a cigarette dangling from her lips. The city lights bled through the grimy window, painting her in shades of violence and gold.
Reya paced like a caged animal near the door, muttering under her breath, her pretty face tight with anger and fear she didn't want to show.
The room crackled with the aftermath.
The woman in the diamond mask—Selene.
The name whispered itself in the back of his mind, dragging up memories he wasn't ready to face yet.
Reya finally snapped, turning toward him.
"You should've told us you knew her."
Jace wiped the blood from his hands on a rag, tossing it aside. "I didn't know."
"Bullshit."
"She's older than memory, Reya," Lena said lazily, exhaling smoke. "You think Jace keeps a little black book for every ancient psycho he's pissed off?"
"Maybe he should," Reya muttered.
Jace grabbed another bottle, twisting the cap off with a snarl of frustration. The burn of cheap whiskey down his throat was the only thing keeping him grounded.
"I'm remembering things," he said, voice low, dangerous. "Not all at once. Not by choice."
Reya crossed her arms, glaring. "Then maybe you should stop diving headfirst into every cursed Vault we find."
"And maybe you should stop following me if you can't keep up."
The words landed sharper than he intended.
Reya flinched like he'd slapped her.
The silence stretched tight enough to snap.
Lena's chuckle cut through it.
"Well," she drawled, flicking ash onto the carpet, "this is cozy."
Jace shot her a look.
"What?" She smirked. "You want sympathy, go find someone who didn't volunteer to bleed for you."
She stood, sauntering over, the loose leather of her jacket slipping off one shoulder, revealing the curve of a brutal, beautiful scar running across her collarbone.
"You're not the only one carrying old ghosts, Jace."
He held her gaze.
God, she was dangerous.
Sharp enough to cut. Broken enough to make him feel something.
She tapped his chest lightly with two fingers, right over where the shard pulsed in his heart.
"This thing inside you?" she murmured. "It's not just a weapon."
Jace arched a brow. "Oh? Enlighten me."
"It's hunger." Her voice dropped, smoky and rough. "It's going to chew through everyone you care about. Tear them apart, piece by piece."
Her mouth brushed his ear, breath hot.
"Unless you learn how to feed it properly."
A shiver slid down his spine, involuntary and electric.
Reya made a frustrated sound behind them. "You're both insane."
Lena laughed—a low, dirty sound that crawled under Jace's skin and refused to leave.
"She's not wrong," he said.
"No." Lena's hand slid down his stomach, tracing the line of muscle down to his waistband with infuriating slowness. "She's very right."
Jace caught her wrist, holding it just hard enough to make a point.
"Not the time," he growled.
Lena just smiled, eyes wicked.
"Time's a luxury you don't have anymore, baby."
The shard inside him thrummed in agreement.
Reya slammed her palm against the wall, startling them both.
"We should be planning our next move, not—" she gestured furiously between them "—this."
Jace let go of Lena's wrist, stepping back, the taste of adrenaline and regret sour in his mouth.
"She's right," he said roughly. "Selene's not going to wait. Neither will the others."
Lena shrugged, unapologetic. "You know where to find me when you change your mind."
She flopped back onto the sofa, legs spread lazily, the knife she pulled from her boot gleaming under the flickering light.
Jace turned to Reya, trying to push past the heat still coiling low in his gut.
"We have the shards. Two of them."
"Three," Reya corrected, tossing him a small pouch she pulled from her belt. "I snagged one during the chaos."
He caught it, stunned.
The shard inside sang to him.
Lena whistled low. "Well, damn, kitten's got claws."
Reya's cheeks flushed, but she stood tall.
"Someone had to keep their head while you two were ready to screw on a bloodstained couch."
Jace barked a laugh, the sound raw and unexpected.
The tension broke, just a little.
Not enough.
Never enough.
He dropped into the chair by the window, staring out at the city—the skyline stitched together with greed and ancient magic, humming with power ready to be seized or destroyed.
"We need to move," he said. "Before Selene or anyone else decides to finish what they started."
Reya leaned against the doorframe, eyes shadowed.
"Where to?"
Jace didn't hesitate.
"The Catacombs."
Lena's grin was immediate and feral. "Oh, baby. You're finally thinking like a killer."
Reya paled.
"The Catacombs are suicide, Jace. Even you have to know that."
He smiled grimly.
"Then we'll die well."
The Hollow pulsed harder.
And for the first time, he didn't fight it.