August 8, 2017
2 years ago
Jace Wayland
I stuck my clammy hands under the faucet and felt the warm temperature of the water seep through my skin, run up my veins and slip into my bloodstream. It tingled inside of me, creating a bubbling sensation in the pit of my stomach. My hands returned to my face covered in colourless liquid and refreshed my sleeping features before I placed them on the back on the base of the sink. I carried myself for a few moments, focusing on a particular bug that played slip'n'slide in the petite puddles that had formed in the sink. How small and irrelevant the bug was yet I found myself envying the poor little bastard. His biggest worry was wondering how he would escape the steep walls of the tiled prison he had been trapped in, although he had perfectly dry wings, whereas I thought everything was going to concave in from under me and I would go tumbling down with the rubble. Stress was my best friend recently; she was glued to my left hip and travelled with me everywhere I went. She seemed to admire the way I would ignore her but she had a burning desire to be noticed. Although I never liked her, she was there. The Clave was particularly pressuring towards this upcoming mission, saying that it was "the biggest manhunt Idris had ever seen", and that "it was vital that we made our World safe again." The factor that had been scaring me the most was that we were going into this mission completely blind. We had no idea what we were coming up against, more precisely, who we were coming up against. Today's meeting would tell all.
I had made it a priority of mine to train for at least two hours each day, generally working on cardio with Izzy and fight practice with Alec, and the schedule had been ongoing for the past 5 months. Alec and I had always been terrible at concentrating during training, our mother had constantly reminded us growing up that it would come back to bite us one day. But, so far, it hadn't. Isabelle mimicked Maryse's actions, trying to reinforce her mother's warnings, however it never worked, as she was just as immature as her brothers.
In fact, it was Rayna who had to continuously kick us into line - the leader of our mission team. She was younger than the three of us, by about two years and possessed a fiery attitude like no other. Glowing brunette locks that cascaded to the middle of her back covered the top of her head and regularly held a soft curl; they bounced when she paraded down The Institute's hallways in a pair of heeled knee-length boots. Ray was painted from head to toe in runes; she was a walking canvas with miniature pieces of foreign art splashed on the majority of her snowy skin. Her eyes reminded me of the newly grown elfin clovers Isabelle used to pluck from the field behind our house when we were kids, green as emeralds yet sprinkled with speckles of topaz. Not many people noticed, however, they tended to change in colour dependent on her mood - when we were ten, I could've sworn I noticed her eyes turn a faded garnet colour when Alec stole her hunting knife. But stereotypically, Rayna's eyes really were the windows to her soul. I could always tell when she was lying or if she wasn't sharing everything she knew with us because her eyes would gloss over with this transparent liquid. The glistening sunlight would hit the gloss at a particular angle and it was like you could see the inner workings of her mind - clogs churning over and a web spinning itself. Spiders labelled strategies, techniques and experiences worked vigorously on the left side of her brain while buzzing little bees would freely fly on the right side, replacing determination with love and helping her to feel.
However, if I felt this anxious, I could not begin to imagine how Rayna must have been coping. All I could imagine was Ray pacing frantically up and down, up and down, up and down before she came to her senses. She needn't worry much, considering she was labelled as 'the best Shadowhunter Idris had ever seen.' She rightfully deserved it too; Rayna could be blindfolded, restricted at the hands and ankles by ropes or even chained to a wall and she would still leave the battle unscathed. Alike to the rest of us, she had a weapon of choice: knives. Ray had the deadliest aim in all of The Institute, she never missed. Her collection was constantly cleaned, polished and shined to utter most perfection for the next use - they were her pride and joy. Although I was no competition to her, it didn't stop me from envying her tremendously. She was the frontrunner for every mission, and more importantly, The Clave's main priority: protect Rayna King at all costs. She was their trophy; shiny, brand-new and constantly on display. They protected her like a mother would her children and gave her much more authority than she needed. Her status never changed her though, she was still the humble yet determined little girl I used to play hide and seek in the woods with.
