A/N: This is rooted in a role play i had been working on with a friend. It takes place in the world of The Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare. I do not own anything aside from my character.
Caedon had been stabbed, burned, slashed, and crushed under a building, but none of it had hurt as much as the expression in Sam's eyes after she'd slapped him. By the Angel, there were so many other ways she could have reacted. Cae slammed her fist into the concrete wall of the weaponry, gasping out a curse as her knuckles split. Cae sighed, sinking to the floor. She could have yelled, or cried, or just walked away! Instead, she hit him, even knowing what Mr Rosewell did when he was displeased. God, could she have done anything worse?
Brushing the hair from her face, Caedon pulls her stele from her boot, tracing the faded iratze Sam had placed on her hand just hours before. Ink swirls back into the mark, the stark lines beginning to leech the pain from her knuckles. Moments later, the wound is healed enough for the her to flex her hand; she does so, grimacing faintly as joints pop back into place.
Deftly switching the stele back into her dominant hand, she refreshes the runes needed for any fight against demons, black beginning to cover her exposed skin. Now finished with the tool, Cae replaces her stele back and stands, tugging her shirt into place. It's not the time to ruminate on her hurt feelings, nor is it the time to think about how badly her relationship--friendship, just friendship--with Sam has been damaged.
Back to business, she thinks, stepping over towards the gear racks. Raphael has a possibly hurt, possibly dead mother in need of help. Caedon fixes her ponytail, roughly yanking it back in place before donning her vest, jacket and assorted holsters. Weapons come next, multiple unlit seraph blades and her favorite staff being slid into sheaths and straps alike. She glances over to the door, almost wistful, half wishing that her best friend would come barging through. Cae frowns, pulling a drawer open and grabbing the set of adamas-coated brass knuckles. Not the time, Dovewood. The Shadowhunter pauses, pulling a crumpled slip of paper from her bra.
For the most part, the handwriting on the note is clear and legible, stating a time and a place to meet and to be there so nobody gets hurt. However, the small scrawl at the bottom promises retribution if the instructions above are disobeyed. Caedon glances at the clock. Shit. In ten minutes, Raph's mother will be killed. She clenches her teeth, fists following the motion. Sam doesn't need to know.
Cae turns to the door and starts running. The quicker she gets to the warehouse, the sooner everything can go back to normal.
