((I don't own any of the havoc that's about to take place, nor do I have ownership on the characters here who have to live it. This is canon-divergent, but only slightly. Everything is basically owned by those high above me. Rick Riordan, Cassandra Clare, to some extent Homer, Madeline Miller and so on.))

Prologue

For the following weeks Rachel could be found with an easel, stationed across the Institute's street with buckets of paint. Never once did she ring the entrance bell. The sidewalk was beginning to acquire the same paint splotches as her jeans.

Jace watched her wearily from the greenhouse seven stories up. "She's covered in marker splotches," he said coolly.

"Watch out," Isabelle said singsong, speaking into his ear, "Clary might become jealous with all the attention you're giving her."

"I'll ignore that," Jace said with a dip of his voice, "You should be concerned, though. Her presence doesn't allow Clary easy access to our front doors. She's been avoiding them for weeks. As much as this art project is cute, I wonder what this girl could possibly see in our institutional dump."

"Maybe she likes painting garbage," Isabelle offered but she knew where this was going.

"Or, she's not a mundane." Jace said, unhitching himself from the window sill. "I want to know exactly what she sees in us."