Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

then.

The wolf first came to Magnus the night he pulled himself, bloody and bruised, onto the sands of the Oetune beach. The heat was still oppressive, but he could feel the forgotten breeze off the water, feel the soft sand beneath his knees, nothing like the scorching, cracked red ground of Edom. He passed out as soon as the rift he’d torn in space had closed, the last of Edom’s energy fading behind him, and woken up to the wolf’s hulking shape at his side. 

His consciousness had waxed and waned, but the wolf had been constant, huge and so dark that he melted into the shadows off the dunes. Magnus was out of magic, out of energy, and almost entirely out of fight, but it had never occurred to him to fear the creature. 

When Magnus managed to push himself to his knees, the wolf only watched him with luminous hazel eyes, head cocked to the side and tail wagging softly.

His step-father had kept hounds, well-kept and well-trained, and his mother had shown him how to approach them. Magnus extended his hand carefully for the wolf to sniff.

The wolf watched him for a moment, the curiosity and intelligence in his eyes clear even through Magnus’ exhaustion, before he leaned forward to sniff Magnus’ hand and up his arm. Magnus smiled at the soft breath on his palm, the warmth of another being after the stifling isolation in Edom. 

The soft sands shifted beneath him, and for a dizzying moment, Magnus couldn’t get his balance, every movement causing the sand to slip out beneath him on the dune. He pitched forward, bracing himself, and was startled to encounter thick black fur instead of sand. 

The wolf had moved almost faster than Magnus could see, putting his whole body between Magnus and the ground so that he fell across the wolf's body. 

With the wolf’s help, Magnus pulled himself to his feet, bracing himself on the creature’s sturdy form and, with his face turned towards an ocean he could smell, if not see, he began to walk.

Magnus doesn't remember the rest of that week, half-delirious with magic depletion and giddy from escaping Edom, but the wolf had been there for all of it, a steady presence for Magnus to lean on when the sands shifted beneath him, a nudging reminder to get up each time he fell, to keep moving. 

It took him eight days to walk to Kupang, almost entirely unrecognizable to him after a century in Edom, and the wolf had melted away between one breath and the next. 

With access to food, water and civilization, it had taken Magnus over a decade to be sure that the wolf had not been some fevered mirage he'd cooked up to keep himself sane after the wrenching, desperate isolation of his father's realm. 

Magnus pursued his magical and academic studies. He even pursued romantic studies, for a given definition of the word. The next few years had been a hedonistic mix of celebrating his escape from Edom, intermixed with frantic studying to ensure it never happened again.

He learned just how strong he was, and just how much stronger that was than anyone else, and learned to wear it as a coat, as natural as breathing. 

If the wolf came to him in those times, Magnus doesn't remember.

It was twenty years before he saw the wolf again, long enough to have talked himself in and out of believing the wolf existed a dozen times. Long enough for him to learn about the old magic of soul creatures. 

The next time he saw the wolf, Magnus knew that he was a soul creature, a magical depiction of Magnus’ soulmate. Not a physical creature, but not quite spirit, soul creatures were reflections cast across time and space, connected by the intangible bond of soulmates.

In the heat of battle, Magnus knew better than to get distracted, but when one of the Shadowhunters he was facing was taken out by a wolf bigger than she was, Magnus turned to gape. 

The other Shadowhunters did as well, which probably saved Magnus’ life, all of them stunned as the wolf climbed off the Shadowhunter, knocked unconscious by the force of her fall. The wolf’s mouth was open in a snarl, teeth seeming to gleam in the twilight. 

As a rule, soul creatures stayed intangible to everyone but a rare beloved few, except in the most dire of circumstances. Magnus looked back to the battlefield, the smoking craters in the ground around them, the burning ashes that floated through the air, and him alone against eight Shadowhunters. Well, seven now. 

He supposed that counts as dire. 

While the others watched the black wolf stride, eyes on his viciously sharp teeth and claws, Magnus called his own magic to his hand. The wolf had given him the opening that he needed to catch his breath. It was time to end the fight. 

Again, by the time that Magnus had been in a position to get a good look at the creature, the wolf had vanished. This time, at least, Magnus had the knowledge that he had been real. There were two Shadowhunters down at his feet marked by teeth and claws, too irrefutable to deny.

But almost impossible to believe. 

Soul creatures were incredibly rare, a magic so old that no one knew where they came from or what power governed their existence. Even the libraries of Edom, one of the few places in the castle that his father took the energy to maintain, hadn’t held the answers. Magnus might know more about it than the average Downworlder, but that didn’t mean much. 

One thing he did know was how difficult it must have been for the creature to manifest. To manifest for the length of a fight even, long enough to take down two Shadowhunters at the height of their powers. 

Whoever they were, whoever they would be, Magnus’ soulmate was going to be powerful. 

Magnus just hoped that they would also be kind. 

now.

Alec comes to when he hits the ground, the force of it jarring the breath from him and sending a stabbing pain through his ribs — cracked, possibly broken. Bridgestock laughs as he closes the door. "Some company for you," he says, a mocking sneer in his voice. "Try not to kill each other."

Alec waits until the door is closed to roll over, suppressing a grunt of pain. There must be another occupant to the cell; one of the missing Downworlders, probably, though if they'd taken Alec they could have taken other Shadowhunters. 

"I won't hurt you," Alec forces out, getting himself to a seated position. Their room is dark, lit only by the faint glow of active runes along the walls and door frames. There's another glimmer of something, too faint to make anything out by it, in the other corner of the room. 

There's a small laugh from the shadows. "I don't think you could if you wanted to." The voice is low and raspy, almost hoarse. Amusement colors the words, but it can’t cover the pain and exhaustion Alec hears. 

Alec huffs, not sure if he should be offended. "I'm faster than I look."

The man hums thoughtfully and Alec takes stock of himself. Cracked ribs, one broken arm, one dislocated shoulder, and a slash on his leg that was still bleeding sluggishly. And Alec finally places the unease that's been pressing on him since he woke up. No cat. Blindly, Alec stretches his arms out to either side of him, sweeping them across the floors, even though he knows better. She isn't here. 

For the first time since he woke up in the cell, Alec starts to panic. He's been captured before, been trained for situations like this, but the cat has always been with him, for as long as he could remember. Alec can feel his breath coming faster, panic rising in him. Had the Circle members done something, somehow? The cat had always been a creature of magic and soul, immune to physical damage. But Alec knew too well all the other ways a being could be destroyed.

Had Valentine and his unrelenting hatred of anything different from himself come up with something that could destroy the soul creatures?

A hand on his own makes Alec startle and recoil back, every break and bruise protesting the movement.

"Sorry," the man in the dark says, suddenly much closer. This close, Alec can almost make him out as his eyes adjust. The man wears the same cuffs of wood ash and cold iron that Alec does, the faint light from the runes illuminating strong wrists and hands near Alec's.

"You're having a bit of a panic, my dear," the man says gently, not touching Alec again. "Breathe with me; in, two, three." 

Alec clenches his hands into fists as he breathes to the count. The cat has always been there for his panic attacks too, rare though they are now. His hands shake without the thick black fur to stroke, missing the purr that always rumbled through him when his chest got tight. 

"Out, two, three," the man is still counting, and Alec hears the rustle of clothing as the man shifts, making himself comfortable. 

"There you go," the man says when Alec is steadier. 

"Thank you," Alec says, pushing aside the thought of someone, a stranger, seeing him like this. 

The cuffs are all that Alec can see of the stranger, the faint runes flashing as he waves a hand, "Oh, don't mention it," the man said airily. "What kind of host would I be otherwise?"

"Love what you've done with the place," Alec says dryly.

"It's modest, but it's home."

There's an edge to the man's words, and Alec swallows. This man has to be a Downworlder, captured for one of Valentines' experiments or worse. 

"How long have you been here?"

There's a long sigh, and another rustle of fabric. "Not so long as all that, don't worry your pretty head about it."

"How long?" Alec presses.

"Less than a week, but more than three days,"the man replies. "The hospitality leaves a lot to be desired."

Alec snorts. "I bet." He shifts until he can put his back to the wall, hissing at the cold metal against his dislocated shoulder. They must be on a ship, the wall curving in slightly, and his parabatai rune was numb on his side. "Is there anyone else with you?"

"Not anymore," the man says, voice cold and tight.

Alec doesn't know what to say to that. He's never been any good at comfort even with his family. Here, when his people are the ones causing the harm, Alec can't think of a single word. "I'm sorry," he settles on. 

"It's hardly your fault."

Alec swallows. He knew he wasn't responsible for Valentine and his actions, for the legacy of hate he had exploited to seize power. But Alec was in charge of what happened in New York, and this had all happened on his watch, in his city. He still has the weight of his parents' crimes over his head, even if they don't see it. So while it may not be his fault, that doesn't mean he isn't responsible for those deaths. For what this man has gone through.

"What's your name?" There's a long silence, and Alec offers, "I'm Alec."

"Short for Alexander, I presume?" 

Despite the raspiness that must come from dehydration, the man has a beautiful voice, deep and lyrical. Alec nods stupidly before he remembers that the man can't see him. "Yes."

There's another long pause. Then, "Magnus." 

They lapse into silence, Alec wincing as his dislocated shoulder throbs. He has to pop it back into place, which is never pleasant. He moves further back so he is resting against the wall and braces himself.

"What are you doing?"

"Setting my shoulder," Alec says shortly. "I can't fight like this."

There's some almost indignant sputtering beside him. "Yes, but you can't just pop it back in!"

"Why not?" Alec asks, and executes the twist move to get his shoulder back in its socket. “See?”

“Not particularly well, thank you.”

Alec snorts, rotating the arm slowly. “It’s set. All done.”

Magnus sighs. “You’re one of those ,” he says. 

Alec’s stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

There’s the faintest shift in the light as Magnus waves a hand. “A stoic type.”

Alec doesn’t shrug, it would be wasted even if his shoulder didn’t protest. “I guess.” 

Silence falls between them, filled only with the slight chime of their chains as they move. When Magnus doesn’t say anything else, Alec leans his head against the cold wall behind him, his thoughts turning again to the cat. He has to take slow, measured breaths at the thought of losing her, as dear to him now as any of his siblings. 

In the dark, it’s hard to know when he closed his eyes, but the exhaustion of the past few weeks, the dead sprint against Valentine that had culminated in his capture, catches up with him. 

Alec doesn’t know when he falls asleep.

then. 

The wolf knocked Magnus to the side of what had been an empty corridor. Magnus almost blasted the poor creature through the wall on reflex. Then he looked up to see the five foot iron spear that was protruding from the wall, exactly where his head would have been ten seconds earlier. 

Adrenaline spiked in him, making him sag briefly against the wall. “Did you come all the way here just for that?” he asked the wolf, keeping his tone light as he studied the wall. Now that he was looking for it, he could see the holes that lined the corridor on either side. 

He looked to the wolf, who gave him a flat, unimpressed look that made Magnus smile for no reason at all. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Magnus snapped, no heat to it. “I know what I’m doing.” 

He stepped forward, the wolf so close to him Magnus almost tripped over him, and stopped to glare at him. The wolf was unphased. 

Magnus took another step forward and almost overbalanced when the wolf grabbed the back of Magnus’ (silk, bespoke, expensive) jacket in his mouth, holding him still. When Magnus only froze, the wolf tugged back slightly until Magnus turned to look at him. 

“What?” he hissed. 

The wolf gave him another flat look and reached out a paw to press on the stone Magnus had been about to step on. It depressed with a slight click, and another spear shot out of the wall ahead of them. 

“Ah.” Magnus sheepishly gives the wolf’s ears a scratch. “Fair enough.” Then he lay down on his belly next to the creature to get a level look at the ground. Like this, he could see which stones were raised or depressed more than they should have been. 

The wolf laid down beside him, giving the stones the same piercing stare that Magnus was. “Are you going to help me?” Magnus asks him softly. “My protective little shadow?”

When Magnus turned his head to look at the wolf, the wolf turned and gave Magnus a quick lick on the cheek before his head snapped back to look down the hallway.

Magnus grinned even as he turned his attention back to the hall himself, carefully noting the positions of every errant stone. 

“I must be getting arrogant in my old age,” Magnus sighed, knowing how much any of the older warlocks would pitch a fit at Magnus, barely 200, claiming to be old. 

He had no doubt that they would agree he was arrogant though. 

The wolf huffed, though at which part Magnus couldn’t be sure, but Magnus thought he saw the dark tail wagging slowly in the dark. 

With the wolf’s help, Magnus navigated the rest of the traps, every one of them mundane and spelled against any kind of detection. Paranoid old bastard. 

Lawrence Theodore Cromwell was exactly as pretentious and snide as his name and manor suggested, and he was the last warlock Magnus would have expected to use mundane tricks, even for something as valuable as his precious amulet.

Cromwell’s arrogance is his undoing. If he’d been willing to hide the thing, to put it in a vault in addition to the increasingly ludicrous traps, Magnus might have had a harder time getting it. Instead, the warlock had put it on a pedestal in the center of his manor, all but shining a spotlight on it, and it took Magnus less than a minute to disable even the best of Cromwell’s wards. 

The wolf was even waiting for him when Magnus stepped back into the hall, the amulet tucked safely into a dimensional pocket until Magnus reclaimed it. He was sitting as still as any statue, eyes intent down the hall like he was standing guard, but when he caught sight of Magnus again, the tight posture loosened and his tail began to wag again.
They left the manor together, the wolf making no sound as he walked just ahead of Magnus. When they finally made it back outside, the wolf’s dark shape blended into the night so well that Magnus could almost pretend he hadn’t vanished again. 

now.

Magnus is not new to being captured. It’s unfortunately part of the territory of being a High Warlock, especially one with his level of power. It had happened, though rarely for long and rarely twice in the same decade; not when the memory of his response was still fresh. 

It has been a very long time since someone had actually managed to capture him, and longer still since they had been able to hold him for any meaningful amount of time.

It’s been three days since Valentine’s men captured him, the cost of having held the portal open so long to let the others escape. He remembers the vicious gleam in the eyes of the Circle members, when the portal had faded with Magnus still in the room. Remembers Shadow, snarling and huge at his side, ripping into Circle members with teeth and claws. 

He remembers the pain, the blow that knocked him unconscious. 

Magnus had woken up here, chained up and bloody, alone for the first time in decades. No careful tongue cleaning his wounds, no gentle nudges to comfort him, no soft fur under his hands. The wolf that has been his constant companion for a quarter of a century was nowhere to be seen.

Magnus has to remind himself that the full weight of his father’s wrath hadn’t hurt Shadow, that whatever is keeping Shadow from him is something about his captivity, something temporary. The cuffs that bind Magnus’ hands are made from cold iron and white ash, etched with the cruel lines of Shadowhunter runes. The runes, and the thin silvery light they shed, are his only light in the cold and dark.

Time in the cell is measured in guard visits, the daily delivery of food and the intermittent delivery of whatever anger management a Circle member was dealing with this week. There’s no light to judge the time, no sounds that give away a time or day. 

When the man, Alec, jerks awake, Magnus has no way of knowing how long he’d been asleep. He comes awake all at once, eyes once again unerringly finding Magnus in the dark, even if he clearly can’t make out much. 

“I can tell you’re awake,” Magnus says when the man stays still and quiet. 

“I wasn’t hiding it,” Alec replies, already sounding more coherent than before. “You can see in here?”

“Somewhat,” Magnus hedges. In the dark, his cat eyes are blown wide open, casting the darkness into shades of gray. “I don’t see any colors, but I can mostly tell where you are. And you can mostly tell where I am.” 

“I can hear you breathing.”

“No enhanced senses?” Magnus probes.

The man sighs. “Not at the moment.” He gestures with both arms to display the cuffs and Magnus frowns. There shouldn’t be anyone who would be cut off from their own senses by the cuffs, unless that’s another cruel experiment of Valentines.

Magnus was fairly certain that the man isn't another warlock, for all that they wear the same cuffs to block magic. The guards had clearly expected them to turn on one another, which was unlikely with another warlock, or even with another seelie. No, it was likely some poor werewolf or vampire who they clearly expected to succumb to the animal instincts the Shadowhunters seemed to think they all had, as though all Downworlders would rip one another apart given the slightest inclination.

"Do you have anyone looking for you?" Alec asks. 

Magnus tips his head back. "Probably. They'll have realized I'm gone by now." He could bury himself in research on occasion, but Magnus didn't go for over three days without talking to anyone, not since he'd become High Warlock. Not since Valentine had made the responsibilities of the job very real. He would have missed a standing lunch with Catarina by now, and she at least would be looking into it. 

Magnus is sure that he has some of the most powerful warlocks on the east coast looking for him, along with Raphael and his clan. 

Magnus isn’t hopeful. 

Nephilim powers had their weaknesses, but they excelled at restraint and suppression. The fact that even Shadow was blocked from the ship was telling enough. If Magnus was going to be found, it wasn't by warlock magic. And the water alone will be enough to throw off anyone who might be tracking him by scent. 

Alec hums thoughtfully. "You don't sound optimistic."

Magnus shrugs. "All magic has its limitations. I’m sure they'll be looking. But Nephilim magic is directly opposed to demonic magic. “With these," he holds out his wrists, showing the steel and ash cuffs, "I may as well be mundane. They won't be able to follow my magical signature, because I may as well not even have one."

Alec stares down at his own cuffs, his hands curling into fists, and Magnus wishes he could see the man’s face. There was a new tension to him, beyond the lines of pain he had been carrying since he woke up. 

“That magic,” Alec swallows, hesitating, but Magnus is patient, and he has nowhere else to go. “Could it block soul magic?”

Magnus blinks in surprise. Over the past twenty four years, there have been less than a hundred Downworlders with a soulmate. Magnus should know, he’s been looking. 

“Soul magic like,” he trails off, inviting an answer, as though Alec could be talking about anything else. 

“Like a soul creature,” Alec says in a rush. There is more pain and fear in his voice than there had been when he set his own shoulder, and Magnus wonders just who Alec is, to take pain so easily, but to hesitate over something like this.

When Alec doesn’t say more, Magnus tips his head back against the wall, missing Shadow in a way that ached. “Yes,” he says heavily. “Yes, it blocks soul magic.”

He can feel the weight of Alec’s stare, and he knows his own reaction is as telling as Alec’s was. 

Neither of them speak for a long time, but the room doesn’t feel as cold as it did before. Not so alone. 

Alec scowls at the door to their small cell. He’s been passing the time by identifying the runes that make up the barrier, and he’s been stuck on one in the upper right corner. It almost looks like the rune to strengthen, but the center line is too long, the angle too sharp. Izzy might know it, but even her scientific interest ran more towards chemistry than the detail-oriented work of rune scholars or artificers. 

“If you keep scowling like that, your face will stick that way,” Magnus says.

Alec tears his attention from the door. After staring at even the dim light of those runes, the room seems pitch black. He can’t even make out the glimmer of cuffs that usually gives the man’s position away. 

“What?”

“I know we’re captives, but no need to give yourself wrinkles about it.”

Alec very much doubts he’ll live long enough to have to worry about wrinkles. “What?” he repeats again, thrown off by the inanity of it. 

“You seem very intent on the door,” Magnus says, “I already tried staring it down, it doesn’t work.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Clearly,” Magnus sounds amused. “Penny for your thoughts.”

Alec draws his knees up to his chest, breathing through the pressure it puts on his ribs. “They’re not worth much.”

“I have quite a lot of money to waste,” Magnus replies, and this time Alec can see the faint shimmer as he gestures. 

Alec doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. It’s always served him well in the past. 

After a long pause, Magnus says tentatively “Does it have to do with why you asked about soul magic?”

Yes. No. The cat is part of it, of course, her absence the razor edge on the knife that was this whole situation.

“Yes.” It’s easier than the truth, anyway. Alec’s own culpability, his failures as a leader. 

The dark between them feels quiet. Intimate. 

Dangerous.

“She’s always been here before,” Alec whispers. It’s easier to say, like this. With only the darkness and a near stranger to hear.

“She’ll be there again,” Magnus says, just as soft.

Hope and dread surge in equal measure at the confidence in the man’s voice. “You can’t know that,” Alec says.

Magnus sighs. “No. But if I believe that your soul creature is lost forever, I would have to believe that mine is too. And I can’t believe that. I can’t.” 

There is an ache to Magnus’ voice that Alec can feel in his own soul. He’s always been better with someone else’s pain than his own. 

“You’re right.” Alec tries to sound like he means it. Alec tries to mean it, because Magnus is right, the thought of never seeing the cat again is unbearable. “You’re right.”

Magnus laughs, but it doesn’t sound amused. “Try not to sound too confident, you’ll give me a complex.”

Alec snorts. There is something about Magnus that sets him at ease. That says, no matter the cuffs or the walls or the dozens of Circle members outside the cell, there is still hope. Hope that everything will somehow be alright. 

“She does this thing, when I’m injured,” Alec begins, when the silence has stretched too long. “She’ll force me into bed, and curl up between my shoulder blades so I can’t get up.” He smiles, almost feeling her familiar weight. “She’s not that big, but she’s stubborn.”

“I imagine you are as well.”

“When I have to be,” Alec says honestly. 

He’s not expecting the way it makes Magnus laugh out loud, a startled bark of a thing like even Magnus is surprised by it. 

“That, my dear, is the answer of someone who is very, very stubborn.”

Alec thinks of his long fight to be given control of the Institute, his drive to make sure that the cat would be safe no matter who saw her. “I’ve had to be.”

Magnus hums. “If you react to your injuries out there like you do in here, I can’t say I blame her.”

“A dislocated shoulder barely counts!” Alec protests, which only sets Magnus off again.

It’s nice to have the space filled with laughter, however brief. When Magnus laughs, it makes Alec feel like anything is possible.

then.

In Venice, Shadow fished Magnus out of the canals with an unimpressed huff and all but dragged Magnus back to his lodgings to dry off. He had very pointedly shaken off his long fur all over Magnus. 

Magnus snapped them both clean and tried not to laugh at the way the sudden evaporation of the water had made Shadow’s fur stand out all over in a poof of fur. He gave up when Shadow indignantly huffed a long piece out of his eyes, laughing hard enough that he almost started crying, slumping down to lean against the bed. 

When he opened his eyes, another look at Shadow almost set him off again. Shadow was still giving Magnus an unimpressed look, but his tail was wagging behind him. As Magnus grinned at him, Shadow finally softened into a doggy grin.

“Aren’t you a little stormcloud,” Magnus said as Shadow came over to him. He summoned a wide-tooth comb to his hand with a thought and stretched out his legs, patting his lap invitingly. 

Shadow didn’t need any more encouragement, giving a soft yip of joy as he dropped all his weight down onto Magnus’ thighs, immediately rolling onto his back. 

“You’re awfully heavy for a creature made of magic,” Magnus said reproachfully. Shadow gave him an unrepentant grin, and Magnus scratched his belly vigorously.

By the time Magnus had smoothed out all of Shadow’s long fur, his legs had gone completely numb and he was more relaxed than he’d felt in decades. He had expected Shadow to disappear long before this, and he found himself dragging out the last brushes, half afraid that the wolf would vanish if he stopped. 

When his hand on the brush finally slowed, Shadow rolled his head to look at Magnus. His glamour was down, Magnus knew, but he felt so comfortable he couldn’t stand to glamour them now. 

Shadow pushed himself up but Magnus didn’t even have time to worry before he covered Magnus in doggy kisses. It was so enthusiastic and unexpected that Magnus laughed again, trying with very little effort to push him away. 

In response, Shadow pushed Magnus gently to the floor and dropped on top of him.

“Oof,” Magnus complained, only partly kidding. Stretched out like this, Shadow was as long as Magnus was tall. Shadow shifted to the side enough that Magnus wasn’t supporting all his weight but Magnus was still mostly pinned, and proceeded to give Magnus a very thorough grooming that Magnus accepted with good grace. 

He fell asleep with Shadow, a warm weight against his back, and a smile on his lips.

It’s another eighty years before he sees Shadow again.

now. 

It was foolish to hope that the guards would leave them alone forever. It’s been almost twelve hours by Magnus’ estimation since Alec was dropped in here with him, not the longest the guards have stayed away but close to it. They like to drop by for mocking taunts or the occasional mistreatment of prisoners, and Magnus knows better than to think two prisoners over one will slow them down.

Magnus and Alec both fall silent at the first sound of footfalls in the hall. They’d moved on from the loaded topic of their soul creatures to less charged tales of past instances of their own stubbornness. 

When they have to stop talking, Magnus is startled to feel a smile on his lips, faint though it is.

It’s gone before the Circle member pushes the door open.

Used to the routine, Magnus closes his eyes for that first rush of light, and opens them to his first sighting of Alec. 

The man has blood trickling down the side of his face, matting his hair in patches. It ran down his neck before disappearing under the utilitarian black of the man's shirt. 

The same guard who brought Alec here stands in the door, looking disappointed. “I’m amazed you’re still alive.”

Magnus is a bit surprised to see his derision is turned on Alec. Magnus doesn’t mean to be arrogant, but he is rather used to being the most important prisoner on the rare occasions he has been captured.

Alec just sneers back up at the man, and with the light from the hall falling on him, Magnus has to admit it’s a good sneer. “I think the same every time I see you, Bridgestock.”

Bridgestock’s face twists with rage, and he delivers a kick to Alec’s stomach. Alec grunts and curls forward around it, but Magnus is still stuck on the guards entrance. Alec addressed him by name.

Alec knows this Shadowhunter, this Circle member by name. 

Maybe it’s that clue, maybe it’s the way that Alec’s face is tilted up to look at the guard, his face and neck in the path of the hall’s light, but Magnus can suddenly make out what had been lost to the dark and the blood. What he'd taken as more blood on the man's neck has clarified in the light into a rune, carving down his neck and under his jaw.

Magnus goes still, shocked by his own feeling of betrayal. He’d been sharing the cell with a Shadowhunter. He’d been sharing confidences with a Shadowhunter. He wracks his brain for anything he may have said that could endanger his people. 

He misses the rest of the exchange between Alec and the Shadowhunters, eyes snapping back up as Alec spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor, glowering up at Bridgestock defiantly. 

Bridgestock scoffs. “Valentine will see to you soon enough. You won’t be so smug then.” He cuts cold eyes to Magnus. “Both of you.”

Magnus sneers at him, unsatisfying and fruitless. The Circle member smirks at them before he spins back towards the door, making a deliberate effort to hit Alec as he walks past him.

When the door swings shut behind him, Magnus feels the tension in his shoulders. He can't help the way his voice goes tight when he snaps, "You're a Shadowhunter."

Alec frowns. "Yes?" As though he doesn’t even know why Magnus was asking. 

"Shouldn't you be on the other side of that door?" Magnus jerks his head at the steel door that bars any chance of escape. 

The Shadowhunter's scowl deepens. "I'd rather be dead ,” he spits.

Magnus feels his eyebrows go up in surprise, taken aback by the man's vehemence. 

"Then, what's a Shadowhunter like you doing in a place like this?" Magnus drawls. 

Alec frowns at him, clearly not getting the reference. Probably one of the sheltered Idris brats who thought that mundane culture and society was beneath them. As though the way the Shadowhunters did it; with almost no art or culture or performance to speak of, was anything short of barbaric. 

"I was doing reconnaissance for an upcoming mission," the Shadowhunter says finally, and falls silent, jaw clenched. It is, Magnus can't help but notice, a very nice jawline, even though it’s bruised.

"And?" Magnus prompts. 

Alec glares at him. "And I got caught."

He'd walked right into that one, hadn't he? Magnus hums without replying, watching warily as the Shadowhunter clenches and unclenches his hands. If the man really does attack him, Magnus has no chance of the guards helping him. Whatever punishment duty the Shadowhunter is on still leaves him as more worthy of survival than a warlock. 

The man doesn't look up but he must sense Magnus' gaze on him because he forcibly stills his hands, absently touching one to his collar before dropping it to his side, looking even worse. 

Magnus stretches his legs out in front of him, watching the man thoughtfully. "So tell me, Alexander," he drawls. "What's put you so far on Valentine's bad list that you got thrown in here, hm? Complain about the food? Tell him his hair was stupid? Fuck his daughter?"

The Shadowhunter chokes, eyes bugging out and jaw dropping open so dramatically that Magnus can see the motion even in the dark. "Oh stars , did you really?"

"No!" Alec almost shouts it, before his eyes jump to the door and he lowers his voice to say, just as forcibly, "No! I'm not— that's..." He made a face like he was pretending to gag but wasn't really joking about it. “Never.”

Magnus raises his eyebrows as he watches the young man spit denials. "Well, that's convinced me." 

The Shadowhunter scowls at him again. 

"Valentine and I have irreconcilable differences of opinion," Alec says finally,  meeting Magnus' eyes. 

Magnus raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Disliked his taste in jackets then?"

"Valentine is a monster," Alec snarls, true anger breaking across his face for the first time. Magnus draws back, surprised by the venom in his voice. Alec must catch the motion— Magnus has no idea how good a nephilim’s eyes are without an active rune — because his voice isn’t so harsh as he says, “I would never side with him. Never.”

"Well then," Magnus collects himself. It's been awhile since a person surprised him, much less a nephilim. He lets relief settle into the unexpected pain at the thought of Alec’s betrayal. Why should he feel betrayed? Alec was just a voice on the other end of the cell, and the outline of a spectacular jawline. Nothing he should care about. “Good.”

Alec’s voice is apologetic when he says, “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I thought you knew.”

“It’s,” Magnus waves a hand, trying to think of a word other than fine. He’s far from fine at the moment, “not your fault,” he settles on. After a moment he adds, “I should have known, from as pretentious a name as Alexander.” He lowers his voice as he says it, an exaggerated affectation that makes Alec snort.

“It’s just Alec. No one calls me Alexander.”

“It’s still your name, Shadowhunter.”

There’s real indignation in Alec’s voice when he says, “You’re one to talk, Magnus .” 

“Excuse you,” Magnus says hotly. “Magnus is not pretentious. It’s distinguished. Powerful.”

“Pretentious,” Alec interjects. Magnus doesn’t know him well enough to be sure, but he thinks he can hear a smile in his voice. 

“If I weren’t blocked from my magic, I could banish you to space for that,” Magnus says.

When Alec doesn’t reply, Magnus winces. Too far, perhaps. Alec is different, for a Shadowhunter, that much was clear. But with the nephilim, that only went so far.

“If you weren’t blocked from your magic, I’d hope you’d get us out first, but then you’d be welcome to try.” There’s a kind of casual confidence to his voice that makes Magnus want to take him to the ground and keep him there. 

"I have to say I'm glad to hear it. Your kind isn’t usually so… evolved." He thinks of Alec’s earlier confession, a soul creature that bullied him into sleeping and resting when he’s injured, and it paints a whole new story. 

Alec grimaces. "I know." He hesitates. "I'm sorry."

"There are no apologies in captivity, Alexander," Magnus says which gets a small smile from the dour Shadowhunter. That shouldn’t feel like a victory, now that he knows who he shares a cell with, but it does. 

“Is that a rule?” Alec asks.

“One of the most important ones,” Magnus replies seriously. “It’s right up there with not talking in a library.”

Mundanes have lost the tradition, but Magnus can remember days in the Labyrinth archives, the silence an almost tangible thing, a delicate balance between him and the books. He thinks a Shadowhunter might understand. 

“That is serious,” Alec agrees, the hint of a smile in his voice. “I’ll be sure to mind it in the future.”

“See that you do,” Magnus replies primly.

“How often do they come by?” 

Magnus is silent for a long time, and Alec fears he won’t answer. That their shared solace here will have been ruined by a Circle member who’s never even served time at an Institute. 

“Often enough,” Magnus says finally.

Alec draws his knees to his chest. His cracked ribs don’t permit him putting his arms around them, so he lets them fall to his side. “We’re not all like that.” What a worthless statement. Alec lets his head fall back against the wall. “Not that it matters, when enough of us are.”

“Being willing to endure prison for that difference is a point in your favor, Alexander.”

“It shouldn’t be. The Clave can be better than this. Shadowhunters can be better than this.”

There is an aged bitterness like vinegar to Magnus’ voice when he replies, “Experience has shown that to be untrue.” 

Alec abruptly feels very young and idealistic. He’s not naive, he doesn’t have Izzy’s all-or-nothing approach to it, but it shouldn’t be impossible. 

“But,” Magnus says when Alec is silent, “maybe you’ll be the Shadowhunter who surprises me.”

“Maybe I will,” Alec says, and it feels like a promise. 

now.

There was a clatter from the hall, sudden noise where before it had been quiet. Alec falls silent beside him, mid-story about the first time he, Jace and Izzy had snuck out of the Institute, to see a mundane movie that none of them had understood. Only Jace had liked it, Alec and Izzy didn't go back, but Alec was pretty sure that Jace went back on a regular basis. 

The distinct sound of fighting reaches them, blades ringing against blades and the ozone scent of magic seeping into their cabin. 

"I believe that might be the cavalry," Magnus says idly. 

"Yours or mine?" Alec asks. 

There's footsteps outside, closer than they've been before. 

Magnus feels Alec tense next to him, muscles coiling in anticipation.

The door swings open to reveal one of the Shadowhunters who had brought Magnus down to his cell. 

Alec's face twists into a sneer. "I should have guessed that you'd be with Valentine, Horncost." 

The man, Horncost, sneers back. "You always were a superior bastard, Lightwood. It's no surprise you ended up here, chained up next to a warlock."

Lightwood.

Magnus' head snaps to look at Alec, but Alec is still focused on Horncost. 

"At least I’m not a mindless tool, following a genocidal maniac."

Horncost snarls and lunges for Alec. Alec lets him, curling in on himself like he was defenseless. Magnus winces when Horncost's boot connects with Alec's already cracked ribs. He swears he can hear the bone give under steel toes. 

Horncost kicks him again. "No moralizing lecture for us this time?" he taunts. "Not so superior now, are you?"

Alec's hand shoots out and wraps around Horncost's ankle, tight and strong enough to abort his kick. "Not superior," Alec says, spinning around with his legs to sweep Horncost’s feet from under him. Alec surges upwards on the advantage, getting the long chains of his cuffs around Horncost’s throat. "I'm just better than you."

Horncost spits out a string of insults that don't phase Alec.

Even without any of his runes activated, Alec is strong enough to keep a hold of the chain on Horncost with one hand, using the other to grab the man's stele from his hand. That he tucks into his own pocket before grabbing the seraph blade from its holster. It doesn't light up, Alec being just as blocked from his powers as Magnus is. 

"What now?" Horncost sneers. Magnus has never found it helpful to taunt someone with a chain around your throat, but this Circle member doesn't seem to be the brightest of their lot. 

"It's still a fucking knife," Alec snaps, sounding more exasperated at the man's idiocy than the struggles. "I could stab you with or without the power to activate it."

There is a cold calculation to his voice that makes Magnus shiver. He knows, of course he knows, that all Shadowhunters are killers. But he's never seen the switch happen so immediately before- never been on this side of it, seeing a Shadowhunter's back as they held their merciless blade to the throat of another nephilim.

For a moment, he can only gape, watching as Horncost swallows, the movement raising a hair's line of blood under the knife. "You won't make it out of here alive. You or the rest of your weak Shadowhunters."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Alec snarls. "Remove my cuffs."

"I'm not going to-"

"Remove my cuffs," Alec repeats, ice cold, "or I will slit your throat and leave you to be found by the rest of the traitors. Your choice."

To Magnus' utter lack of surprise, the man accepts the stele Alec passes back to him and, with shaking hands, makes the quick, harsh slashes of a rune, glowing brighter than the ambient light shed by the cuffs. 

The cuff falls off of Alec's wrist with the chime of chains and the clatter of iron on steel. 

Alec doesn't hesitate for a second before he brings the pommel of the blade down with a sharp crack onto the man's temple. Horncost goes limp in Alec's hold, and Alec pushes him away with a snort of derision.

"Coward," he mutters, a sentiment that Magnus can't help but agree with. Though, of course, why would he expect better from the Circle, a group of liars and murderers who snuck under their precious Accords to slit the throats of Downworlders who had never been part of the fight. They targeted civilians as often as fighters, nothing decent or admirable in their actions. 

Alec undoes his other cuff himself, lines of tension that Magnus hadn't even noticed relaxing around his mouth and eyes. 

He turns to Magnus, stele raised, with a question in his eyes. 

Wordlessly, Magnus extends his shackled wrists to him, palms up. Alec catches Magnus' hands as if to steady them, his eyes carefully on his own hands as he slowly traces the lines of the unlocking rune on the cuff. 

Magnus watches Alec’s face, silhouetted by the light from the door, but lit by the faint light of the runes. His eyelashes were a surprisingly delicate sweep of darkness against his skin, his attention so focused on Magnus’ hands in his. 

Magnus can’t bear to look away, not even to watch as the cuffs unlock and fall to the ground with the same chime-clatter.  

"Thank you," Magnus says, too sincerely.

Alec's reply is a whisper. "You're welcome." He clears his throat and straightens. "You're welcome." He extends a hand to help Magnus up. 

Magnus takes it.

There is a frisson of energy as their palms touch, and Magnus lets Alec pull him to his feet with a wince. He can see that Alec felt it too, the way his hand tightens on Magnus’, the way he goes still when Magnus is standing, chest to chest with him.

For a moment, Magnus is caught on the man's eyes; hazel and bright even beneath bruises and smudged blood. They're familiar eyes, but Magnus has known so many people, seen so many eyes, that he can't place them. 

Alec seems just as distracted by Magnus' eyes, and Magnus realizes abruptly that his glamour was still down — of course it was, with the damned runed cuffs binding his power— and there was every chance Alec — a Lightwood , Magnus remembers — was disgusted by them. 

"Sorry about the...," Magnus waves a hand towards his eyes, trying to sound reassuring. "No glamour, you see."

"No!" Alec says, reaching out like he'd stop a glamour if he could. "No, it's not that. Your eyes, they're beautiful." He ducks his head, and Magnus couldn't see a blush under the blood and bruises anyway, but the way Alec holds himself makes Magnus think he might be going red. "They're like home," he says, softer, and Magnus feels his heart flip over in his chest, flattened by the wave of emotion at the words. 

Magnus doesn't know how to reply, can't reply with the emotion blocking his throat. He doesn't even know this man, not really. 

“Oh.”

Alec’s hand clenches again on his and then lets go, taking a step back.

Magnus shakes himself, turning his attention back to his freed wrists. He could feel the magic returning to him, a slow trickle of power, likely all that could filter through Valentines' wards. To get back to his full power- to get Shadow back to him, Magnus would have to get off the ship. 

Alec doesn't seem to be having the same problem, Horncost's seraph blade lighting up in his hands. Quickly, he lifts his shirt to draw a quick iratze over his ribs, aching from the additional abuse from Horncost. He refreshes his permanent iratze on his arm, and runes for speed, dark vision, and stamina.

Magnus watches as the stele burns into his skin, fascinated despite himself. He’s never seen a Shadowhunter activate their runes at such a close range. Alec doesn’t even flinch as he drags burning marks into his skin.

Alec turns to Magnus when he’s done, looking him over and giving him a concerned look. "Your magic?" 

Magnus shakes his head. "Valentine has larger wards blocking warlock magic specifically," he says. Alec nods, slipping the stele into a holster at his side clearly made for the purpose. 

Alec seems upset about something, looking around the cabin as though he'd dropped something, but all Magnus can see is Horncost's unconscious body. 

"Everything good?" Magnus asks, because Alec could have easily left him to Horncost's mercy, and he hadn't.

"Nothing. I thought when the cuffs came off—" Alec shakes his head, "It's nothing."

It doesn't look like nothing. The Shadowhunter's face still has that set of resignation to it, for all that they've managed to free themselves. The sound of fighting outside reminds them both that whatever the issue is, they don't have the time to handle it. 

"Are you up for a fight?" Alec asks, looking Magnus over with a critical eye.

Surprisingly, the question sounds concerned more than derisive, as though Alec had a plan for his answer to be no.

Luckily, Magnus doesn't have to find out. He grins sharply, knowing his cat eyes must be gleaming. He must look fully like the son of a demon, but Alec doesn't flinch, doesn't look away as Magnus says, "Oh, Shadowhunter. You have no idea how ready I am for this one."

Alec's jaw sets, and for a moment Magnus thinks the man might ask Magnus to spare the lives of the Circle members, as he had spared Horncost. Surely the lives of even enemy nephilim were more important than the feelings of a warlock.

Alec surprises him again when he nods, another sharp downward gesture. He crosses to the door with the grace of a hunter, grabbing the heavy handle. He looks to Magnus, waiting. 

Magnus moves to the door, preparing himself for a fight. A fight without magic. He swallows. He can handle himself, in hand to hand and in most short-range weapons, but he was unarmed as well as outnumbered, and he had no way of knowing just how many of his own people were out there. 

Still, he steps up beside Alec and nods, ready. 

Alec moves to pull open the door, then stops. 

"Here." He thrusts the inactive seraph blade at Magnus, hilt first. Magnus stares at it, baffled. "Take it," Alec prompts. 

"That won't—"

"Like I told him," Alec jerks his head at the ground, "it's still a knife. You can't activate it, or kill demons, but it'll work just fine on Circle members."

"What about you?" Magnus asks, turning his stare to Alec. Nothing on the man's face helps him understand. Alec's face is set with determination, and somehow Magnus knows, knows in a way that shouldn't be possible with a man he's just met, that Alec is concerned. That he wants to protect Magnus. 

Magnus closes his hand around the hilt before he thinks it through. The wrapped leather is cool to the touch, despite the grip Alec had had on it. 

"You'll have to be careful not to touch the blade," Alec warns. "It's pure adamas. But the hilts are made from hawthorne and wrapped, so you'll be fine."

"What about you?" Magnus repeats, testing the weight of the blade in his hand, spinning it warily. 

"If something is blowing up on the ship, my siblings are probably here somewhere," Alec says. "They'll have brought my weapons." He looks at the blade in Magnus' hands. "That’s not my style anyway. It looks better with you."

Before Magnus can figure out what to say to that, Alec, face suspiciously flushed, yanks the door open, light and sound flooding in. 

It's chaos, warlocks and vampires fighting Circle members, Shadowhunters facing off against Shadowhunters, impossible to distinguish which faction is which in the dark.. 

Magnus and Alec step out together, which would be nicely symbolic if they hadn't both had to immediately dodge a slash from a Forsaken monster. Alec ducks under its swing, sidekicking it hard enough to send it flying into the hard metal of the opposite wall. 

Magnus moves into the space Alec opened, disarming and killing a Circle member who had been about to engage Alec.

The fight gets more hectic from there, and Magnus can feel his magic returning in slow trickles. Without the cuffs, Valentine's wards weren't strong enough to block Magnus completely. 

"Alec!" 

"Magnus!"

Magnus looks to where two Shadowhunters are running down the hall towards them, knocking aside enemies and allies alike once they caught sight of him. The girl looked enough like Alec that Magnus recognized the charming sister that Alec had spoken of so fondly. That can only make the blonde at her side the oh-so-talented brother Alec had talked about. He, at least, looks nothing like the other two, but Magnus knows better than to comment on anyone else's genetics. He knew better than most that family wasn't the same as blood.

Alec is looking away from them, and Magnus grabs his arm to get his attention, only to find Alec already reaching back.

Alec had turned towards the voices searching for Magnus, watching as a brightly colored storm of magic and warlocks headed their way, heralded by a horned man and a woman with vibrant blue skin and white magic. 

Catarina and Ragnor reach them at almost the same time as Izzy and Jace, dividing Alec and Magnus as they were each pulled into their own groups. Izzy pulled Alec into a hug, too quick to be one of her proper ones, and Jace gave Alec a companionable slug on the arm. 

Magnus received a quick greeting from Catarina and an exasperated look from Ragnor. Magnus hadn't been captured in a decade before this, thank you very much. 

The tides of their two groups drag them apart, and Magnus only looks back once, a quick meeting of those bright, familiar eyes. Then Alec's brother puts an arm over his shoulders and yanks him around, back down the hallway they came from. Magnus follows the other warlocks out, then through the portal Ragnor has set up just outside the wards, and back to blessed, blessed safety.

then.

It had been 50 years, half a century, since Magnus first encountered Shadow on the Indonesian coast, and longer still since he'd lived there himself, and it's hard not to notice that Shadow is appearing more and more often than he did before. 

The tension between the Downworlders and the Clave was getting thicker by the moment. The new graduating class of Shadowhunters are a real piece of work, and they've given the New York Institute to the young Lightwood couple, a pair of bigoted zealots if he's ever seen one.  

It's been hard to gauge what, exactly, they're zealous for, their sneers just hidden enough to fake cordiality, their seraph blades always off, but always visible. The Whitelaw’s had been decent, as Shadowhunters went. Apathetic to the Downworld as a whole but mostly fair when the situation required it, they'd been downright pleasant compared to their replacements. 

There are other rumors as well; werewolf families killed in their homes, vampire clans raided at high noon, warlocks dead from long, smooth cuts. There's never enough to point to, no traces of seraph energy or adamas, but a Shadowhunter could use steel just as well as anything else, and they all knew it. 

Whatever was happening, it made the hairs prickle on the back of his neck, the antithesis to the feeling he'd had when he first came to New York. That had felt like things in his life were beginning to come together. The city had been high on V-day and celebration, that first month that he was appointed, and it felt like this was where everything was going to change. 

Shadow being around more should have made sense, but this didn't seem any more dangerous than the Reign of Terror, or the mess of what had happened in Peru. Throughout his life, Shadow had been a crucial but infrequent part of surviving. Magnus had always known why Shadow came to him in the past. There had always been some danger before, an urgent need that pulled Shadow to him. Shadow had been his rock and his guiding light in the darkest times, but to see him now without cause has Magnus on edge. 

He had always known that Shadow would protect him, whether the danger came from an enemy or from his own heart, but Shadow had also been an omen to some of the worst times of his life, and seeing him was both a delight and a terror. 

Shadow appeared most now when Magnus was alone, pacing the walls of the loft and staring out towards the eastern edge of the city. It's only ever for minutes at a time, small glimpses out of the corner of his eye. It's never long enough for Magnus to sit down beside him, to coax Shadow into the relaxed playfulness that Magnus sees in him so infrequently. 

Magnus wonders if his soulmate will be this dour as well, so intent on something else that he can't find anytime to play. Magnus can't ever imagine himself with someone like that, tethering him to a couch when Magnus has only just opened a club. 

When it finally happened, Magnus heard the whine first, coming from large windows on the other side of the room. That noise is as familiar to him as his own breathing, and Magnus turns automatically to see Shadow sitting at the window, staring out at the city skyline. His tail shifts, like he's considering wagging it, but he only lays his head on the windowsill with another sad whine. 

Magnus was on his feet in an instant, at Shadow's side in another. Uncharacteristically, Shadow didn't turn to look at him, only leaned hard into Magnus' leg and whined. 

Magnus dug his hands into the long fur at Shadow's neck, giving him a thorough scratching. "What's wrong, darling?" he asked softly. 

He crouched down to put his head level with Shadow's, following his gaze to the east. The sun reflected off the chrome and mirror buildings, and Magnus instinctively scowled at where the New York Institute was blocked by a new highrise. 

Shadow turned and licked Magnus' face, a quick hello greeting, before he turned back to his vigil. Magnus swiped at his face with his sleeve, exaggerating his disgust until Shadow turned back to him and gave him an even more thorough greeting.

Magnus shoved him away, laughing. "Off, off you brute!" He didn't put any force behind his shove, only sinking his fingers into the familiar fur. "You're going to ruin my makeup!"

That, at least, made Shadow sit back up and look contrite. Magnus dropped down until he was properly seated with his butt on the floor, the kind of undignified he only allowed around a trusted few, and leaned against the warm bulk of Shadow's side.

Both of them seated, Shadow sits taller than Magnus does, his shoulder almost level with Magnus' head. They had, in one memorable and horrible experience, confirmed that Shadow was even big enough to ride. Wolves, however, were not made to carry heavy loads, and it had been miserable and uncomfortable for them both. 

Magnus sits in silence with Shadow, side by side, as they watched the sky grow darker. After an hour, Shadow whined again and nudged Magnus off of him to pace. Magnus watched worriedly as the wolf  paced back and forth along the eastern wall of windows, his gaze occasionally rising to look out across the now night-time lights of the city.

Then, with no warning, he stopped and sneezed.

Magnus stared. He'd never heard Shadow sneeze before. He was a magical manifestation of a person's soul, he didn't need to sneeze. 

Shadow looked just as startled as Magnus felt, and twice as indignant. He stared down at his own nose, slightly cross-eyed, looking deeply betrayed. 

The next sneeze took them both equally by surprise.

"Bless you," Magnus said, mostly joking.

Shadow stared at him for a moment, then sneezed again, so powerfully he rocked forward and tumbled head over tail forward. 

Magnus blinked, and Shadow finished the roll as a puppy, long fur gone fuzzy-soft and down to a quarter the size. 

Magnus stared at Shadow. Shadow stared back at him and sneezed one last time before he stood, shaking himself out. 

“Darling?” Magnus asked tentatively. Shadow whined and crossed the floor to Magnus, an awkward scramble of puppy limbs and large paws that was nothing like the nearly silent grace that Magnus had become accustomed to.

He crouched to meet Shadow, letting the wolf, now a wolf pup, run directly into his arms. Shadow went eagerly, scrambling up into Magnus’ lap. He was actually small enough to fit, but only just. Even small as he was, Shadow was still the size of a terrier. 

“What happened, darling?” Magnus asked.

Shadow turned in his arms and bathed his face in kisses. Magnus let him, mulling over the issue. Shadow clearly wasn’t hurt, and while he’d certainly been around more lately, Magnus suddenly realized that Shadow hadn’t left in three days.

“Oh, stars ,” Magnus whispered, pulling away to look at the creature that means more to him than any other. “It’s happened.”

He looked to where Shadow had been staring, watching the sun rise over the buildings. Somewhere out there, Magnus’ soulmate had just been born.