Scholomance had been a sanctuary, a sort of nook that allowed him to ignore the rising tensions in the shadow world. It’s a trying time, with rumors of a great reckoning circulating through the masses in frigid waves. Ty doesn’t quite believe them; he can’t possibly refute them either.
But he’s just turned 17, and gotten easily roped up in missions. Assignments assigned to them by the consul, and the little of what remains as his Clave. They’ve been fairly direct so far, as have been the meetings he regularly attends at the New York Base. It isn’t just an Institute anymore, but instead a congregation of the entire east coast. All shadowhunters and warlocks from these parts aligned together against something that threatens to spill into their world.
Alec Lightwood is a rightful consul; he listens to each idea, and is firm in his decisions regarding the searches. In an ideal world, that would be desirable. Beneficial even. But, their world now is chaotic and fear-ridden. Some of the ideas are clear attempts at grasping for anything that could potentially work, while others aren’t viable despite how much sense they make. He’s been making his own deductions, mapping out a more logical answer to all the seemingly strange episodes that have occurred recently.
It’s one such meeting, when he sees Kit.
It doesn’t come as a surprise, merely an inevitability that he had quietly chosen to ignore. And now, that isn’t an option anymore. Kit is right there.
He’s leaning against the wall, tense and hard. Marked by dark runes that run all across his arms.
He feels a strange sense of discomfort, not unlike the one people experience when something is just too hot. Or too loud. It’s all encompassing, and he has to look away.
Kit doesn’t see him.
Ty doesn't either.
It’s two days later, when he’s leaning against the wall, concealed by the music thrumming through his ears, that Kit finally comes up to him.
He doesn’t say anything, but Ty can feel him just within reach. He’s waited years for answers, for the many questions that have burned inside of him in cold fury. And even that anger, is inexplicable in itself.
“Uhm…", Kit says finally. "Jace wants you to work with a few warlocks coming up here this weekend. They have some stats about faerie activity in the last few months, that he thinks you should take a look at.”
Kit doesn’t wait for a reply.
Ty gets up quickly, directed by the sound of receding footsteps, and rushes after him.
He finds Kit at the door of the training room.
They are both still, far too aware of each other but unresponsive all the same. Ty has always desired silences, but this silence is louder than the cacophony of the world thundering against his mind.
“Listen.”, Kit cuts him off. He’s tightly clutching his dagger. And Ty catches the insignia of the Herondales, complete with words etched perfectly at the handle.
His voice is soft, and unsure, and a lot of things Ty doesn’t understand.
“Can we start again?”, he whispers. And Ty remembers. Knife. Voyance. Rocks. Beach. London. Rooftops. Stars. Shadow Markets. Campfire.
He gives into the urge, and looks into Kit’s pale blue eyes.
Ty foolishly says yes.
Kit's eyes are still soft; his humor is still dry and sarcastic. He still laughs beautifully, and he's still the smartest person Ty knows. He wields weapons, but he also enjoys picking locks. He still makes references Ty barely understands, and says the most bizarre things in the most inopportune times. His voice is harder and deeper, but just as careful as it used to be.
Ty watches him, and Kit watches back.
How can he start again, when the harshest evidence of what they had burns more brightly each passing day.