Chapter 8: Threads of the Past

The group lingered inside the quiet sanctuary of Clary's apartment, the oppressive tension from their encounter with the demons still heavy in the air. Orion stood by the window, his sharp gray eyes scanning the darkened streets below. Outside, the creatures waited, their glowing eyes fixed on the building like predators stalking prey. Yet they did not advance. The wards held—for now.

"Are they always this persistent?" Simon muttered from his seat on the floor. His hands trembled as he gripped the flashlight, though its usefulness had long passed.

Jace leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the faint glow of his sheathed seraph blade still casting a soft light in the dim room. "Demons don't give up easily, especially when there's something they want. They'll hang back, waiting for us to make a mistake." His tone was calm, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

Clary paced in the living room, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. She hadn't stopped moving since they entered, the need to act warring with her fear. "They can wait all they want. We're not staying long." She turned to Orion, her voice tinged with urgency. "You're sure they can't get in?"

Orion nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on the shadows outside. "The wards are strong. They're not coming in unless someone invites them."

Simon let out a nervous laugh, his voice strained. "Yeah, well, good thing I'm not in a hospitality mood."

Clary stopped pacing and looked toward Jace. "The box. We need to find it. Now."

Jace pushed off the wall, his usual smirk absent. "Where is it?"

"In the attic," Clary said, pointing toward the hallway. "But it's locked. The key was... with my mom."

Orion turned from the window, his calm demeanor steadying the group. "A locked door won't stop us. Let's go."

The group moved quickly, their footsteps muffled against the old carpet as Clary led the way. The apartment felt wrong—too quiet, as if the shadows inside had taken on a life of their own. Every creak of the floorboards sent shivers down their spines, but they pressed on.

When they reached the attic door, Clary hesitated. Her hand hovered over the doorknob, her breathing uneven. "This was her space," she said softly. "She never let me in here."

Orion placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle but grounding. "We'll handle this together."

She nodded, her resolve hardening, and twisted the doorknob. It didn't budge. The lock held firm.

Jace stepped forward, drawing his seraph blade in a fluid motion. "Stand back." The blade flared to life, illuminating the narrow hallway as he pressed it against the lock. The metal hissed and groaned before giving way with a loud crack.

The door creaked open, revealing a small, cluttered attic bathed in shadows. Dust motes floated in the air, illuminated by the faint light of a single, grimy window. Boxes and old furniture were scattered haphazardly, the remnants of a life hidden away.

Clary stepped inside first, her eyes scanning the room. "It has to be here somewhere."

The group fanned out, each of them searching in silence. Simon rifled through a stack of papers near the door, while Jace inspected an old chest near the window. Orion moved with deliberate care, his gaze sweeping over the room as though trying to read the secrets it held.

It was Clary who found it. Tucked away beneath a pile of faded blankets was a small wooden box, its surface carved with intricate designs. She knelt and reached for it, her hands trembling. The carvings seemed to pulse faintly under her touch, as if alive.

"This is it," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jace moved to her side, his golden eyes narrowing as he examined the box. "It's sealed with something. A protection spell, maybe."

Orion crouched beside them, his expression thoughtful. "Can you open it?"

Clary shook her head. "I don't know how."

"We don't have time to figure it out here," Jace said, his tone clipped. "The longer we stay, the more likely those demons will find a way in."

Clary hesitated, her grip tightening on the box. She could feel its weight—not just its physical heft but the secrets it carried. Secrets her mother had kept hidden from her for years. But Jace was right. They couldn't linger.

"Let's go," she said, standing. "We'll figure it out at the Institute."

The group began to file out of the attic, but Orion lingered for a moment. Something about the room felt... off. A faint hum of energy prickled at the edge of his senses, drawing his attention to a corner obscured by shadows.

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against the hilt of the metal pipe he still carried. The air felt colder here, heavier. There was something buried beneath the pile of old fabric. Carefully, he reached down and pulled the cloth aside.

Beneath it was a mirror—small, ornate, and cracked down the center. Its surface shimmered faintly, reflecting not just his face but something... else. Shadows twisted within the glass, forming shapes he couldn't quite make out.

"Orion," Jace called from the doorway, his impatience clear. "What are you doing?"

Orion straightened, his gaze lingering on the mirror. "Nothing," he said, his voice measured. He covered it back with the fabric and turned to leave.

As the group descended the stairs, Clary clutched the box to her chest, her mind racing with questions. What was inside? Why had her mother hidden it? And why did it feel like her entire life was about to change?

Outside, the demons waited, their glowing eyes fixed on the building. They did not advance, but their presence was a reminder—a warning. The group had won a small victory by retrieving the box, but the true battle was just beginning.

And in the shadows of the attic, the mirror pulsed faintly, its cracked surface rippling as though alive.