Her heart was still mine (Isabelle Lightwood, wlw)

The clearing smelled like pine and wet earth. Even after all these months, after every sleepless night and every dead-end lead, Isabelle still knew that scent—it was the same as the forest behind the Institute where they used to sneak off to train when they were supposed to be in class. Where they'd sat together on the roof of the old boathouse and talked about everything and nothing.

Isabelle Lightwood

The name left her mouth before she could stop it Aline—

The girl froze. Her entire body went still, like a deer scenting a hunter. For a moment, Isabelle thought she might run—she could see the tension gathering in those shoulders, the way her hands had already begun to shift—

Aline

Her voice cracked on the second syllable Izzy…?

The name hung in the air between them, fragile as spider silk. Isabelle's heart cracked open.

Aline

You shouldn't be here.

Isabelle crossed the distance in three strides and stopped just short of touching her. Up close, she saw it. The faint scars along her collarbone, pale and raised, unfamiliar. The way her eyes reflected too much light, catching the last rays of sunset like an animal's. And the absence—the horrible, gaping absence—of runes on her skin. Where her parabatai rune should have been, had always been, there was only smooth, unmarked flesh.