The redheaded woman ran down the Idris alley, clutching her stele in one hand and a seraph blade in the other. It was no use- she'd never be able to outrun them, let alone fight them. The men were gaining on her. She swerved to avoid a shot of blue sent by the warlock they'd employed and thought with a pang of Magnus. She would most likely never see him again. She blinked away the tears coming, knowing that thinking of Magnus would only lead to thinking of everyone else, and she could not afford to cry. Not now.
Their shouts were getting nearer. She just barely dodged a dagger one had thrown desperately. The only bright spot was that they did not know who she was. They saw her as only a girl breaking curfew, strolling the streets, running because she was worried about getting in trouble. If she kept her mouth shut, they had no need to find out about the Resistance.
But they were nearing, and she knew that warlocks would have a way of getting the truth out of her. Tears wormed out of her eyes despite her cautions, because she knew that there was no way of getting out of this.
And then they had her. She felt a cold hand clamp down on her arm and made no attempt to shake it off. There was no hope. "Who are you?" rasped a gravelly voice. "What are you doing out past curfew?"
"Anne Starling!" she cried desperately, fabricating a fake name off the top of her head. "I'm sorry, it's my aunt, she's very sick, I had to see her one last time. I'm sorry, please," she pleaded.
"Well, Annie, you know we don't appreciate people walking the streets of Alicante after ten," he said snidely. "I don't think we're gonna be able to let you go and see your auntie." She stifled a terrified sob. "Frode!" he yelled, looking over his shoulder. The warlock's face came into view, grinning evilly. "Let's take care of our little Miss Starling." The warlock raised his eyebrows and looked into her blue eyes, sparked with tears. Full of apprehension , she returned the gaze. As soon as she met his royal purple eyes spliced with cat's pupils, the world went dark.
Light was filtering through her squeezed shut eyelids. She blinked against the stunning sunlight. "Oh, good, you're awake," greeted a cheery-looking Shadowhunter nurse. "We were getting worried about you."
"Wh- where am I?" she asked, confusedly looking around what seemed like a small Idris clinic.
"Oh dear, we get this a lot. Snatchers always insist on messing with the poor dears' memories," she explained kindly. "Honey, can you tell me your name?"
She searched, beginning to feel frightened. With a rush of relief, though, something came to her. "I think… it's Fairchild. Clary Fairchild." The nurse laughed.
"Consul Morgenstern's rebel daughter? Sweetie, that's not your name, but don't feel bad. We had somebody just the other day swear he was Jason Derulo, that Mundie singer," she comforted. "No, it says here that your name is Anne Starling. Does that sound right?"
She looked back into her memories, and it did seem familiar. She was sure that could be it. The Clary thing was probably just from hearing the girl's name so much. After all, she was infamously insane… hadn't she heard that? With the mention of the Consul, things were beginning to rush back to her, and she was sure she'd read somewhere that Clarissa Fairchild was the crazy girl who'd opposed her father. Her own father!
No, Anne Starling sounded familiar. Not familiar enough to make her comfortable, but perhaps those were just the effects of the memory loss. The nurse smiled.
"Can I get you some water?" she asked.
"Yes, please," smiled Anne.