The Time's Curse

The clash of two worlds

Overall, Jem's instincts urged him to remain on guard.

However, as a new whimper escaped her lips, followed by what sounded like an ancient Greek curse, Jem's hesitance dissipated. He moved toward her, an innate desire to assist overpowering his caution.

"Excuse me, are you alright, Miss?" the silver-haired man asked when he was a few steps away, approaching until he stopped next to her and knelt down by her side.

The girl's eyes were shut tightly and blood was running down the side of her face. It was evident she had suffered a severe head injury, which alarmed him even more. Without thinking, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and brought it close to the girl, intending to place it on her head, but just then she blinked, bringing startlingly fierce gray eyes to him, causing his hand to stop in mid-movement.

The glare the blonde gave his hand revealed a flicker of suspicion that momentarily darkened her young features. Her piercing gray gaze made Jem feel an uncharacteristic sense of vulnerability. In that instant, any notion that she was an ordinary mundane vanished into thin air. Her demeanor spoke volumes —it was the keen scrutiny of a seasoned warrior, meticulously dissecting potential threats. At that moment, Jem realized that if she wanted to stab him with the knife she still held in her hand, she could easily do so since he was within her reach.

In spite of the uneasiness between them, a wave of compassion washed over Jem at the sight of the blood trickling down her temple. His instinct to help her was more powerful than before, and with deliberate and slow movements, he held out the handkerchief, making sure his actions were completely non-threatening.

"Here, let me help you, Miss" Jem offered gently, his voice softened with concern. He kept a respectable distance, aware that she was frightened. The lady hesitated for a split second, her gray eyes flickering between the offered handkerchief and Jem's face, then she blinked and her expression softened slightly. Slowly, she raised her free hand to accept the handkerchief and then brought it to her face to wipe away the blood that was trickling down her skin. Although still cautious, her demeanor wasn't that of someone who would try to murder him, which made Jem feel a little more relaxed.

A small, gentle, friendly smile curved Jem's lips. He was about to ask again if she was all right, but the girl interrupted him as she finally answered his previous question.

"I'm... I'm fine," she replied, her accent bearing a hint of something peculiar, both familiar and unfamiliar to the young Shadowhunter. It tugged at the edge of his consciousness, a distant familiarity that eluded clear recognition—perhaps an American accent? Drawing a deep breath, she turned her wary gaze toward the darkened street and inquired softly, "Where am I? And you are...?"

Jem observed the young woman's disorientation with empathy and sympathy.

"You are in London, Miss," he began, his voice calm and reassuring. Every syllable was chosen carefully, trying to offer some comfort amidst the confusion. "This is an alley near the Institute," he added, offering a brief explanation before continuing. "My name is James Carstairs, although most call me Jem."

The woman's furrowed brows reflected her evident confusion, and Jem's heart sank in his chest. She was clearly some kind of warrior, but her lack of recognition about the Institute hinted that she wasn't affiliated with the Shadow World—neither a Downworlder nor a Shadowhunter. Who, then, was she?

"Institute?" She repeated with a frown, as if trying to fit the pieces of a puzzle together. Her eyes roamed the dark alley for a brief moment before focusing back on the silver-haired man with an uncanny intensity.

"Yes," Jem replied softly, sensing her unease and choosing to tread cautiously. This wasn't the moment for probing questions, not with her evident distress, the injuries she bore, and the glint of a weapon in her possession. "You are safe here. May I inquire about your name?"