Around New York, Late Friday Evening

There were no messages stuck to Jordan's apartment door, nothing on or under the welcome mat, and nothing immediately obvious inside the apartment, either. While Alec stood guard downstairs and Maia and Jordan rummaged through Simon's backpack in the living room, Isabelle, standing in the doorway of Simon's bedroom, looked silently at the place he'd been sleeping for the past few days. It was so empty — just four walls, naked of any decoration, a bare floor with a futon mattress on it and a white blanket folded at the foot, and a single window that looked out onto Avenue B.

( She could hear the city. )

[ooc: NFB, NFI, OOC-okay! From City of Fallen Angels. Warning for unpleasantness with dead children.]

New York, Even Later Friday Evening

There was something eerie about fighting the cultists of the Church of Talto. They moved all together, less like people than like an eerie dark tide — eerie because they were so silent and so bizarrely strong and fast. They also seemed totally unafraid of death. Though Alec and Isabelle shouted at them to keep back, they kept moving forward in a wordless, clustering horde, flinging themselves at the Shadowhunters with the self-destructive mindlessness of lemmings hurling themselves over a cliff. They had backed Alec and Isabelle down the hallway and into the big, open room full of stone pedestals, when the noise of the fight brought Jordan and Maia running: Jordan in wolf form, Maia still human, but with her claws fully out.

( The cultists seemed barely to register their presence. )

[ooc: NFB, to be continued in the comments! Taken once more from City of Fallen Angels, which concludes here because I am efficient, omg.]