Chapter 42 : EVIDENCE GATHERING
Sebastian's file arrived from London with all the right stamps and signatures.
I spread the documents across my desk, studying each page for discrepancies. Birth certificates, training records, mission reports — a complete history of a Shadowhunter who'd grown up in London, distinguished himself in combat, and requested transfer to New York out of professional admiration.
All of it lies.
The real Sebastian Verlac had existed, according to Clave records. He'd been a competent if unremarkable Shadowhunter, stationed at the London Institute, known for being quiet and studious. Then he'd disappeared on a mission six months ago.
Right around the time Valentine would have needed someone to infiltrate my Institute.
I photographed every document, noting subtle inconsistencies that might not mean anything on their own but formed a pattern when viewed together. Signatures that didn't quite match historical examples. Training evaluations that used vocabulary specific to European academies the real Sebastian had never attended. Small errors that a thorough impostor might make if he'd studied someone's life without living it.
None of it was proof. But it was a start.
Izzy accepted her assignment without question.
"You want me to work closely with Sebastian." She sat across from me, professional mask firmly in place. "Institute orientation, you said."
"He needs someone to show him how we operate. Our procedures are different from London's."
"And you want me specifically because...?"
"You're good at reading people. And you notice things others miss." I met her eyes. "Consider it an extended evaluation."
Understanding flickered across her face. "You don't trust him."
"I trust evidence. So far, the evidence says he's exactly what he claims to be. But something feels wrong, and I can't point to why." I leaned forward. "Watch him, Izzy. Watch how he interacts with people, what questions he asks, where his attention goes when he thinks no one's looking."
"And if I find something?"
"Then we'll have a conversation about what to do next."
Izzy nodded slowly. "How do you want me to play it?"
"Friendly. Helpful. Exactly what he expects from the acting head's sister welcoming a new arrival." I paused. "He's charming, Izzy. Very charming. Don't let that affect your judgment."
"Please." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I grew up watching Jace charm every breathing creature in the Institute. I know manipulation when I see it."
"I'm counting on that."
Hodge's observation came unprompted.
We met in the training room during the quiet hours after midnight, when most of the Institute slept and even Aldertree's surveillance had gaps.
"The new transfer," Hodge said without preamble. "Sebastian Verlac."
"What about him?"
"He moves wrong." Hodge's voice was flat with certainty. "I've trained with London Shadowhunters. Their combat forms have specific characteristics — footwork patterns, blade angles, the way they integrate their seraph blades. Verlac has European flourishes but his instincts are... different."
"Different how?"
"Faster. More brutal. Like someone who learned to fight where failure meant death, not just detention." Hodge met my eyes. "The London Institute isn't known for producing warriors like that."
The confirmation settled into my chest like cold iron.
"You're saying his fighting style doesn't match his records."
"I'm saying whoever taught Sebastian Verlac to fight didn't do it at any Institute I've ever seen." Hodge paused. "I've met a lot of Circle veterans over the years. The old ones, who trained under Valentine during the Uprising. Verlac moves like them — efficient, remorseless, designed for killing."
Because he was trained by Valentine. In Edom, surrounded by demons, where failure meant worse than death.
"Can you document this? Specifics I could present to the Clave if needed?"
"I can note the discrepancies. Whether the Clave would care is another question." Hodge's expression darkened. "They're more interested in your heresy than in investigating new transfers."
"Aldertree."
"Watches everything you do and ignores everything else." Hodge's jaw tightened. "I don't know what Sebastian Verlac is, but I know he's not what he claims. And I know the Clave observer is more interested in building a case against you than in finding the truth."
The trap within the trap. Aldertree, Valentine's mole, positioned to obstruct any investigation into Valentine's son.
"Keep watching," I said. "Document everything. And be careful — both of them are dangerous."
"Understood."
The days settled into a pattern of observation and concealment.
Sebastian continued his charm offensive, winning allies throughout the Institute with apparent effortlessness. He spent hours helping Clary with her training, asking questions about her unique abilities that made my skin crawl. He trained with Jace, matching my parabatai's skill in ways that should have been impossible for a "quiet, studious" Shadowhunter from London.
And he watched me.
Not obviously — never obviously. But I caught him observing my movements, tracking my decisions, analyzing the way I led the Institute and coordinated with Downworld allies. Every piece of information he gathered would eventually reach Valentine.
The knowledge burned like acid in my stomach.
I wanted to confront him. To drag him into an interrogation room and force the truth out of him with blade and blood. Every moment he spent charming my people, studying my sister's gift, learning the Institute's weaknesses — it was a moment I let the enemy inside my walls.
But I couldn't act without proof. The Clave already considered me a potential heretic; attacking a transfer without evidence would destroy any credibility I'd built. Worse, it would reveal that I knew things I shouldn't — that my knowledge went beyond what any Shadowhunter investigation could explain.
So I watched him watch me.
Two predators circling in the same cage, each waiting for the other to make a mistake.
"You're troubled."
Magnus appeared on my office balcony that evening, portal magic still fading around him. His expression carried the particular concern that came from knowing someone too well.
"New transfer." I moved to join him, letting the evening air cool the tension that had become my constant companion. "Sebastian Verlac, from London."
"The charming one everyone's been talking about?" Magnus's tone was carefully neutral. "I've heard good things."
"He's not what he seems."
"Few people are, in my experience." Magnus studied my face. "What do you know?"
That he's Valentine's son, raised in a demon dimension, sent to infiltrate my Institute and destroy everything I love.
"I know his fighting style doesn't match his records. I know his questions about Clary's abilities are too specific, too directed. I know he makes my instincts scream in ways I can't rationally explain." I met Magnus's eyes. "I know I can't prove any of it."
"Then we investigate." Magnus's voice went businesslike. "I have contacts in London. Real contacts, not Clave records. Let me ask some questions about the real Sebastian Verlac — where he went, what happened to him, who might have taken his identity."
"You'd do that?"
"Alexander." Magnus touched my face, and his magic hummed against my skin like a whispered promise. "You're the man I love. If someone's threatening your Institute, they're threatening you. And I've lived four centuries without letting anyone threaten the people I care about."
The declaration loosened something in my chest.
"Thank you."
"Thank me when we have answers." He kissed me softly. "Until then, watch your back. And watch him."
"I intend to."
Below us, the Institute's courtyard showed Sebastian walking with a group of young Shadowhunters, laughing at something one of them said. From this distance, he looked exactly like what he claimed to be — a friendly transfer, eager to belong.
But I knew what he was.
And I would prove it, whatever it took.
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