Clary had woken up with the kind of wooziness that only happened after hours of deep sleep. Her mouth tasted like cotton wool, her head twinged and it became amply clear that her body wasn’t happy with its recent mistreatment. Somehow, there was a glass of water on the nightstand of a bedroom she didn’t at all recognise. She stilled for a moment at that, looked around for a few seconds and realised she couldn’t figure out what time it was either. Sitting up slowly, Clary drained the glass of water, barely pausing for breath in between grateful gulps. Zagreb. Safe. For now. When she swung her legs out of the side of the bed, she quickly discovered something else: clothes. Clean clothes, clothes that looked like her own. She’d showered the day before, only dimly remembered doing it before she crashed, possibly sitting up at the time. Red hair was wavy and tangled when she emerged into the hallway and padded through to the living room, Clary making an attempt to fix it with her fingers.
Of course, that was the moment that she came face to face with Zagreb, smiled a little instinctively. “Hi,” she greeted him. “Sorry for passing out on you. I feel a lot better. What time is it? I can’t really tell, only that it’s dark outside.” Because at this point, her body didn’t seem to give a damn about sleep cycles. “How are you?” It was a strange question to ask, but the answer mattered, given that she was currently in this man’s space and he’d gotten her out of the way and off the police’s radar. “Thank you for the clothes and everything,” she added, indicating them. “Was that your bedroom that you let me sleep in?” Realistically, she didn’t know very much about where she was, but what she could detect was a pleasant smell on the air, one that definitely, definitely involved food. It was enough to make Clary fold arms around her stomach, not fully aware of the motion.
