Chapter 8 : CATCHING A TRAITOR — PART 1
Hodge Starkweather sent his fire messages from an abandoned storage room on the Institute's fourth floor.
I'd been tracking his patterns for days. The man was careful — varying his timing, checking for surveillance, using different routes to reach his communication point. Standard Circle tradecraft, the kind of operational security that had kept Valentine's network hidden for years.
But careful wasn't perfect.
The storage room's door had a gap at the bottom. Wide enough to see boots moving inside. Wide enough to confirm that Hodge was alone before I made my move.
I pressed against the corridor wall, stele in hand, Soundless rune freshly applied. The mark's effect wrapped around me like a second skin — every footstep silent, every breath muffled. Not invisible, but close enough in the dim lighting.
Through the gap, I watched Hodge prepare his message.
Fire messages were an old Circle technique. Write your communication on specially treated paper, ignite it with a stele, and the flames would carry your words to a receiving flame anywhere in the world. Untraceable by mundane technology. Nearly impossible to intercept without knowing where to look.
Hodge's hands moved with practiced efficiency. Paper from a hidden compartment in the wall. Stele drawn from his sleeve. A quick glance toward the door — the paranoia of a man who knew he was committing treason.
He didn't look down at the gap. Didn't see the phone camera I'd positioned to capture the moment.
The paper ignited. Orange flames licked upward, consuming Hodge's words and carrying them to Valentine.
I waited until the fire died. Until Hodge tucked the stele back into his sleeve and reached for the door.
Then I stepped into view.
"Evening, Hodge."
He went for his weapon. Fast for his age — Circle training never fully faded. His seraph blade cleared its sheath before my hand caught his wrist.
"Don't."
The word came out harder than I'd intended. Alec's voice, but my own cold certainty beneath it.
Hodge's eyes met mine. In them, I saw the calculations running — could he overpower me, could he reach the door, could he call for help without explaining what he'd been doing.
"Alec." His voice stayed level, but his pulse hammered against my grip. "What are you doing here?"
I released his wrist and showed him my phone. The screen displayed his fire message in frozen clarity — the paper, the flames, the Circle symbol on his neck caught in the act of glowing.
"I'm offering you a choice."
The color drained from his face.
"That's— I can explain—"
"Don't." I stepped closer, backing him against the storage room's far wall. "I know what you are, Hodge. I know what you've been doing. Reporting Institute security to Valentine's network. Tracking patrol rotations. Cataloging our defensive weaknesses."
"How—"
"Does it matter?" I kept my voice low, conversational. Like we were discussing weather instead of treason. "What matters is what happens next. Option one: I show this to my mother. She brings in the Clave. You're tried, convicted, and executed within the week. The curse on your neck means you can't run — you're trapped here until they come for you."
Hodge's hand moved toward his blade again. I let him. We both knew he wasn't fast enough to matter.
"Option two," I continued. "You become useful to me instead of Valentine."
The hand stopped.
"What?"
"You heard me. Continue your reports. Keep sending fire messages. But the information you share — that goes through me first. I tell you what Valentine learns and what he doesn't. In exchange, you stay alive. You stay free of the Clave. And when this is over, I help you break that curse."
Silence stretched between us.
Hodge's eyes searched my face, looking for the trick, the trap, the hidden angle that would make this offer something other than what it appeared.
"Why?" The question came out ragged. "Why not just expose me? I've been... the things I've done..."
"Because a dead traitor gives me nothing." I let the hardness show — the calculation that came naturally in this body, the pragmatism that the original Alec might have balked at. "A turned traitor gives me Valentine's network. His plans. His timeline. Information I can use to protect everyone in this Institute."
"You'd trust me? After everything?"
"Trust?" A dry laugh escaped. "No. But I'd use you. And right now, that's the best offer you're going to get."
The storage room felt smaller with every passing second. Dust motes drifted in the dim light. Somewhere below us, the Institute's normal rhythms continued — patrols rotating, Shadowhunters training, a world unaware of the negotiation happening in its forgotten corners.
Hodge's blade returned to its sheath.
His hand was shaking.
"The Circle," he said slowly. "Valentine — he has contacts everywhere. The Clave. Other Institutes. If he finds out I've turned—"
"Then we'll deal with that when it happens." I pocketed my phone but didn't break eye contact. "Right now, I need to know if you're in or out. Option one or option two. There's no option three."
The Circle rune on his neck seemed to pulse in the lamplight. A brand of old loyalties, old sins, the weight of choices made before I was born.
Hodge Starkweather, weapons master of the New York Institute, Circle member, traitor to everything the Lightwood family represented —
He met my eyes.
"What do you need to know?"
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