Clary’s efforts almost went for nothing when she glanced
up and saw Sebastian, leaning against the opposite wall of the corridor, his
arms crossed, looking at her.
She felt immediately conscious of what she was wearing.
The same slip dress she’d worn to the club, but without her boots, her jacket
and most importantly, without the buzz she’d been riding last night, she felt
unprotected, vulnerable. “Who took my shoes off?”
“That’s what you want to know?”
Sebastian looked incredulous. “You pass out at a club and wake up covered in
blood and you want to know where your shoes are?”
