Clary adjusted the straps of her worn backpack as she stepped off the bus and onto the cracked pavement of Hathien. The city was alive in a way she had never experienced—chaotic, grimy, and humming with an energy that made her heart race. It smelled of sweat, decay, and freedom. She ran a hand through her freshly dyed hair, the pale pink strands streaked with blonde feeling like a badge of rebellion. Her mother would have called it a sin, but Clary thought it was beautiful.

She had waited until she left New Orleans to make the change. Standing in the bathroom of a dingy motel, armed with a box of hair dye she’d bought with the last of her cash, she had stared at her reflection in the mirror. The girl looking back at her had her father’s caramel skin, her mother’s green eyes, and the same shy, uncertain expression she’d worn her whole life. She wanted to be someone else—someone brave, someone free. When she rinsed the dye out and saw the vibrant pink, she smiled.

For the first time, she felt like herself.

Clary’s childhood had been anything but free. Her parents, devout to the point of obsession, had kept her isolated. Rules governed every aspect of her life—what she wore, what she said, and even what she thought. When she showed the slightest hint of rebellion, their punishments were swift and severe. They had sent her to a strict Catholic boarding school, hoping the nuns would mold her into the perfect daughter. Instead, Clary spent her teenage years in loneliness, ostracized by her classmates for her towering height and awkward demeanor.
The other girls whispered behind her back, calling her a freak and laughing at the oversized uniforms that hung awkwardly on her athletic frame. She had no friends, no confidants. She had never been invited to a party, never held hands in secret, never stolen a kiss under the stars. At 21, she was still a virgin, untouched and inexperienced, with no idea what love—or even attraction—really felt like.

Yet, for all their strictness, her parents were not without secrets. Late at night, when they thought she was asleep, she heard their hushed arguments. Words like betrayal, sin, and redemption echoed through the thin walls of their home. Sometimes, her mother wept. Other times, her father’s voice carried a sharp edge that made Clary shiver. She didn’t know what they were hiding, but she knew it was something dark, something they had vowed to keep from her at all costs.

Her decision to leave had been both sudden and inevitable. On the night of her 21st birthday, alone in her dorm room, Clary realized she couldn’t live like this anymore. She packed her few belongings into a battered backpack, scrawled a note to her parents—
"I’m leaving.
Don’t look for me.
I need to find my own life."

—and boarded the first bus out of home town.

Hathien was everything her old life wasn’t. The city was loud, filthy, and unapologetically raw. It was a place where people did what they wanted, consequences be damned. Clary felt out of place but exhilarated. Her towering six-foot-three frame, caramel skin, and newly dyed hair drew attention, but she didn’t care. For the first time, she didn’t have to.

She found work quickly, joining the Fire Department of Hathien (FDH) as a probationary firefighter. The job was grueling—long hours of training, hauling heavy equipment, and enduring the relentless teasing of her colleagues. Yet Clary thrived on the physical challenge. Her body, honed by years of athletics, was built for the work, even if her mind still wrestled with the doubts her parents had instilled in her.

The city, however, was a test of her resilience in ways she hadn’t expected.

Hathien was infamous for its violence and vice. Murders, assaults, rape and corruption were as common as potholes. Clary heard the stories from her colleagues, reading articles in the Observer and saw the aftermath in the neighborhoods she passed on her way home. Yet she had been lucky so far, avoiding the worst of the city’s darkness. She couldn’t avoid the reality forever, though—

Hathien had a way of forcing itself upon you.

One evening, after a long training session at the firehouse, Clary decided to take a shortcut home. The narrow alley was dimly lit, lined with trash and graffiti, the smell of decay heavy in the air. She wasn’t afraid; she had taken this path before without incident. But tonight, the city felt different—too quiet.

She heard footsteps behind her. At first, she dismissed them as another pedestrian, but the sound grew closer, deliberate. Her stomach tightened. Clary glanced over her shoulder and saw a man, his face obscured by the shadows, walking directly toward her. His smile was unsettling, his intentions unmistakable.

“Hey there, sweetheart” he called, his voice dripping with menace.

Clary froze, her heart pounding. The man quickened his pace, closing the distance. She stammered a warning, but he didn’t stop. Then, as he reached out, a loud crash broke the tension—a stray cat knocking over a trash can. The noise startled the man, who cursed under his breath and darted into the shadows.

Clary stood rooted in place, trembling. The encounter had been brief, but it left her shaken to her core. When she finally reached her apartment, she locked the door, her hands shaking as she slid the bolt into place. She sat on the floor, clutching her knees, replaying the moment over and over.

The next day, she bought a can of pepper spray and clipped it to her keychain. From then on, it never left her side. Hathien was a city of freedom, yes, but it was also a city that demanded vigilance. Clary vowed never to be caught unprepared again.