THE LONDON INSTITUTE, 1873

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     Evangeline Rosewell did not know where she was.

She didn't know where she was a lot of the time, lately. It was a blur of different houses and different smiling faces. Smiling faces that quickly stopped smiling, she found, as soon as they realized she was not a happy girl. They wanted her to be happy; it made her easier to deal with. She didn't know why that was, but she had heard plenty other adults say so, when they thought she couldn't hear them. Many adults thought children couldn't hear them. She had learned that, too. She had learned a many things over the past year, but the biggest lesson was one she held close, like a safety net.

The lesson was this: A lot of nice people stopped being nice when other people were not watching.

Another thing she learned was that being homeless was not as fun as she once thought it was, before she had been thrust into such a predicament herself. She had fantasized, once, about running away with a little sheet full of things she would need, thinking of it as some sort of adventure. She knew better now.

The money that her father had left for her could not be touched until she was eighteen, or so the Clave and many other adults had said, and the Rosewell family's funds had been frozen until then, save small allowances she was given every month just for toys and dresses and anything materialistic she might want. She hadn't seen much of that monthly allowance the past year. The families who had gleefully taken her in had claimed them for themselves, claiming it was theirs, to pay for her upkeep.

Evangeline knew the money wasn't theirs. She just didn't think it was worth much of the trouble. What did money matter, when both her parents were ashes in the wind, and she was now being carted off from house to house, never knowing where she'd be next? The families could have it all if they wanted. The only problem was that they never seemed to want her. They wanted her at first, because of her name. The Rosewell line was a fine family, a prestigious and famous family, a lineage full of strong warriors. They had jumped at the chance to take in the Rosewell orphan, thinking it would uplift their status somehow.

All it did was make them realize they didn't much like sad little girls. And Evangeline was possibly the saddest little girl they had ever seen. All she did was sit at windows or stare. She did not play, she barely spoke unless spoken to, and when she ate, she ate slowly, as if she had to force the food down her throat. The families probably could've handled that—"She is grieving, let her be sad," a kinder soul would've said—but then the nights came, and with the nights came the night terrors, and the crying, and the absent-minded roaming of hallways when Evangeline couldn't sleep.

It was those disruptive, sleepless nights that usually made them ship Evangeline off. She had been shipped off enough times to know. And as the carriage pulled to an abrupt halt and Evangeline peered out the small window, she couldn't help feeling like this was yet another place she would leave in a month or so. She pressed her back against the velvet cushions as Callida Fairchild started to smooth out both of their skirts. Out of every Enclave member that had come to escort Evangeline this way and that all over the city, she had gotten Callida the most, and she found the older woman was probably her favorite. She was always kind, even when people weren't watching. As the driver jumped down to open their carriage door, Callida reaching forward to make Evangeline more presentable. Evangeline didn't know why it mattered if her hair looked nice or if her pink dress was wrinkly; it had never saved her from being sent away before.

"Which family is this one?" Evangeline asked, right when the man opened the door. There was an awkward pause. Evangeline blinked, then let the man help her out of the carriage. He had to lift her down from the last step, as jumping down was supposedly too much for her. She scowled and ducked her head as Callida came down as well. As her two trunks' worth of belongs were hoarded off as well, she raised her head and glanced around curiously. She was in an open yard surrounded by a tall black gate, and right in front of her were two large double doors. Etched into the center of each of them was the Voyance rune. Curiously, she glanced down at her right hand, where her own Voyance rune had been etched when she was ten years old. She was still staring at it when the double doors creaked open and two figures came out, a man with bright red hair and a vaguely blank expression, and a woman with brown hair and a polite expression.

"Hello," the woman said immediately, smiling such a gentle smile that for a moment, Evangeline felt comforted. It immediately went away. Nice people are not always nice, she repeated to herself, even as the woman completely ignored Callida in favor of sinking down into a crouch. Evangeline was looking down at her now. It was an odd experience. No one else had crouched down to greet her. Evangeline glanced over at Callida for guidance, but found she was talking with the man, who was fiddling with some type of device in his hand. Swallowing the lump suddenly in her throat, Evangeline looked back at the woman uncertainly. She was smiling still, even as she waited.

"H-Hello," Evangeline stammered out. She had a sudden impulse to hide behind Callida's large skirts, but that was ridiculous. Evangeline was thirteen years old now, and she had officially started her training as a Shadowhunter. She was a bit behind everyone else her age just because of all the moving, but she was no less brave. She did not need to hide behind skirts any longer. She rocked back on her heels once, then added politely, "I am Evangeline Rosewell. It's a pleasure to meet you." She had said it so many times by that point that there was no more warmth in the words, just an emptiness. It sounded rehearsed.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Evangeline. My name is Charlotte Branwell, and this is my husband, Henry." Charlotte motioned toward the man, who looked up at the sound of his name. He brightened when he noticed Evangeline looking and quickly gave her a friendly smile, as well as a wave. The device in his hand went flying when he did, his fingers loose when he waved. It soared until it hit the gate with a loud clang. Evangeline stared as the man panicked and raced to get it, crying out something about his invention. Evangeline blinked a few times, then giggles started bubbling in her chest. It had been so long since she laughed that she forgot how to hold her laughter back. Her giggles came pouring out. It was rude of her, but she didn't care.

It wasn't like they were going to keep her.

"Well, I'll be," Callida murmured softly. "I daresay, Lottie, that's the first time I've heard the poor girl laugh." There the adults went again, acting as if Evangeline couldn't hear. Evangeline peered around Charlotte's shoulder, pretending not to notice as she looked up at the large fortress Charlotte and Henry seemed to live in. It reminded her of a church, all gray and tall and made of stone, with tall windows and multiple floors. It did not look like a home, not one she had been into before. It looked like a prison, or an orphanage. That was where they sent sad little girls who had no family, wasn't it? Feeling a little more scared, she looked at Charlotte with wide eyes.

"Am I being locked away?" she asked, her voice starting to get high in panic. She cast a desperate look Callida's way. "Please don't lock me away! I'll be good, I swear. I won't even be sad anymore!" She grasped a fistful of Callida's skirt, while the adults—even Henry—stared at her with wide, startled eyes. Charlotte reacted first, reaching for Evangeline's hands. Her grip was gentle.

"No, Evangeline, you are not being locked away," Charlotte said gently, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on the backs of Evangeline's small hands. "This is the London Institute. This is a very safe place for anyone lost and in need of help. I'm sorry it took us such a long time to offer you a room here. My husband and I just started running the Institute, you see, and it took us a while to find our footing. But we found it, and we would like to invite you to live with us. If you want to." Evangeline blinked slowly, glancing up at the fortress again. Now that she knew it was an Institute, she felt a little more safe, though not any less sad.

"You did not invite me," Evangeline said calmly. "You have to take me in. That's what an Institute does with orphans who have nowhere else to go." She pulled her hands back, and Charlotte dropped them with a stunned expression. "And that means you cannot send me away. Doesn't it?"

"I—" Charlotte started, then stopped. There was a beat of tense silence.

"Yes," her husband said quickly, looking a bit confused. "By Law, we cannot send you away."

Evangeline smiled then. It was odd, seeing a child smile when the smile didn't reach their eyes. Evangeline sounded ancient when she looked up at the Institute once again and said, "I think I shall like it here."

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"If she said she would like it here then why is she never anywhere?" a petulant Will Herondale asked over breakfast two days later, stabbing at his eggs with his fork. He was only twelve years old, but he would be thirteen soon, at the end of December. Jem Carstairs, who had just turned thirteen and was enjoying celebratory pancakes for that very reason, ignored his friend's complaints and enjoyed his breakfast. Will had been complaining ever since they found out the little girl was older than them both. It was only by a few months—according to Charlotte, her birthday was in June—but Will was acting as if it was a slight to him, personally. He wanted to say so to the girl's face, but she had yet to reveal herself, staying locked away in her room. "And why do I not get any pancakes?"

"You'll get your pancakes the morning of your birthday," Agatha, the Institute cook, said immediately as she came to add yet another fluffy cake to Jem's plate. "Let James have his own. Lord knows you two share enough." Jem found he liked this tradition for birthdays, and picked up his fork to dig in happily—and then he paused. Not because Will was pouting at him across the table, but because Agatha had turned toward Charlotte and had whispered, "Lil Evangeline isn't eating, miss. Won't open her door for nothin'. Would you have me leave her plate by the door like normal?"

"Yes, Agatha," Charlotte sighed, looking troubled. Jem and Will, overhearing because adults never seemed to realize that children could hear them talking and could understand every word, shared a mutual look of interest over the table. But neither spoke, not until Agatha added two more pancakes to Jem's plate.

"Thank you, Aggie," Jem said sweetly, because adults liked him, so he could get away with more than Will could. He even added a smile for good measure. "These are delicious." Agatha ruffled his hair. He looked at Charlotte next, already gripping his plate of pancakes in both hands while Will grabbed the jug of milk and poured a fresh glass of milk. "May I finish my breakfast in my room? Will, too?"

"Of course, James. Clean up after yourselves!" Charlotte cried abruptly, tacking on the order at the end, but it was too late. Jem and Will were already gone.

A few minutes later, they were walking fast down the hall, Jem holding his plate of stacked pancakes while Will held the glass of milk. Will was leading the way. He knew the halls of the Institute better than Jem did, as Jem was still fairly new, to both the Institute and London. They found the new girl's door quickly, though it wasn't hard. The empty hallway was only disrupted by the tray of breakfast food left abandoned in front of the door, a thin cloth over it to keep flies away. Will bent to retrieve it, balanced the glass of milk on top, and then used his foot to bang hard and loud on the door. Jem made a distressed sound, but Will didn't notice.

It wasn't until the door was opening that Will shot him a panicked look and said, "Wait, what's her na—"

He broke off when the door was being thrown open abruptly. The girl wasn't what Jem had expected, though he had no idea what he had expected. Someone taller than both of them, maybe, but no. She was a tiny thing, short and skinny, with long unkept brown hair, pale skin, and wide brown eyes. She looked gaunt, shadows under her eyes like she hadn't slept for days. Jem thought briefly that she was sick like him, but then he dismissed the thought. If she were sick, then surely Charlotte would've told them; surely, they wouldn't have been allowing her to leave her meals out in the hallway. After all, he couldn't get away with something like that.

"Hello," Jem said kindly, once it was clear Will and the girl weren't going to say anything first. They seemed to be having a sort of contest, the first person to look away being the loser. The girl lost, blinking and looking over at Jem curiously. Will didn't look away, though. He just kept staring with wide eyes. "I'm James Carstairs, but everyone calls me Jem. This is my friend, Will Herondale."

"Hello," the girl said rather flatly. She did not look impressed by Jem's introduction. She glanced down at his plate curiously. "I'm Evangeline Rosewell. Just Evangeline." She glanced once at Will, then narrowed her eyes. "Why is he staring at me?" Jem opened his mouth to answer, but Will answered first.

"My God," Will gasped, "you look like a ghost."

"Will!" Jem said, mortified at his rudeness. Evangeline didn't have a physical reaction, not at first. She stared at Will for a long time, and then she slowly stepped out of her bedroom doorway. She was barefoot, still wearing her nightgown. She stared at Will long and hard, hard enough to make him start squirming, and then she reached forward slowly. At first, Jem thought she was going to take the tray of food and then go back into her room. She reached for the glass of milk instead. She took a few small sips of it, and then she moved faster than Jem had seen anyone move. She was by Will's side a second later, rising up on her tiptoes and stretching her arm high above both of their heads.

The glass of milk was turned upside down, and Will's mess of black hair was immediately soaked with milk. An entire glass, upended right on top of his head. Jem's jaw dropped, his eyes going wide. Will stood frozen, his eyes still clenched shut from when he had closed them. For a moment, everything was quiet save for the dripping of milk onto the stone floors of the Institute. Will was wearing black training clothes, and now everything on him looked paler. Jem closed his mouth abruptly to keep his sudden laughter away.

"Well," Evangeline sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I suppose now it's you who looks like a ghost."

That did it. The entire hallway was suddenly filled with Jem's laughter. Will and Evangeline both looked at him in shock, but while Will looked betrayed, Evangeline started to relax slowly. A few seconds later, her own lips were twitching in amusement, and then her light giggles were quickly following, joining Jem's laughter. Will glanced between the two of them, looking completely lost and unprepared—and then he was laughing too. The three children laughed until it hurt, though it stopped being funny far before that, and then they were wordlessly sinking down to sit on the floor of the hallway. It was a silent understanding, something instinctual that made them all sit at the same time. None of them questioned it.

"I brought these for you," Jem said eventually, handing her the plate of pancakes. "The milk was yours, too." Will snorted. Jem shot him a small smile. Evangeline ducked her head. "We heard you weren't eating and wanted to cheer you up. We both know what it's like to be new here. We know it's sad. But it gets better, I promise. Until then, let Agatha's food cheer you up! She's an amazing cook." Jem smiled brightly then. Will snorted again, though it was softer.

"He's cheerful, isn't he?" Will muttered. Jem drove his elbow into Will's side, and his friend grunted. When Evangeline glanced up, Jem saw that she was smiling. She didn't look so haunted anymore. Color was in her cheeks now, and Jem was grateful for it. He hated seeing people sad.

"Not cheerful," Evangeline said softly, smiling at Jem. "Just kind." She picked up one of the three pancakes, then pushed the plate away from her. "Let's all share! It's the least I could do." She shot Will a shy look. "Sorry," she added under her breath. Will grinned widely, then shook his hair out, sending wet droplets all over both of them.

"Oh, this is splendid," Will said with an even wider grin, making Evangeline frown in confusion. "You're living with us now, which means I have plenty of time to get the two of you back for that." Much to Jem's disbelief—and growing delight—Evangeline grinned back, like she was looking forward to it.

"Me?" Jem asked, grinning. "All I did was laugh!"

"And I will get my vengeance!"

Evangeline's laugh rang out then, bright and loud. It made both boys stop and stare, and then they were laughing again too, at the ridiculousness of it all.

That was how Charlotte found them. Evangeline, eating pancakes through her sudden bout of hiccups; Jem, also with a bout of hiccups, helping Evangeline finish off the cakes; and Will, explaining in great detail his plan of revenge, still soaked to the bone with the milk he had brought Evangeline himself.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: They mean the world to me. This is short and sweet, but I thought it'd be nice to see how Evangeline, Jem, and Will all met and became friends. Yes, Evangeline dumping milk on Will's head was the reason she was welcomed into Jem and Will's little bubble, and no, I do not take constructive criticism. Hope you liked it xoxo I'm so excited for this story xoxo