““Most terrifying were the paintings. Every single one had been cut from its frame and ripped into strips, which were scattered across the floor. It must have been done with a knife—canvas was almost impossible to tear with your bare hands. The empty frames looked like bones picked clean. Clary felt a scream rising up in her chest: “Mom!” she shrieked. “Where are you? Mommy!” She hadn’t called Jocelyn “Mommy” since she was eight.””
