Jace had shut his phone off shortly after he’d left home. It wasn’t just that the constant calls and texts were overwhelming, it was that somewhere in the back of his mind he thought his mother might be able to use the GPS on the phone to locate him if he kept it on.

Was it an unreasonable fear? Maybe. Was it a precaution he was going to take anyway? Absolutely.

He’d managed to elude her--elude everyone for a full day. It wasn’t an enjoyable experience, but Jace didn’t really think he deserved to enjoy anything.

The first few hours had been easy--he’d just run. He could focus completely on maneuvering around obstacles, about just going.

The fatigue set in a little while before dawn, and he’d had to slow to a walk--and that was a mistake, because as soon as he slowed down he realized how tired he was, how much he hurt. His feet were burning, his muscles were on fire. The idea of sitting down seemed like a luxury, so he denied himself that, too.

He hadn’t broken down, because if he was tired enough, he wouldn’t be able to. He could just keep walking, forever, and not have to stop and think.

So, he walked through morning, and a pace growing slower and slower, until he realized that he hadn’t eaten, didn’t have any energy, hadn’t slept. If he wanted to keep going, he needed something--so he stopped at the first shitty coffee shop he could find and got the most disgusting, black coffee on the menu. He paid in cash, because his card felt like a bomb. He took the coffee, and left.

It was stale, and bitter, and Jace hated the flavor. So, it was perfect for him.

He sipped at it while it was still too hot, because really, he didn’t deserve better than that.

Jace wanted to be away from everyone, but he could barely piece together what he was doing. Walking, without any purpose except to keep moving so he couldn’t stop and think--to wear himself out so he had no energy, so he could…

What?

So he could just run away from it forever?

He’d slowed down too much, and the guilt was catching up. He didn’t trust his emotions, so he’d banished himself down some dark alleyway to hide, maybe to rest. He knew it wasn’t safe--not in Destiny City, but he already decided he didn’t deserve safe.

A ladder led up to the roof of one of the buildings, and Jace didn’t particularly care for heights but he figured it was even less likely for him to be found up there than it was down here by a dumpster, so he climbed up.

The roof was hot, and uncomfortable, which was perfect, and it was too bad that there was such a nice breeze because Jace knew he didn’t deserve it. It was also unfortunate that there was such a nice view of the city.

He sat down, exhausted, and slumped his back against some of the bricks. He held the coffee in his hand and looked across the city for what might have been a minute, or an hour. He didn’t drink because he wanted to, but his body set into the mechanical motions of it. He sipped at it, and gradually became aware of the cooling temperature.

By the time he’d finished, it was lukewarm, and it still tasted horrible.

He was too tired to think, too tired to sleep.

Too guilty to function, and the longer he stayed still, the harder it was to chase away the thoughts.

Maybe--maybe--there had been a mistake. Maybe it was fixed by now.

Reluctantly, he turned his phone back on, and managed to get the internet open before any notifications or the texts and calls he’d missed came through.

Back to the page. Refresh.

Scroll.

Still no name.

And so, Jace had failed. Like he’d said he would, because what were the chances--they’d always been stacked against him. He’d told his mother he wasn’t ready but she’d pushed, and how could she be mad at him when he’d begged her to reconsider.

But, he’d been signed up, and that was that. And he was going to pass, she’d said so. She’d threatened, really, more than assured him, and when the wall of notifications finally appeared, he felt it hit him like a fist to the stomach.

If others had texted him, he missed it, if only because his mother’s notifications kept popping up.

Really, he shouldn’t have looked.

He should have just taken some time to compose himself, to plan how he was going to talk to her, to figure this out.

He didn’t.

He saw the angriest of her messages first, and his hand was trembling by the time he clicked on them to start scrolling. It took him half a minute to get to the first one.

Oh, she was mad. She was livid. She was disappointed. She told him he’d been slacking off, that he hadn’t taken this seriously. That he had wasted her time. That she’d been wrong to think he could do this. She demanded he come home, and then told him not to bother coming home, and then told him she expected him at work, and--it was all over the place. Jace skipped a few messages because he was just desperate to get to the bottom. She’d last texted him twenty minutes ago to call him ungrateful and demand he stop playing games. To scold him for being irresponsible.

He didn’t text back; he went to the voicemails instead.

They were worse. He’d been able to imagine her tone through the texts, but to hear it?

He listened to every voice mail. Every angry, scathing, bitter, disappointed, hurt voicemail, because, he deserved it.

She’d put so much time and effort into him, she’d tried so hard. Maybe she really did think he could do this. Maybe he really had stood a chance. And he'd ******** it up. She'd put so much into this and he'd absolutely ruined it. He'd embarrassed her, the firm. And now he was running away from it all because he wasn't brave enough to just--

To what? To accept that he had tried his hardest? That he'd really, honestly, thought he'd given it his all and he still hadn't come out on top? Or, at least, passing? The worst part of all of it was that he had tried his best, and he'd thought he'd done well.

And everyone knew. It wasn't like he could just sweep this under the rug. Xander knew, and Q, which meant Nelson knew. Holden knew, which meant Callan knew. His mother knew, so the whole ******** office probably knew, and all of her important friends. She'd probably bragged about how her son was taking the test and was going to be certified soon, and she was probably bragging about how she was such a great teacher--and he'd failed. And she was going to have to see these people, face to face, and deal with the humiliation of putting all of her faith in him just so he could drop the ball.

He threw up the disgusting coffee and deserved that too.

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't go home, not right now. He had to figure out a way to make this right, first.

...It just felt like an impossible task, and he didn't know where to start.

It was easier up here, away from the world. Away from everything. He could hear the sounds of the city but he hadn't seen someone in--

However long he'd been up here.

He swallowed, throat sore still. His mouth tasted like bile and coffee, and that seemed fitting, too.

His phone buzzed again and when he forced himself to look it was another message from his mother.

She must not have liked being left on read, but Jace couldn't bring himself to answer. He shut his phone off again and shoved it so deeply into his pocket that he couldn't be tempted to try refreshing the page just one more time.

Maybe he didn't deserve the moment of peace and calm that he tried to claim, there on the roof top. Maybe he should have been back at the library, studying, desperately trying to learn anything and everything he could to make it up to her. Maybe he should go back.

Her angry words echoed in his mind and he nearly threw up again, because he knew she'd ask him what happened--and he didn't know.

She was mad at him for failing.

But he'd tried his best. He'd done everything in his power to succed.

He'd tried his hardest, and he failed.

He didn't know if he could try harder. He didn't know if he'd ever succeed.

He wasn't ready to face the reality that something like that meant it was over for him. If he'd peaked on all of his potential and already crashed into the ceiling, there was nothing left for him. No matter how many hours a day he dedicated to studying, no matter how much was on his plate, if he couldn't do this, he couldn't do anything.

So, he didn't deserve to go home. He didn't have the energy to clean up after being sick so he just moved to another side of the roof. His legs didn't want to work, and his feet protested. He could feel them swelling in his shoes, but he just moved as close to the edge of the roof as he could without making it obvious that he was up there.

For a while, Jace sat. He had no concept of time. He didn't know how long he was up there, watching the clouds, watching the city.

The forest wasn't so far away, he could probably sneak up there and just live in the woods.

Somewhere between dreaming of the feasibility of moving into the forest and recognizing the immense pain in his empty stomach, Jace fell asleep. It wasn't a comfortable position by any means; he'd been cross legged and hunched over, and with his chin propped in one hand, and an elbow jammed into his knee, he'd just fallen asleep like that.

Maybe he would have stayed that way, blessedly away from all of the internal struggles and gradual breakdown of every meticulous plan he--his mother--had made, but Jace wasn't supposed to get to take it easy. In the absence of facing his mother, he'd have no choice by to punish himself, and it seemed like the world was willing to chip in.

Sometime in the afternoon, the clouds had started to roll in. It wasn't a storm, not by any means, and there were only faint traces of the smell of rain. Mostly, the smells of the city overwhelmed it. The temperature began an early, steady drop, well before the sun left the sky.

Jace awakened to the sensation of falling and briefly wondered if he'd gotten too close to the edge. He jerked away, upright, completely safe. He had only a few seconds of relief before the weight of reality came crushing back down and he had to smother all of the emotions down, again, because he still didn't know how to process it.

He'd rested. He needed to move. He couldn't handle the thoughts, the guilt, the grief. But if he moved, maybe he could outrun it.

...Maybe he'd have more luck outrunning them than he would outrunning the weather.

The wave of white clouds had rolled in, and without sunlight, being up so high had gotten cold. And the darkest clouds hadn't even started to roll in, yet.

He could see them in the horizon, but without a clear view of the sun he could only guess what time it was, and even then he only settled on 'time to get down'.

Time to go.

He still didn't have a destination, but he wasn't going to make it through another sleepless night. If he ran for long enough, he was just going to collapse and wind up in the hospital, where he couldn't run anymore.

Food was an option, distant, and he found he had no appetite.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do, now.

He didn't know how he was supposed to face anyone; he was humiliated and ashamed, and the longer he dragged this out, the worse it was going to be.

Maybe he could outrun the thoughts, though. Maybe he could outrun all of it.

Even the thunder in the distance.