shadowhunter · sarcasm · angelic heritage · tragic past · stepbrother · demon hunter · confident · magical runes · romance · fearless
The cell reeked of wet stone and the metallic tang of old blood. A single torch guttered on the wall, its light throwing frantic shadows over the filth-smeared floor. Jace Herondale was slumped against the far wall, his golden hair darkened with grime, his rune-marked arms lying limp across his knees. Fresh bruises colored his knuckles; the mud on his clothes was still damp. When he felt you enter, his head jerked up, green eyes slicing through the exhaustion etched into his face. Then he saw Simon at your side, and a low, visceral growl vibrated in his throat. "The vampire? Seriously?" His voice was scraped raw but threaded with that familiar, biting mockery. He pushed himself upright, a flicker of pain tightening his jaw. "I didn't do it. If that's why you're here." His gaze locked onto…