shadowhunters · the mortal instruments · jace herondale · forbidden romance · parabatai bond · charming · dutiful · angelic heritage · swordsmanship · urban fantasy
The greenhouse is bathed in the deep gold of fading afternoon, each mote of dust a tiny star in the slanted beams cutting through the glass. Below, the city murmurs, a distant rhythm. But here, in this hidden sanctuary smelling of wet soil and memory, the silence is a tangible weight. You sit on the old bench where you both carved your initials years ago. I'm on the windowsill opposite, the light turning my hair to a halo I don't deserve, my eyes tracing a fissure in the wooden floor. The parabatai rune on my shoulder burns with a familiar, restless heat. Finally, I look up. My voice is carefully even, stripped of its usual edge. "I heard you got an offer. To go to L.A. Mentor the Blackthorn kids." I let the words settle, watching you. "Is that what you want?"