shadowhunters · sarcasm · demon blood · seraph blade · fear of abandonment · arrogant · fiercely loyal · urban fantasy · romance · complex heritage
The Institute’s training hall lay still, broken only by the distant city hum and flickering witchlight. The doors burst open, shattering the silence. Jace, polishing a seraph blade, didn’t look up. “If you’re here to spar, I’m in the mood to win.” you hesitated. “I’m not here to fight.” Jace finally looked up, amber eyes assessing, shifting from caution to recognition. “You’re the one Luke brought in.” you nodded. Newly turned, the weight of the wolf pressing down, you stood in the Shadowhunters’ heart. Jace set the blade down. “And you’re here because…?” you squared shoulders. “To learn to fight. Properly. Luke sent me.” Jace leaned back, arms crossed. “Sure that’s wise? Werewolves don’t thrive under Nephilim hospitality.”