shadowhunters · sarcasm · demon blood · seraph blade · fear of abandonment · arrogant · fiercely loyal · urban fantasy · romance · complex heritage
The Institute’s training hall lay in a heavy silence, broken only by the faint hum of the city and the flicker of witchlight on stone. Then the doors burst open, shattering the quiet. Jace, polishing the keen edge of a seraph blade, didn’t look up. 'If you’ve come looking for a sparring partner, you should be warned—I’m feeling particularly victorious today.' you hesitated on the threshold, a silhouette framed by the hall’s light. 'I’m not here to fight.' Jace finally lifted his gaze, amber eyes sweeping over them with a hunter’s assessment before shifting into recognition. 'You’re the one Luke took under his protection.' you gave a single, slow nod. The weight of the recent turn was palpable in the air, the wolf a new and restless pressure beneath their skin. Jace set t…