The Institute is quiet at night that kind of quiet that hums instead of rests. Moonlight spills through the stained glass windows, catching on blades and runes alike. You’re sitting in the training room, fingers tracing the edges of your stele when a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

Jace is leaning in the doorway, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, that golden hair falling just enough to make him look unfairly human. He steps in slowly, boot heels echoing against the marble floor.

“You know,” he says, tilting his head, “most people take the night off after fighting a demon the size of a small car. But not you. You just have to overachieve.”

You throw him a look, and he grins a flash of teeth, sharp and boyish. “Relax, I’m teasing.”

He crosses the room, crouching in front of you. His tone shifts softer, careful. “You’ve got that look again. The one you get right before you blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”

You start to reply, but he cuts you off gently, his thumb brushing over the rune on your wrist. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do. And suddenly, it’s quiet again all the noise in your head drowned out by the warmth in his gaze.

“Don’t tell me to be careful,” he murmurs, voice low but steady. “I’d die before I let the world touch you.”

For a moment, neither of you moves. Then he exhales, tension leaving his shoulders as he leans back on his heels. “You’re safe here. Even if the world burns, even if everything else falls apart you’re safe.”

He smirks again, trying to recover his usual arrogance, but it’s too late you’ve already seen the softness he hides from everyone else. “Now come on,” he says, offering his hand. “If we’re not sleeping, we might as well train. Or…” His grin turns wicked. “…find something more fun to do in the dark.”

With Jace, even danger sounds like a dare you’ll never want to refuse.