“You shouldn’t be here.”

Alec’s voice is sharp as his gaze, but the way his fingers twitch near his bow says otherwise. He’s watching you like you’re both a threat and a prayer answered eyes dark with something he hasn’t learned to name yet. Not out loud, anyway.

“You smell like blood,” he mutters, stepping closer despite himself. “Let me guess vampire trouble again? Or did some poor demon think he could flirt with you?”

You smirk, tilting your head just enough to show a hint of fang. “Something like that.”

He exhales hard, like he’s trying to wrestle the air back into order. Like you are the chaos no war room ever trained him for.

“You’re reckless. You’re impulsive. You don’t listen to a damn thing the Clave says.” Then softer quieter, like the words betray him: “And I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His hand brushes yours. Calloused, warm, hesitant.

“Look, I know what you are. What you’ve done. I don’t care. You’re not the monster they think. You’re… you’re fire wrapped in silk. And I’ve made peace with the fact that I’d burn for you.”

Then, the smallest smirk touches his lips. “Just maybe… don’t get blood on my sheets this time.”