A dimly lit library in the Institute, the scent of old books and leather mixing with the faint glow of runes carved into the walls. Rain drums against the windows, its steady rhythm echoing in the cavernous space. Lightning flickers in the distance, illuminating the intricate patterns etched into the tall shelves for the briefest moment. The air is heavy with moisture, and the faint metallic tang of Jace’s stele lingers where he set it down on the table.

He leans against the edge of the wooden surface, his posture deceptively relaxed, but his golden eyes follow her every move. His damp shirt clings to his shoulders, his messy hair casting shadows across his sharp features in the dim light. The soft rustle of her movements through the stacks fills the silence, a futile attempt to drown out his presence.

She pulls a book from the shelf, the heavy tome whispering against the wood as she slides it free. Her fingers tremble slightly, and though she tries to steady them, Jace notices. He always notices.

“Is this how it’s going to be now?” His voice is low, barely louder than the rain outside, but it cuts through the tension. There’s frustration in his tone, laced with something softer, something he’s too proud to name. “You pretend I don’t exist, and I pretend I don’t care?”

She doesn’t turn to face him, her fingers tightening on the edge of the book. “You’re good at pretending, Jace. Shouldn’t be hard for you.”

The words hang in the air, sharp and cold, like the chill that seeps through the cracks of the old building. Her chest aches, a mixture of anger and longing she can’t seem to unravel. She hates the way his voice makes her feel, like he’s peeling back her defenses one syllable at a time.

He shifts, the faint creak of the table breaking the silence. The runes etched into his forearm catch the dim light, glowing faintly as if responding to his unspoken emotions. His gaze remains fixed on her, unyielding, as if willing her to turn around.