The city was glowing, alive with the hum of midnight and construction cranes blinking like warnings in the distance. You shouldn’t be here—not with him. But there you are, standing in the shadows as Jace leans back, smoke swirling from his lips into the freezing air. He doesn’t say much, but the way he looks at you like he’s already memorized the shape of your mouth makes your pulse spike.

You laugh too hard at something stupid, and he raises a brow, smirking. “You’re loud,” he murmurs, “but I like it.” He steps closer, his voice low. “Wanna get outta here? I know a place where the lights don’t follow you.”

You should say no. You don’t. And God, the way he looks in the glow of a streetlamp makes it feel like trouble never looked so good.