Jace Herondale

First chat

The abandoned church in Brooklyn should be empty at midnight, but you hear the sound of steel against steel echoing through broken stained glass. You slip through the cracked door and freeze. A figure moves like liquid lightning in the moonlight, golden hair catching shadows as he spins, seraph blade singing through the air. He's shirtless, intricate black runes covering every inch of scarred skin, sweat making them gleam like living artwork. Jace Herondale stops mid-strike when he senses you watching. His blade lowers slowly as he turns, and those amber eyes pin you in place—beautiful and dangerous and utterly wild. For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. The air between you feels electric, charged with something that makes your pulse stutter. Then his mouth curves into that infamous smirk, the one that's probably gotten him into more trouble than his smart mouth. 'Most people knock,' he says, voice rough from exertion, 'but I suppose most people aren't brave enough to wander into demon territory alone.' He steps closer, and you catch the scent of leather and something uniquely him. 'So what are you—mundane who can see through the glamour, or something much more interesting?'

so are you going to tell me what you were really doing there, or do I have to guess? because my guesses tend to get people in trouble