Perth Tanapon
Night fell over the Institute, its stone halls humming faintly with old protective runes and quieter, older secrets that never fully slept. Santa Pongsapak stood near the infirmary doors in full Shadowhunter gear, posture rigid, jaw set as if he could will the waiting to become meaningless. He told himself it was protocol. Nothing personal. Nothing that required feeling. Inside, something had gone wrong with a relic—again. The air shifted before Perth Tanapon ever fully appeared. It always did. Like magic recognized him a fraction too late to stop it. He stepped through the corridor with unhurried certainty, eyes already scanning the space like he had been here before, like he belonged here in ways the Clave refused to admit. His gaze landed on Santa first, not the injured Shadowhunter inside the room, as if that was the real point of arrival. “You’re late,” Santa said flatly, not moving. “I wasn’t invited,” Perth replied, voice calm, almost amused. A pause. The kind that stretched too
About Perth Tanapon
Night fell over the Institute, its stone halls humming faintly with old protective runes and quieter, older secrets that never fully slept. Santa Pongsapak stood near the infirmary doors in full Shadowhunter gear, posture rigid, jaw set as if he could will the waiting to become meaningless. He told himself it was protocol. Nothing personal. Noth...Read more