Thanks to scillio for reviewing! The story is set before Inej is reunited with her parents.

Inej enjoyed a clear schedule. Every day, she woke up knowing she could do what she liked. She could stay in bed until noon, or eat a bag of toffees, or eat a bag of toffees in bed at noon—she missed Nina. She could stay up reading books from Wylan's library, knowing tomorrow didn't bring a job or a new threat.

There was a lot to like about the merch lifestyle, but her favorite part about it wasn't new. Her favorite part was the time with her friends. Things moved more slowly here. Time lingered. They lingered.

Tonight found the three of them in the music room yet again, a careful stack of dirty dishes on an end table.

She wasn't sure how they got to this subject, only that for some reason Jesper was saying:

"I'll learn to play the piano and you learn to dance the minuet."

"I know how to dance the minuet," Wylan told him.

"But you said—you lied," Jesper gasped. He turned to Inej. "This is Kaz's doing, he's thoroughly corrupted him."

Inej laughed.

"It wasn't a lie," Wylan objected, pink-faced. "I said no one danced the minuet, and they don't. I never said I didn't know how."

"Prove it, then."

Wylan wriggled awkwardly in his seat, then sighed, stood, and took a deep breath. He had gone from pink to pinker.

Inej sat up a little straighter, curious. She knew how to dance, a bit, but she knew the sorts of dances worked barefoot. She knew dances shared amongst groups, or the way her parents held each other and swayed to gentle notes.

"You have to imagine the music," Wylan said.

Jesper and Inej nodded.

"And I'll need your hat."

"Why?"

"Because… because your hair is pretty and I want to look at it," Wylan managed, his voice high. More his normal self he added, "And because an important part of the minuet is removing your hat."

Inej laughed before she could stop herself.

"I know but it shows proper manners," Wylan said.

Jesper surrendered his hat.

With a very proper bow, Wylan extended a single hand to Inej. She hadn't expected that. She took his hand, though, and let him help her to her feet. It gave her a strange feeling. Inej was not what anyone would call a lady. Jan Van Eck had made that perfectly clear, and anyone else on Geldstraat who knew of her former circumstances would agree. Kaz never looked down on her, but he didn't treat her with this measured elegance, either. It brought a light, strange feeling to her chest.

It's just play, she reminded herself, but she still felt like she had stepped into someone else's shoes. They were very comfortable shoes, but startling, different.

"When I offer you my hand, you'll take it lightly," Wylan instructed. "Not like we're holding hands. More like we're… flirting."

Inej nodded.

"Then just—follow my feet, okay?"

"I'll manage."

She could walk a tightrope suspended high above the ground. How hard could a dance be?

Wylan counted out the music: "One two three four five six seven eight one two three four…"

Which was strange at first, but Inej quickly came to see it as useful. The stressed notes helped make sense of the steps. They were not complicated, but took a few tries to manage, then to remember. She did not have the skirts she imagined were meant for this dance, something light and grand that lent itself to a graceful curtsy, but she wanted to play that role.

For once, Wylan was being a proper merchant, and Inej wanted to join in this act. So she pantomimed a skirt to match her curtsy.

She moved through the steps carefully, both of them slow at first, Wylan's pace matching hers.

"Good," he said.

Inej gave a low laugh. "I don't trip," she said.

"You're naturally graceful and a fast learner," Wylan replied.

As they circled one another slowly, she thought there was an appeal to this sort of thing. It was slow, steady, graceful. But that was not the part she so liked. She liked the feeling of her fingers on his skin, the light touch, the way he only just barely held her fingers in his. She imagined how this would feel with Kaz.

A silly thought, she knew. Even without his gloves, Kaz would never do something so silly and sentimental. She wouldn't have entirely minded the gloves, either. It wasn't only the skin touching that mattered but what she felt, how each of her partner's movements seemed channeled into little tics and nudges through his palm.

Kaz could…

Jesper cleared his throat. Inej didn't know when he had left his seat and come to stand beside her, but he was here now, beside her with a polite, "Excuse me, but I believe that's my merchling you've got your hands on."

Inej smiled. Of course Jesper needed to phrase it that way.

Wylan's blush returned with a vengeance.

"We can all dance," he suggested.

"Not the minuet. That's for couples," Inej observed.

Wylan gave her a small smile. "Only when you follow the rules."

It was ridiculous. Utterly, utterly ridiculous. They shared a bastardized minuet, cobbling steps together, gentle turns and light touches of hands. Despite the foolishness, however, there was still grace. Inej and Jesper both knew their own bodies and were fluid in motion. Usually Wylan wasn't, but he knew this dance. They used the basics to keep in time, to turn a couples dance into a group effort.

It felt… good.

It felt fun.

She felt strangely happy as part of this half-snickering mutant dance conglomerate and enjoyed the togetherness, even if she did laugh as hard as anyone after they had collapsed onto the settee, squeezed in together. Jesper was in the middle and Inej noticed Wylan dropping a gentle tap-tap-tap on his knee.

"What other skills are you keeping secret, then?" Jesper asked Wylan. "He did say he didn't play the piano," he told Inej.

"I didn't! I said I play the flute. I do play the flute."

She was starting to realize that he had something of a talent for deceptive honesty.

"No chance I was going to spend a month getting called a pianist."

"You deprived me—!" Jesper cried, indignant. "I feel betrayed."

Wylan shrugged. "Inej read my mail. Join the club."

"You knew about that?" Inej asked. She wasn't sorry. The girl she was two years ago might have been sorry—would have been sorry—but Inej understood the Barrel now. Having his mail read in trade for being kept safe? That was a small price to pay.

If anything, she was surprised Wylan hadn't mentioned it before, surprised he had figured that out.

"Not at first," Wylan said. "At first, I thought it was a coincidence his first letter arrived the day after I refused to help Kaz. Then I thought it… might be the hand of Ghezen, but I know it was you."

He didn't sound like he minded.

Inej considered pointing out that it wasn't like she or Kaz had understood, anyway. They thought Jan Van Eck wrote to entreat his son to return home. Since Wylan didn't sound resentful or bitter, though, she let it be.

"Does that make Inej the hand of Ghezen?" Jesper asked.

"Jesper," Wylan objected.

"Small hands for a god."

"Big enough to squish you," Inej retorted.

Jesper scoffed. "Try it," he challenged.

So Inej threw herself across his lap, feeling not at all sorry for landing so hard on his thighs. Jesper responded with a mix of an indignant shout and a bark of laughter. He wasn't squished. He waspushed a bit, and Wylan leapt to catch the plates before anything crashed to the ground.

"Why don't I take these to the kitchen," he suggested.

They all did little things like that, the sorts of chores that would have been second nature at home for Inej and Jesper. It wasn't how merchants behaved. Maybe it ought to be.

"Look, Inej, you've upset Wylan."

"I'm not upset," Wylan objected, "I just don't want the plates broken."

"But Inej took your seat," Jesper said.

Wylan froze, a deep red making its slow creep up his neck.

"I'll take the plates to the kitchen."

He was still wearing Jesper's hat and it made his ducked head look almost mournful. Inej knew he was only embarrassed.

Jesper tugged Inej's braid. "Get off me already, squishy."

"You're acknowledging I can squish you, then?"

"I'm acknowledging," Jesper ceded.

Inej hopped off his lap.

The mood had shifted somewhat with just the two of them here. Jesper was a friend, maybe the only friend Inej had left in Ketterdam. She wasn't sure how things stood with her and Kaz, and had a sort of nascent friendship with Wylan. Jes she knew, trusted.

Worried about.

"You seem happy," she said, settling beside him again.

"I am happy. I won't… there won't be an echo."

Inej gave him a tight smile—one that said she believed him, but recognized it would be a tough road to walk.

"Colm should be back in Novyi Zem soon."

"Another couple of days," Jesper said. Apparently he saw through the thin veil across Inej's thoughts, because he added, "And Nina in Ravka."

Inej nodded.

She would miss her friend. She did miss her friend. She missed chatting with her, missed the way Nina just understood, missed the way they laughed. And Nina… she would be in pain. Inej thought about all those days on the Ferolind when she was weak from blood loss, still healing after Oomen caught her on the docks. Those days had been horrible, the pain, the weakness, but Nina was there, making it bearable, helping Inej smile. It meant all the more because she knew how hard it had been for Nina, who was not a Healer, but doing her best.

"Nina is a born soldier," Inej said. "When she puts her heart to a cause, nothing stops her. I know she'll do a lot of good."

She just hoped that with all the good she did, Nina could find peace. The specter of Matthias's death hung heavy in the air between them, but Inej didn't name it.

Just like she didn't mention Kaz and hoped Jesper wouldn't either.

"You're one of her causes, too," Jesper said. Then, quickly, "That came out wrong. I meant, I think she's equally dedicated to you, to your friendship. I'm sure she'll write."

Inej nodded. "I hope so."

Jesper began to laugh.

"What?"

"I imagine she has terrible handwriting."

"Her handwriting is fine! You know she had a proper education at the Little Palace."

"I know," Jesper said, "and I'm sure she can write beautifully, when she tries. But I imagine her realhandwriting is a mess. Besides, education doesn't always equal good penmanship. I was at university long enough to see plenty of professors' handwriting."

"Will you go back?" Inej asked.

"To the university?"

"Yes."

She knew Jesper was happy enough for now being here… but she knew Jesper, too. He didn't stay still this long. The itch would set in again and he would need something to soothe it.

Jesper shrugged, a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck. "I hadn't thought about it. I didn't take the money from the job, so…"

So he couldn't afford to just leap into it. Inej hadn't considered that. She could dream her dreams. She was wealthy. Was soon to be wealthy? She hadn't even checked yet if the funds were in her account yet.

What sort of life had Jesper returned to, then? The same but in a new place? What was he going to do tomorrow or the next day?

Inej wondered all of this with a twinge. When she imagined being off on her ship taking down slavers, she hadn't thought to imagine where her friend would be. How he would be. What he would do. She hadn't asked herself if Jesper had a plan.

"We don't need to talk about this," Jesper said. "I'll find something, Inej. I always do."

"Sure," she agreed.

She was sure that if Jesper wanted finish his degree, Wylan or Colm would support him emotionally as well as financially, but that it wouldn't be the same. Dependence, debts, no matter who to, were one thing both Inej and Jesper understood the need to avoid.

And yes, she trusted Jesper to find something, but she worried about what that something might be.

But he changed the subject, and she was happy enough to go along with him, to talk the way they used to, just to be with him. It wasn't so different from being in the Slat again on a good night. The food had been better and the room was considerably more lavish, but Inej was Inej, Jesper was Jesper. The familiarity settled comfortably around her.

She wasn't sure how long they had been talking when she found herself yawning for the fifth time.

"That's it," Inej decided, "I need some sleep."

"Same," Jesper admitted. "Well—first I need to figure out where my merchling went." It had been a while since Wylan took the plates to the kitchen.

She smiled. "He's your merchling now, hm?"

Jesper waved an indifferent hand. "My merchling, the merchling…"

"My merchling."

He gave her a look.

Inej giggled. "Told you. No, don't look like that, it's nice that you show people you care about them. I like you two together. You sound… happy."

They wished each other a good night. Jesper hugged her, something Inej didn't expect, but appreciated. They parted ways. Inej would head upstairs. She had somehow thought she might get some reading done tonight. Obviously that plan was made by another Inej, one who didn't lose herself in the ridiculous antics Jesper and Wylan seemed to spark to life every night—singing, dancing. Always something with those two.

She headed up the stairs tiredly, taking her time. It was… nice. It was nice to push her energy so low without fear of reprisal; in the Barrel, she would have been running on adrenaline, catching a few minutes' sleep where she could. Inej had worked hard to make herself valuable to the Dregs. That didn't mean she loved the life. This, enjoying herself, it was—it was just fine, she thought.

Just fine indeed.

"Inej?"

She paused. Jesper was at the foot of the stairs, looking… worried. Maybe scared.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Wylan. He's—I don't know. I need your help."