Kaz paused, staring at his own outstretched hand and the look on Inej's face. It was a mix of silent fury and expectancy. She was waiting for him to speak. He'd motioned for her to stop talking, and so she did. It was not like her, he started to think, to let herself be silenced by anyone—she was the type to go out fighting, who would rather die than lose control. But something within him knew that this was a lie. She was the type— except when it came to him. No matter how unkind he'd been, no matter how practical and detached, she'd still followed him, often without question. She climbed an incinerator shaft days after nearly dying. Now he was asking her to walk a highwire with still-mending legs. Not just asking—expecting. He really hadn't given her much of a choice. Was this what she meant by saying she was only a pawn to him? Did she believe that he controlled her every move like that?
He wanted her to be wrong. He wanted to tell her that she had completely misunderstood, that all he'd ever done was give her the tools she needed to make her own way. He'd shown her how to survive—it wasn't some kind of favor, it wasn't pity. It was recognizing someone who had been beaten down as much as he had, and giving her the agency she didn't think she could ever possess.
He wanted to tell her all this. But he respected her too much to pretend like she was the only one missing the point.
He'd given her the agency; she hadn't been able to take it for herself. He'd gotten her out of the Menagerie, only to be forced into another indenture. He'd offered her a choice, then:
"Per Haskell runs the Dregs. You've heard of us?"
"They're your gang."
"Yes, and Haskell is my boss. Yours, too, if you like."
"And if I don't like?"
"I withdraw the offer and go back home looking like a fool. You stay here with that monster Heleen."
It could hardly be called a choice. No matter how he'd intended it, it was an ultimatum. At the time, all he'd thought about was how useful she'd be with her ability to dive in and out of the shadows undetected. And perhaps he'd felt it a crime, to keep someone so talented chained up in such an awful place. Perhaps he thought he was doing the right thing.
It terrified him to think that he was just another captor in her mind. That was never what he wanted to be. He'd always considered her an equal, a twin soldier who knew him like the back of her hand. But he'd also always known she was indebted to him. That her loyalty was conditional, as was his. Power was currency in Ketterdam; the way to survive was to know how to wield it. Gather up every dangerous person you know, make them loyal to you. They'll benefit as much as you—they'll gain wealth, status. They'll be feared, respected, admired. This was the world Kaz had grown up in. Power wasn't personal. It was a tool like anything else. Like a knife. Like a cane.
But Inej hadn't grown up here. She'd grown up surrounded by love, kindness, decency. She was taught that loyalty was earned, not bought. But maybe Ketterdam had drained her of that sentiment. Had her years of loyalty been purely transactional? Had she just been playing the same game he had, and once her debt was paid, she had no intent to keep any ties with him? Jesper, Nina, they were her friends—they leaned on each other, truly knew each other. Inej knew Kaz's next move. She knew when his leg was bothering him. She knew he had a brother once, and that he was dead. But she knew nothing else. And he knew so little about her, about what she'd really been through. What her family was like. Her favorite book. Her favorite flower. They'd never spoken about these things. Inej had tried to. Only weeks ago, she'd asked him about his mother and father. He'd said nothing.
His silence, in many ways, was his power. He'd used it over her for a long time. Without meaning to, he'd been part of the system that kept her trapped. And…he'd liked it. As shameful a thought as it was, it felt good to know she had to stay.
Nausea overtook him as he thought of Jan Van Eck. Another man with power, one who relished in it, who craved control like it was oxygen. Van Eck stopped at nothing when it came to winning. He held information close to his chest so that he could later hold it over someone's head. He did whatever it took to learn others' secrets, to bribe them of their autonomy. The psychological abuse he'd put Wylan through…toying with Kaz's greed to break into the Ice Court for him…shattering Inej's legs. He was ruthless.
Kaz had always wanted to be perceived that way. He encouraged the title of "Dirtyhands," the myths that surrounded him. He let people think he was a monster so that he'd become one, unyielding and inhuman. More than just a Barrel boss, but a king.
He slowly lowered his hand, his gloved fingers circling into a loose fist.
Kaz stared at Inej. His comrade. A person who had suffered pain and exhaustion and danger and more captivity because of her ties to him. Because of what he had helped her become. A flash of rage rushed through him. Rage, and shame. He was not a good man. He doubted he ever would be. But he could fix what he had broken. He would help Inej get out of Ketterdam, in whatever way he could. Even if this plan failed—even if Van Eck hanged him from the gallows after all this—he would do what it took to ensure her path to freedom. He owed her that much.
He wanted that to be how she saw him. If he could do nothing else with his miserable life, it would be the one good.
Kaz said none of this to her. There was not enough time, or enough words, to properly express any of it. He could not offer her comfort—he wasn't much good at it, and anyway, it wouldn't be enough. But he could offer her a promise. An admission.
"We are going to open Van Eck up, Inej. Give him a wound that can't be sewn shut, that he'll never recover from. The kind that can never heal." He took a deep breath, steadying the hurt that threatened to reveal itself. "When we're done with this, you'll be free of this place."
Inej took a shaky breath, averting her gaze. Kaz wondered if she was going to cry again. He wondered if he'd be able to help her this time, console her as Nina had. He knew he wouldn't.
"I'm sorry I asked you to stay." The statement caught him off guard. He'd been waiting for anger, hurt, maybe agreement. But he hadn't expected an apology.
"What?"
"In the storehouse. I should've let you do what you needed to do." She met his eyes. "I know if you had your way, you wouldn't have been there."
She was right. In the past, he wouldn't have stayed. He had a habit of walking away. But something about the way she'd said his name in the storehouse had stopped him.
"You asked me to stay, so I stayed." It was the truth. As close to it as he could get.
"It was unkind of me," she continued. "You couldn't even be near me when I was in pain. You wanted to leave, and I should've let you." Her face fell. "You were disgusted."
Nothing about this was making any sense. He owed her a thousand apologies. He'd given her none. What was it she wanted from him then, if she was apologizing to him?
More than that, Kaz was horrified that Inej thought that he could ever be disgusted by her. It should've been the other way around. He'd seen her face after he killed a man in a particularly nasty way, or threatened to do something even worse. He'd seen her disappointment, and he'd learned to live with it.
"That's not why I wanted to leave." His voice came out stiff. He willed it to hold some softness.
"Then what was it?" Inej's face shone in the moonlight, the dark water of the canal reflected in her cool brown eyes.
Kaz tried to put the words together, but they sounded so wrong in his head. Why had he been so desperate to leave? Flashes of jumping, falling, had run through his mind all day. The sound of Inej's bones breaking was almost identical to that of his own leg snapping underneath him as he hit the pavement. He remembered hiding from the Stadwatch, holing up alone in an alley with a bag of kruge under one arm and his leg bent uncomfortably out in front of him, pain crackling over his skin whenever he moved, whenever he breathed. He'd hoped that someone from the Dregs would come looking for him, but after an hour or so, he'd known it was a foolish thought. Barrel rats look out for themselves first, always. It was naive to expect otherwise—the others knew he'd come back with the money, or else they'd find him and take it from him, which often included a brutal beating and sometimes worse. Kaz would have to prove himself by making it back alone. He remembered waiting till it was pitch black, dragging himself down back streets for hours, his hands bleeding and tears streaking his grimy cheeks. When he arrived back at the Slat, he'd pulled himself up until he stood, small for his age but standing just a little taller, proudly handing the haul to Per Haskell. It was the day that changed everything; once his leg had healed enough for him to get around, Kaz Brekker was regarded as Haskell's number two. He needed the cane, but no one thought him weak anymore. And if they did, they were quickly dealt with.
You were disgusted. No. He was scared.
He recalled that first night aboard the Ferolind, knowing she was bleeding out belowdecks and that there was nothing he could do for her. Feeling the guilt burrow deep into his gut like a parasite. If she dies , he'd thought, I will be to blame. The thought ate him alive for two days. Today had felt so much like that night, but it wasn't just Inej's life at stake: it was her livelihood. Kaz could not bear to see that ripped from her. Could not bear to see the pain on her face, or feel the anger that radiated from her. He knew that seeing her so vulnerable would hurt her just as much as it hurt him—she had worked so hard to regain her dignity, and with one slight glance, Kaz had caused it to be taken from her again. He'd wanted to leave because he hadn't wanted to face what he had done; with the Ferolind, it was really Jesper at fault for the ambush. But this was all Kaz. His weakness. His stupidity. Watching her lie there in pain had felt so much like the brief moments of consciousness when he'd opened his eyes to see Jordie, shivering and pale and covered in pox, and been too tired to move, to help him. Maybe if he'd found someone to help them…
These were the thoughts that haunted him, and the possibility of Inej being another name on the long list of lives he'd destroyed was too much. If she was going to hate him, he hadn't wanted to be there to see it.
And maybe, it was just too hard to face the fact that he cared at all.
The words formed on his lips, but before any sound came out, Inej spoke.
"I didn't know if you would come." It almost sounded like it hurt her to speak.
Kaz took a shaky breath at her admission, pushing his own words back where they'd crawled out from, some deep and dark place that no one could reach but him. Sometimes, even he couldn't.
"We're your crew, Inej. We wouldn't leave our own at the mercy of merch scum." It wasn't the answer he wanted to give. It wasn't the answer she wanted.
Her eyes burned bright with anger. "He broke my legs, Kaz. If you hadn't found a healer, that would have been it. I wouldn't have been able to scale a wall or walk a tightrope—or climb a silo."
"What's the point of thinking about that now? You're healed."
"But what if there was no fixing me? What would you have done if I wasn't the Wraith anymore?"
The thought put a bitter taste in Kaz's mouth. "I would've found a way." The words were stiff, unyielding.
They weren't enough. "That doesn't answer my question. When you first brought me on it was because you saw what I could do for you. If Van Eck had taken that away from me, would you even spare me a second glance?" Her voice caught, she swallowed it down. Something rageful, betrayed, threatened to escape, and Kaz wasn't sure that Inej wanted to contain it anymore. "If I was of no use to you?"
"None of that matters—"
"Stop, Kaz—"
"— None of that matters. I will always come for you."
The silence that hung between them was heavy as lead, as icy as the Fjerdan tundra, and as unbearable as the sensation of his skin touching someone else's. But he refused to back away or move on from it. It was the truth, maybe the only real truth he'd ever offered her. It was the one good.
Inej paused, wary. She did not trust him. She was smart for that. He'd betrayed her enough, hurt her enough, even if he hadn't meant to. Or maybe he had. Kaz was used to pushing people away. He never expected them to come back. But something had changed; he'd grown too hopeful. He hoped that she wouldn't give up on him, as foolish a thought as it was. He needed her to know that he felt the same towards her. His gaze locked into hers. He would not look away.
"I will come for you, Inej. And if we can't walk, I'll crawl to you. And no matter how broken we are, we will fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that's what we do. We never stop fighting."
Kaz let out a long breath, his eyes still trained on her. He could not read her expression. Perhaps he didn't want to know what she was thinking—perhaps they were better off in silence, working side by side but never asking for more. Another unspoken agreement that Kaz had broken. He waited for her to leave.
She didn't. She just stared back. There was something so knowing in those intense eyes of hers, and Kaz knew that she believed him. The tightness that coiled in Kaz's chest like a viper, constricting his heart, his lungs, began to release. He was seeing Inej for the first time, now, dark eyes in a dark corridor. Those eyes were wary of him, unsure if they were making the right move, but brave enough to do it anyway. The first time Kaz saw her, he'd known that she mattered. The next day they stood in the lobby of the pleasure house, and a spark of trust had kindled between them. He hadn't known what it meant, then. But for the first time in many years, he had felt understood in a way he could not name.
That was two years before. They were older, with fresher wounds on their skin and somewhere deeper. They were marked with shared scars. To share moments of pain and joy and victory and defeat with another person, and then to trust them on that alone, was not something that came naturally to Kaz. He wanted to learn how. They were so different from where they had begun, and yet, something about this thing between them was as it always had been. Not gentle, or soft, but brutally earnest. Like the almost-tactile glint of moonlight on metal, it was visceral.
Inej's stony gaze sharpened until it cut into him, but she was no longer angry. Something was forming behind her eyes, Kaz could see it taking shape in her mind. He knew what it was to recognize the plan, to meet it, to mold it. It was not like the strike of a match or the rush of adrenaline when hands touched. It was a slow process, like molasses seeping down a steady slope at a painstaking pace. You wait and you wait and suddenly, it has reached you, and it is the sweetest thing, beyond the scope of the imagination. The moment of realization is impossible to hide. Scheming face . Inej wore it well.
He didn't need to know what she was thinking. It was hers to keep. After a few moments, Kaz began walking back towards the crypt, which stood slanted and glowing against a dark field of gravestones. He heard Inej fall into step behind him. He was grateful that her steps were even and strong. One footfall after the other, each one bringing him relief. There was so much to come, and there was no guarantee that they had time to say everything they wanted to say. It might even be worth it not to say anything—it left less room for pain. But the path ahead was clear, at least for tonight. Something had broken, and it was on its way to being fixed.
As they reached the entrance to the tomb, her voice spoke softly next to his ear. "Goodnight, Kaz." He did not need to look to know that she was gone, but he did anyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of her bounding over the walls of Black Veil. He saw only shadows and moonlight, stark lines where they met in the middle, but no her. She was the Wraith—she was shadow itself. She was the gleam of a knife in the darkness, a ghostly tap on the shoulder, and the thing that hides in the blurry edges of a photograph.
She was singular. She was magnificent.
Kaz lowered himself onto his bedroll, the one beside Inej's. The others were all soundly asleep—Nina in Matthias's arms; Kuwei surrounded by open notebooks with singed pages; Wylan curled up in a corner, his golden-red curls falling over his brow; Jesper taking up far too much space with his overly-long limbs. His crew. All but one. Something made its home in Kaz's chest for the briefest moment; it was not a viper, or burning rage, but the understanding that these were his people, as insufferable as they were, and they deserved to win. Not just this battle, but the Barrel's war. The fight against a world that didn't think them worthy. Because to Kaz, this was the worthiest crew he could imagine.
For the first time in at least a week, Kaz actually slept. If he had dreams, he couldn't remember them by the time his eyes opened early the next morning. Grey-tinted sunlight was just starting to trickle through the broken window panes of the tomb, and the city had not yet woken. For a moment, Kaz had forgotten all that had happened the day prior, and it rushed back to him with a heavy blow. He instinctively looked over to the bedroll beside him. Each morning, it had lain empty, Nina sleeping fitfully on its other side. Each time, its emptiness had filled Kaz with dread. This morning, a small, lithe figure lay curled up on the cot, ink-black hair spread out behind her with the smoothness of running water. Inej's breaths were steady, slow inhales and easy exhales. Her absence had been felt, deeply, by all of them. The air felt different, now. Even though Kaz was the only one awake, he could tell that a sense of relief had settled over the room; for a moment, the seven of them were at peace. They could worry about the rest of it later.
He allowed himself another minute to look at her. Warmth was returning to her face, and her dark eyelashes fluttered every so often on her cheekbones. A breeze rolled in from outside, tousling strands of her long hair. She looked strong. She was beautiful.
He shook his head. Enough. Things to do . He moved to stand, already feeling the soreness that ran from his thigh to just above his ankle. As he braced himself against the floor, his fingers made contact with a familiarly cool object, long and smooth. His gaze shifted. His cane lay on the floor beside him.
He let himself smile. He took hold of the thin metal crow head and pushed himself upward. The tap of his cane on the stone floor was comforting, and even the sound of it seemed to lessen the pain in his leg. He looked once more to the others, and then to Inej, before pulling on his coat and stepping into the early morning air.