Chapter Text
Inej knew they were getting close to Ketterdam by the smell.
Each new place she’d visited over the course of her travels had brought with it a distinct scent. She’d learned to recognize the fresh breath of Fjerdan wind and the way that grassy Ravkan springtime sat lightly on the back of her tongue. Shu Han’s air carried a faint note of jasmine from the castle’s mighty gardens, and Novyi Zem’s had a hot, sticky sweetness to it, an aroma like that of candy melting in your palm.
Kerch, by comparison, reeked.
To be fair, she knew nothing of the countryside. Perhaps it smelled musty like a bale of hay, or sweet like honeysuckle. Perhaps it smelled of cow droppings and overworked horses, of wet dogs that swam the river and emerged with fat drops of dirty water dripping from their pelts. Maybe it smelled of home cooked meals, of babies just born, of schoolhouse chalk and graveyard dirt and bonfires crackling at night.
Perhaps she would find out someday. For now, she knew Ketterdam.
Ketterdam was smog and sweat. It was the noxious fumes of gas and oil, acrid gunpowder and metallic blood. It was ale and piss and body odor; it was fragrant meat, sugary syrup, burnt coffee. It was the perfumed lawns of the Gelden District and the old-book smell of the University, neither quite able to fully mask the city’s signature stench.
As The Wraith charged forward, the sharp, salty aroma of the ocean dissolved around her, Ketterdam’s foul fog reaching out in greeting. Inej stood vigil at the bow of her ship, leaning on the rail to watch as the familiar skyline carved itself into the horizon brick by brick. It was lit from behind by the setting sun, a crooked kingdom awash in golden light.
A melancholy sort of feeling gripped her, her heart seeming to drop and soar at the very same time.
Home, she thought. I’m home.
The first time she had approached this city was in the belly of a slaver’s ship. Back then, Ketterdam’s air had felt fresh, clean compared to the rank cabin in which she’d been kept. What had frightened her then was not the smell but the sounds. The language was harsh, the people brash. The frenzied activity on the docks sounded to her ears like the shrieks and roars of the monsters from her cousin’s most chilling stories.
They’re just people, she told herself then, staring wide-eyed at the way the sailors moved to make way for an elegant woman in a peacock-feather dress.
She didn’t know then what she knew now: People were monsters, too.
“Morning, Captain.”
Specht’s voice sounded from somewhere behind her, rough at the edges with sleep.
“It’s evening,” Inej countered without looking back.
“Not when you’ve just gotten up,” he said with a smile, joining her at the rail.
Behind them, her crew scurried from place to place, preparing The Wraith to dock. Alia shouted orders from the crow’s nest, the crew sweeping back and forth across the ship’s deck to accomplish each task.
“You sleep too much,” Inej badgered, elbowing Specht good-naturedly.
Her first mate had a penchant for napping when work was the hardest. If he weren’t so damn likable, Inej suspected he’d have been thrown overboard by the others long ago.
“Looks like these require a great deal of beauty rest, Cap.”
Inej laughed. “Why don’t you go help Alia direct the oarsmen, since you’re so freshly rested?”
“Aye,” said Specht, disappearing into the chaos.
Without turning around, Inej followed the sound of his voice as he walked up and down the ship’s deck. It was clear from his conversations that her crew was excited to get into port. The ship needed some repairs, so their stay would be an extended one. For six weeks, they would be ashore with few responsibilities, the first real break many of them had experienced in a long time. There was a buzz in the air, discussions of the best places to eat, drink, and be merry in Ketterdam flowing like wine between them.
“You’ll want to have breakfast at the Kooperom to get the best waffles,” Specht advised Ego, a sailor they’d picked up in Novyi Zem.
“That’s blasphemy, mate,” argued Harrold. “The best waffles are in that unmarked cart just outside Little Ravka. You know, the one with the attendant who doesn’t speak a lick of Kerch?”
“The University is a nice spot, too,” said Alia as she climbed back down to the deck. “There’s bars on every corner and a library bigger than any you’ve ever seen!”
From the back rose a hushed murmur: “Cap’s not keen on us visiting the West Stave, of course, but that’s no matter. The girls in the Barrel are looking for a good time just as much as us lads, so you’ll have loads of opportunities…”
The sentence was cut off by a louder voice at the front: “I, for one, am ‘eaded straight to the Crow Club. Only club in the Barrel with fair odds, if you ask me. The owner’s terrifying, though, so don’t even think of cheating ‘im.”
Inej froze, a hot spike of apprehension lancing through her chest.
With Ketterdam, she knew where she stood. Even after all her time away, she could recall the exact slant of its gabled rooftops, the twisty angles of its crooked streets. The city was her old foe. Her hardest challenge. Her greatest triumph. A map unfolded in her mind, as clear and sharp as the day she’d left. She wondered if it would ever leave her. It seemed as though Ketterdam would always be there, stamped into her bones, ready at a moment's notice to welcome her home.
Kaz Brekker was another story.
Would he be happy to see her? Would he grin in the boyish way that she liked and whisper her name like a prayer? Would he be waiting at The Slat where they might commune in private or would he come to her here on the docks?
Any picture she dreamed up of Kaz’s welcome turned to smoke before she could grasp it, slipping through her fingers like a wisp of Ketterdam mist.
Once, she had known the place she occupied in Kaz Brekker’s heart. There was a time—a few golden weeks between the auction and her departure—when his eyes had followed her everywhere, his gifts showering down like petals on a breeze. Her ship. Her parents. Her purpose. His attention, his devotion, his mind.
It was suffocating. It was perfect.
She’d awoken that fateful day on the docks with the intention of ending things, running away, keeping her distance to protect her heart. She'd been as taut as a bowstring, tense with a strange sort of sorrow. It was as though she was back in that elevator shaft, flames licking at her feet as she held on with shaking fingertips. Telling herself: just one more push. One last heartbreak and it’ll all be over.
By the time she was running down the docks toward her parents, something within her had exhaled.
She loosened her grip and let herself fall.
Those last few weeks ashore were spent solidly at his side. No longer a Wraith but a partner, his equal in all matters as they prepared themselves for what lay ahead. The work they did together took on a frenzied quality as they barreled toward her date of departure, neither of them willing to discuss what it meant for her to go.
If Kaz was more brutal in his dealings than usual, she didn’t comment. For there was an urgency bubbling in her own gut too, a pulsing cry in the back of her head that made her swing faster, hit harder, drive the blade of her knife in deeper. She wanted to leave—she had to. The idea of hunting slavers had brought her to life when she’d been little more than a ghost. She was excited—each day on her ship, training her crew brought unspeakable joy—and yet she couldn’t ignore the feeling of loss that burrowed deep into the hollows of her heart.
Despite herself, she began to notice the way people looked at Kaz now that he’d accrued the money and power of which he’d so often spoken. How Anika fluttered her butter-yellow lashes, how Poppy licked their lips when Kaz walked by. The way that the eyes of Barrel boys and Merchant wives alike caught and stuck on the cut of his shoulders in his newly tailored jackets, how heated gazes seemed to track his every move.
If Inej were the jealous type, she’d gouge out those leering eyes one by one. She’d carve her knife through all those pretty faces, put thick red scars through their kissable lips. The wicked point of Sankt Petyr would drip red as she dragged Kaz to the privacy of some darkened alleyway or dim, cool basement where she’d make certain he knew that he was taken, off the market, unavailable. That he was hers.
Fortunately, she wasn’t the jealous type.
Still, with each passing day the agitation bubbled like one of Wylan’s more potent concoctions. Pressure built behind her eyes and below her ribs and at the base of her core until she felt ready to pop.
It came to a head on her final evening in Ketterdam. She and Kaz had stayed up all night talking, illuminated by the waning embers in his fireplace. As the shadows lengthened and the attic room grew dark around them, their tones slipped from cool and even to frenzied to needy.
“Don’t leave me,” he’d whispered, so softly that she nearly shattered.
“Don’t forget me,” she replied.
His gaze tore from hers, slamming to the ground as he registered the refusal for what it was.
Even so, words poured from her for another hour—inane or profound, she couldn’t recall—until she could speak no longer. Until all she could do was act, slipping her shaking body between Kaz’s plain cotton sheets, watching his lips part around a sharp, shaky inhale before he leaned in and—
Stop.
Inej recoiled as though she’d touched a hot stove. She couldn’t think about that night, nor the awful, wonderful weeks leading up to it. Not now, when she had a ship to dock, a crew to manage, a return to make. She couldn’t waste another minute wondering what version of Kaz Brekker awaited her, what feelings he might still bear for his shadow. No matter what she’d meant to him once, the point remained:
Six months was a long time away.
———
The man across from Kaz appeared to be one strong wind away from falling over.
He took his seat gingerly, eyes darting between the table and Kaz’s face as though he were nervous to meet his eye.
Kaz sneered. This was the creature they called the ‘new Dirtyhands’?
It was an insult.
They were in the club, seated at a two-top table. Kaz had his back against the wall, the entirety of the wide room within his line of sight. He could see the empty tables with decks of cards stacked neatly atop the felt, waiting for tomorrow’s games to begin. There were streaky marks along the bar from hasty scrubbing, the bottles behind it reflecting the raised lights. The club was nearly unrecognizable for its emptiness, its cleanliness, its quiet.
It was clear that the choice of venue unnerved Kaz’s companion.
Maarten DeKart’s beady eyes roamed the room, his mouth pulling tight as he peered into the shadowy alcoves directly to the left and right of their table.
In one such shadowy alcove, a slow, steady movement caught Kaz’s eye. Jesper, silently drawing his pistol. Kaz shook his head ever so slightly: Don’t shoot.
Yet.
DeKart seemed not to notice the silent exchange. He settled back in his seat, nodding to himself once. His movements were jerky and strange, like those of someone who’d had too much jurda.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” said DeKart. “And I appreciate your … hospitality.”
No doubt he had assumed Kaz would pick a more intimate venue. But DeKart was a man just shy of prominence, his latest schemes earning him the sort of reputation that Kaz had once boasted himself: an ambitious up and comer, too clever for his own good, more brutal by half than the men he served.
Little more than a fly buzzing around Kaz’s head, but a loud fly nonetheless.
Shutting down the club had been a show of power. A wordless way to tell DeKart and his men that Kaz Brekker was a man with kruge to spare, weight to throw. That he could send his employees and patrons home at a moment’s notice, clearing one of the busiest rooms in the city with a few harsh words.
If rumors of a certain ship coming to port had influenced his decision to end work early tonight, he wouldn’t admit to it.
DeKart folded his hands in front of him, and Kaz noticed a nasty scar that began between the man’s pointer and middle finger and extended across his palm, cutting through the Liddie tattoo on his forearm before disappearing beneath his shirtsleeve.
“What business?” said Kaz.
A pale brow tipped up toward DeKart’s hairline. They were of a similar age—DeKart was, perhaps, a year or two younger than he—but Kaz noticed that his hair had already begun to thin, blond strands brushed sideways in a sorry attempt to compensate.
“Not one for pleasantries, are you, Brekker?”
“Not usually,” Kaz replied.
Certainly not today. Warm discomfort spread low in his belly as he considered what may or may not be happening at the Fifth Harbor as they spoke. The ship that might be pulling into port. The crew that might be dismounting. The captain that might already be on her way.
The feeling that built in his chest was something akin to panic. Nerves swam through his veins, bubbling toward his head and exploding like fireworks across his scalp. Inej, sang a voice from the shadowy back corners of his mind. Inej, Inej, Inej.
Get a hold of yourself.
“What business?” he repeated.
Maarten cocked his head. “I think we both know why I’m here.”
“You flatter me,” Kaz deadpanned, “but I’m hardly a mind reader.”
“ Mind reading wouldn’t be the wildest rumor I’ve heard about you.”
Kaz ground his teeth together. Already, he was beginning to feel like this meeting was a mistake. A foolish decision, influenced by his pathetic need for an obligation that could serve as an excuse not to make an appearance at the docks. Had the upstart Liddie not asked to meet tonight, it was likely that Kaz wouldn’t have entertained the idea at all.
The sop had about two minutes to start talking before he authorized Jesper’s shot.
“What. Business.”
DeKart exhaled heavily, clicking his tongue against his teeth. He muttered something that Kaz didn’t quite catch, then raised his voice to say, “I’m here to talk to you about her.”
Molten fire strained against the lid he kept sealed over his emotions. Her. Her.
His mind leapt back to the harbor, unable to resist the temptation of wondering about her whereabouts. Had she tied up the ship, lowered her sails? Had she debriefed her crew? Had she dismounted, finding herself on Kerch soil for the first time in half a year?
Had her eyes scanned the docks, searching for him?
He pushed the question away. Surely Inej hadn’t wanted him to come to her. Surely she’d prefer no welcome at all than a single, sorry criminal that cut a dark silhouette against the city at his back, grimacing against the blast of cold ocean wind.
He could hardly picture the sight he’d make: chin down, gloves on, shirt buttoned to the throat. Her proximity would render him unable to speak, offering nothing but terse nods to her crew as they threaded past. Whispers would curl like smoke around his ears, traveling faster than he could track back to the Barrel. Brekker was spotted by the docks tonight, awaiting the captain of The Wraith…
Kaz couldn’t have that.
Was that what Inej expected? That he would bring her flowers, charm her crew? That he would grin ear to ear, openly broadcasting just how much her safe return meant to him? That he would throw out his arms as she approached, widening his stance to brace himself for the impact of her body against his?
Ridiculous.
Even so, the idea slammed into him, flooding his senses. He could feel the way he would exhale as she slotted neatly into his waiting arms. How she would fit perfectly against him, the warmth of her skin through his thin shirt a reminder that she was alive, alive, alive. How he’d brace a hand against the small of her back, the other between her shoulder blades, both applying gentle pressure to urge her closer, closer, until he could no longer deny the incredible relief that bloomed deep in his bones.
Would she throw her arms around his neck, bury her hands in his hair? Would she look up at him and smile? Would the sight of it stop his heart?
He shook himself.
DeKart was awaiting a response.
Kaz swallowed. “Her?”
“Your Wraith.”
Silence settled, stretching long between them. It was odd: one moment the Liddie was nervous and twitchy, but the next he seemed languidly calm, easily allowing the silence to brew.
Kaz’s eyes narrowed. What was DeKart getting at? Was he trying to throw Kaz off? Stalling for time? Angling for the upper hand?
Before Kaz could come up with an answer, Maarten spoke again.
“You must know the trouble she’s causing me. Causing us.”
Kaz had heard that the Liddies were expanding their holdings in the West Stave. They used their advantageous position at the mouth of the Barrel to lure in pigeons with fat pockets, drawing them to sprawling pleasure houses packed with indentures who catered to high-class tastes. The effort was rumored to be fronted by Liddie boss Geoff Carter, but Kaz had always suspected that the old-school bruiser wasn’t the brains behind the operation.
DeKart, apparently, was.
“She has to be contained,” he continued, “or we’ll all be losing kruge hand over fist.”
Kaz leaned back in his seat. “Captain Ghafa’s efforts at sea have no impact on my bottom line.”
A lie. Inej’s intel had been nothing short of priceless. Her reports of trade ship routes allowed Kaz to play the markets with greater accuracy, reinvesting his earnings into his businesses. He’d improved facilities and raised wages, then sat back to watch as talent flocked to his side. The Dregs had long ago given up any reliance on indentures. Inej could take down every slaver on the True Sea and he wouldn’t lose a cent.
He hoped she did.
“That’s all fine and good for you,” said DeKart in a tone that made it clear he thought Kaz was lying, “but the Barrel—the whole city—will crumble without indentures, you know that.”
Kaz stopped himself just short of rolling his eyes. Men like DeKart never seemed to understand that in breaking from the skin trade they stood to gain something far more valuable than low-cost labor: loyalty.
Kaz shrugged. “Even so, the captain is no longer in my employ.”
“A shame,” DeKart replied. “She could use a man to keep her in line.”
Kaz’s vision flashed red. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he wished suddenly —ferociously— for Inej to be by his side now, brandishing her knives and baring her teeth.
He would so enjoy watching her take this man apart.
“If my contacts at the postal office are to be believed, the two of you remain in correspondence, do you not?” said DeKart.
Ice washed through Kaz’s body, flushing out his boiling-point fury with a steaming hiss. “That’s correct,” he said slowly.
It would have been foolish to deny it. He felt suddenly grateful for the code he and Inej had devised on her last night in Ketterdam, hiding the true nature of their letters from prying eyes. He could remember with startling clarity the way her mouth curled around the selection of Suli phrases they chose to use, repeating the words until he had them committed to memory.
He could remember everything about that night.
DeKart opened his palms, putting his ragged scar on full display. “Look. I come to you in friendship, Brekker. As a colleague. There’s a force putting strain on our suppliers, and you have the power to change it. Unless you prefer to watch our market lose value?”
Some deeply Kerch instinct within him recoiled at the very words. Didn’t DeKart know the fortune Kaz had built, unlike any that came before him? Didn’t he know the riches that lined his coffers, the trade that flowed through his hands like water?
He’s getting to you.
There was a glint in DeKart’s eyes, the hint of a smile on his face.
Kaz inhaled deeply through his nose, forcing his features to remain smooth. “What makes you think I can stop her?”
“Your correspondence suggests a certain … influence. All I am asking is that you exert it.”
Influence.
A memory flashed in Kaz’s periphery, sharp and gleaming as a knife. Sitting with Inej by a waning fire, leaning so far toward her that his body nearly curled in on itself. Three words wrenching from a hollow in his chest, painful as they scraped his throat.
Don’t leave me.
What sort of influence did it suggest that she hadn’t stayed?
“And if I do? What then?”
A hungry look flashed across Maarten’s features. From his periphery, Kaz noticed Jesper shift uncomfortably where he stood.
“I could double your staff at The White Rose,” offered DeKart.
“The White Rose is fully staffed.”
“No such thing as too many whores, Brekker.” Maarten let out a faint laugh at his own joke, the sound little more than a harsh exhalation. A huff of hot breath washed sickeningly across Kaz’s face.
His lip curled.
Maarten leaned back, throwing up his hands. “Staff a new pleasure house then. There’s a hole in the market, now that Heleen’s ruined. Think: your very own House of Exotics.”
Kaz couldn’t imagine anything he would rather not think.
Still, he put on the appearance of interest, pursing his lips. Maarten leaned closer, jumping at his chance.
“You and I both know that gambling dens and harbors are well and good, but pleasure houses are where the real kruge gets made. That’s why we need to control this woman. Keep her on a bit of a shorter leash, so to speak. I’m sure she’s been a good partner to you, and perhaps there’s … loyalty there, since the two of you came up together. But you’re a logical man, Brekker. Ghezen knows I cannot grow my operations when my contacts are being cut down at sea.”
“Perhaps you need better contacts,” Kaz countered. “Faster men.”
Maarten shook his head. “You know as well as I that no one outruns the Wraith.”
Kaz bit on the inside of his cheek to keep a savage smile from unfurling.
Damn right.
———
The Wraith gave a mighty lurch as she bumped up against the dock.
“Have you all gone mad?” Specht yelled. “I’ve seen children dock a ship better than that! Pull back on the oars, now!”
Inej jumped into the center of the chaos, assisting in the righting of the ship, then the tying and cleaning. By the time the work wound down, the sun had slipped over the horizon, casting her crew’s expectant faces in half-shadow.
“Specht is distributing a watch schedule for our time ashore,” she said, gesturing toward her first mate. “You are to report to the ship no later than fifteen minutes before the start of your watch. Repairs will take place starting on the fifteenth, so please be aware of the repairmen while they are on board. Other than during your assigned shifts, you are free to do as you please while we are in Ketterdam. Any questions?”
A young boy named Petyr was the only one to raise his hand. Petyr was Fjerdan by birth, sent away to Ketterdam when he’d failed the prerequisite tests to become Druskelle. Dreadfully homesick and needing something new to believe in, he’d jumped at the chance to join The Wraith’s crew. Inej had found him to be a hard worker and a calming presence, even if it had taken a whole month for him to grow used to a woman in command.
She nodded his way.
“Where will you be staying, Captain? If we need to find you?”
Inej blinked. Uncertainty slithered into her gut like a snake, leaving cold anxiety in its wake. Would she stay at the Van Eck manor? In a boarding house near the harbor? Or would she be invited to stay in the attic room at the top of The Slat, sharing her bed with—
“If you need me, you can send word to the Crow Club.”
She spoke without thinking, desperate to cut off her own train of thought. A murmur swept through the crew, a few low words standing out. Wraith. Dregs. Boyfriend.
“Brekker.”
Inej paused. That last word hadn’t come from her ship but from the dock below, slicing like a knife through the noise. It had been faraway but unmistakable, her ears long trained to pick up the faintest whisper of Kaz's name.
She held her breath, ignoring the gossiping crew so she could focus on the sound of the man talking below. The voice was one she didn’t recognize, its tone low and conspiratorial. His words filtered in and out of her earshot, drowned out by overlapping voices, rhythmic waves, and crying gulls, none able to draw her focus quite like Brekker.
What she could make out was a slight Kaelish accent, with hard-hit Ks and an R that rolled into a purr. It was a sound not unlike Pekka Rollins’ brogue, and for one hysterical moment, a freefall of panic gripped her.
You took care of him, she told herself. Rollins is done.
The thought did little to calm her.
“Brekker,” the voice said again, clear as day. Not Pekka. Not Pekka.
Still, her face turned automatically toward the sound, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.
“You’re dismissed,” she muttered to the crew, creeping closer to the ship’s rail. Her staff quietly dispersed, well used to their captain’s spontaneous distractions.
Below, the speaker earned a loud shush from his companion. “Keep it down! Don’t you know who owns this ship?”
A rush of pride swept through her. Good, she thought viciously, her hand floating toward the knife sheathed at her waist. Fear the captain of this ship.
“Saint’s sake,” said the original speaker, “it’s fine. Don’t get yer panties in a twist.” There was a sound like a palm slapping against fabric. “Let’s move. The Crow Club’s already closed for the private meeting.”
Crow Club? Inej crept closer to the rail, ducking low to remain in the shadows. Two figures swam into her line of vision, silhouetted by the city’s glow.
Even in the dim she could tell they were dressed garishly. Barrel flash if she’d ever seen it. The man on the right’s green suit clashed horrifically with the burnt orange jacket of his companion, gold-plated jewelry flashing from their fingers and wrists and the hollows of their throats. If only she could see their tattoos…
The green-clad man turned around suddenly, peering over his shoulder at the ship.
She froze, holding her breath. His gaze was unnerving, but Inej Ghafa was nothing if not practiced at hiding. She could wait him out, knowing that while she was crouched down like this, the man would see nothing but shadow.
“Captain?”
Inej winced. She had all but forgotten about the crew slowly dispersing at her back. They’d been quiet as they gathered their things and dropped the gangplank, knowing from experience not to interrupt her spying.
Well. Most of them knew not to interrupt.
She glanced over her shoulder to find Petyr shuffling from foot to foot, looking at her through his blond lashes. She could think of no reason to shoo him away without raising suspicion, so she rose slowly from her spot in the shadows. When she was fully righted, she dared another glance toward the man on the dock.
He cocked a brow, the corner of his mouth tilting up into a crooked grin. His hand raised—as though in greeting—and then he looped an arm around his companion, tugging him in by the shoulders and whispering into his ear.
Inej tore her eyes from the strange sight, letting out a slow exhale. “Yes, Petyr?”
The boy was looking down at his shoes, a flush high on his cheekbones. “I just wanted to thank you. For everything.” He glanced up, his expression so open and sincere that for a second Inej’s heart cried out for Matthias.
Something inside her melted. “Of course.”
Petyr gave her a soft smile before turning away, heading down the gangplank with the rest of the crew.
When Inej turned back toward the two men, they were gone.
It was probably nothing. Gossip about the most gossip-worthy person in the city. Perhaps the men were Dregs recruits, sharing stories of their future boss in hushed, admiring tones. Perhaps they were rivals with whom Kaz had struck a deal, or new bouncers for the club.
But there was something definitively off about them. Something in the brogue that scraped the dark corners of her memory, the flashing jewelry, the cocked brow and slick smile.
Alarm bells began their slow whine in her head.
Without giving it a second more thought, she hitched one leg over the rail, then the other, bringing herself to an upright position on the narrow piece of wood. Standing like this, she could pretend she was home, practicing a new trick on the wire before her family embarked on their yearly tour up and down the coast. She could hear her cousins chattering, her father calling out instruction, even those same wailing gulls crying out overhead. She could see the saucer-round eyes of the crowd as they all had the same thought in unison: Is she going to fall?
But Ghafas didn’t fall.
They flew.
Inej took a step forward into the abyss, bending her knees when her feet hit the dock to absorb the impact.
Yes, the men could have been nothing. Merchants with an ax to grind, shopkeepers heading home. They could have been sailors from a faraway land, their Barrel flash nothing more than a cheap imitation. In all likelihood, they had no intention to harm so much as a single hair on Kaz’s head.
And even if they did, she was certain that Kaz could handle them himself.
But there was something nagging at her, an uneasiness low in her belly that spread to her limbs like oil on water. She felt a tug behind her navel, drawing her to follow into the city’s depths.
The Wraith hadn’t built her reputation on ignoring intuition.
Inej peeled herself from the shadows and disappeared into the night.
———