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It’s her specialty as the Wraith, being so silent that she may as well not even be there or had anyone not known any better – she might have been a statue. Inej says nothing and doesn’t dare move. She stares at Kaz’s reflection in the mirror, at the way his hands shake when he removes his gloves. All the rumors were wrong; his hands weren’t stained with blood or monstrous to behold. They were just hands. Clean, pale, slender fingers and only slightly calloused.
After a few tense moments pass without change, Inej starts to gather her hair. Whatever he had planned to do, she doubted he saw it fit to follow through with it now. But just as her fingers began to part dark tresses into sections to be braided, he grips her wrist. To her surprise his hold is firm, and she wonders if he can feel the jump of her pulse through his own skin. Her gaze flits to meet the bitter coffee of his, but Kaz isn’t looking at her. Not directly. His gaze is on her hair, swaying softly from the interruption.
“Leave it.” He orders. And she does.
There is no point in arguing or disobeying Kaz Brekker – and intelligent people knew better than to try. Though Inej would barter a hefty sum and all of her knives on the possibility that he might let her get away with a slip or two. Well…in theory she would. She lets her hair slip away between her fingers. One hand slowly returns to her side and eventually he releases the other. Inej can see the strain in his features, can hear the uneven rhythm of his breathing. The only reason she can, however, is because he is allowing her to. I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all. She recalls the words with ease and since her return, there has been a difference. A change, an attempt. Kaz Brekker, ‘Dirtyhands’, the Bastard of the Barrel – had started to do just that: remove his armor.
With this in mind, Inej didn’t fail to notice that this version of Kaz was still limited. So much so in fact – that it seemed solely available to her. She would have reasoned that it was simply because she was the Wraith, and so little could genuinely be kept from her. But that wasn’t the case and even Kaz has his secrets.
Inej wanted to think he was doing this for her – but really it was for himself. Or maybe for them. For a chance at more than what they had acknowledged before, had been able or willing to give. Things were different now, or at least they were heading in the direction of change. It was still too soon to tell whether it was the right or wrong direction, but time would tell. Kaz’s hands still shake as he threads his fingers through her hair. It is a gesture that is both soothing, and alarming to Inej. Slowly, he begins separating her hair and begins to braid it. “What business, Kaz?” Inej asks, surprised by the tenderness in her own voice. She almost wonders if he heard her. But after a few moments of silence and the smooth rhythm of his work, he replies.
“You came back.” A statement and a question in its own way.
Inej hums softly, remember the last time she had seen him – not counting the last few days and nights. She had grown lazy, and soft, and spoiled if any word suited her better now. Though her struggles, each of her fights and the cold seasons that sank into her bones would never be forgotten. Some nights she still woke with a fever under her skin, gasping for breath and clutching her side. Other nights she replays the fight with Dunyasha over various heights, and in each one Inej takes a wrong step, makes a poor choice in movement. No one is there to save her; no one is there to mourn her.
“I said I wasn’t finished with Ketterdam.” she replies with a smile, hoping to catch his gaze in the mirror.
Kaz doesn’t look up and doesn’t stop. Not until he has finished braiding the length of her hair, his fingers lingering and smoothing the soft ends of it between them. Once he’s satisfied, dark brown eyes peer back at her knowingly. “It’s barely been a year, are you sure you’re ready to return?” Inej closes her eyes. She missed the rough sound of his voice, the low pitch of it. She gives a small nod and turns to look at him. It shouldn’t rattle her as much as it does, but for some reason Inej feels a coil of fear being pulled taught within her. Fear and uncertainty. “Have you found a new spider already?” she asks evenly.
At this Kaz scoffs and he lets his hands fall away from her, back to his sides. They itch for the return of his gloves, but they also burn with the desire to touch her hair once more. Or maybe her cheek, to feel that she’s truly there. Returned to him, whole and healthy – glowing even. Being away from the Slat and the Dregs in general has done wonders for her. He almost tells her to leave, and that he doesn’t need her there. And truthfully Kaz could hire another to do his spywork. Could. But he didn’t want to and Inej was – is – the Wraith; she is the best there is, and he trusts her with his life. That couldn’t be said for anyone else under his employ.
“Kaz?” Inej tries gently, her fingers catching on the sleeve of his shirt. She watches his features shift; a crooked smile tilting the corners of his mouth and is surprised to feel the press of his palm against her own. Less so when she also feels the tremor run through him, jostling their joined hands.
“What if I did?” He says, thinking of the people he has feeding him information now. People. Multiple all for the work of one person – and their abilities were poor, messy. Kaz more often than otherwise found himself cleaning up their messes because they didn’t have the brains to cover their tracks or the brawn to take enemies out when caught. “You’ve been gone a long while. You can’t expect me to not have something in position.”
“But they aren’t the Wraith,” she quips. “So will you help me, and I’ll help you?”
“Are you trying to make a deal with a Barrel boss?” Kaz raises a brow at her.
Inej says nothing, forcing him to say the words, to accept her, to take on the challenge. Her offer went beyond her work with The Dregs, but she would never say so and should never need to. She could see Kaz’s thoughts flitting behind his eyes, see the subtle shift in his features. It wasn’t the famous scheming face, but it was familiar to her just the same. Outside the window a crow sends out a call.
“Welcome home, Inej.” He replies finally, ghosting his knuckles against her cheek; the touch never quite reaching, there and gone.