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She's borrowed a slice of bread from Pim's personal stash in the kitchen downstairs and is currently perched atop the sill of Kaz's attic window. He's witnessed this routine almost every evening since her arrival and is aware of exactly what comes next. So he chooses to focus on the pile of work on his makeshift desk.
His wraith is silent as ever but he knows she is tearing the slice into neat little pieces and scattering them around the sill. And soon enough, the telltale squawking noises reach his ears, indicating the arrival of her very own murder of crows.
He sighs.
In a city like Ketterdam where everything comes for a price, this girl keeps spoiling even the birds of vengeance with free treats.
“You shouldn’t make friends with crows,” he comments, eyes skimming through a parchment in hand.
“Why not?” she asks.
He finally looks up to respond, but whatever teasing remark he’d been about to utter dies on his tongue.
Inej is turned away from him, facing the golden glow of the sun that for once has chosen to grace the streets of this sombre piece of land. Her eyes are closed, oil-black lashes fanning over her cheeks. And in that very instant, as if by a conspiracy of nature, the harbor gust lifts her hair, swaying it gently along.
Kaz stares, a turbulence of dormant emotions bursting free. That innocent 9 year old resurfaces from the shallows of the Reaper's Barge, feels the magic in this world again, feels something more.
“Why not?” Inej asks again; his eyes subconsciously fall on her lips. He wonders if they're as soft as they appear to be, imagines what they'd feel like upon his own. A fleeting vision of them kissing breathlessly crosses his mind, bodies pressed close, hands entangled in each other's hair.
Kaz's eyes widen.
The thought rattles his composure. It leaves him so stunned that he responds with the first thing that pops in his mind. “They don't have any manners.”
“Neither do you, Kaz.” She laughs, and he feels a twinge in his chest, riveted by the radiance on her face. How amazing it would be if he could somehow bottle the sound and get drunk on it every night. His lips quirk slightly, eyes still lingering upon her full lips. To even fancy the notion of kissing someone as pious as Inej, he truly is just like every other indecent boy in this barrel.