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Inej had never thought herself to be the jealous type.
Saints, the very idea of it was antithetical to the way she was raised in her caravan, the way she’d lived her whole life — always taught to share things, to think of others and not herself.
For a good long while, she’d believed it, too. Generosity was a virtue, and one she figured she ought to cling to amidst the others she’d be forced to give up during her life in the Barrel.
But now, looking across the room to where the evening’s mark blushes and giggles and places her hand oh-so-delicately on Kaz’s sleeve, Inej immediately knows —
She doesn’t want to share him with anyone else. Not even a little bit.
To his credit, Kaz has slipped into his cover for tonight’s job with near-alarming ease. He’s still very much the formidable Dirtyhands, but there’s a new frisson of cool confidence, of power. It radiates off him, practically — and the mark is hardly the only person here who’s noticed.
Perhaps she shouldn’t be so surprised at this development — Inej has always known that others have found him attractive. He’s a very handsome man, and the danger that he brings only adds to his unique, deadly allure.
That’s never been a problem, though, because no one has ever dared act on it before. He’d never let them.
Until now.
It’s not just that he’s allowing her to flirt with him — no, he’s also very clearly flirting back . An agreed pre-condition for this job, yes, but one Inej hadn’t expected herself to be so bothered by until she’d seen it in real-time. She can’t hear what he’s saying to her, but she doesn’t have to — the color riding high on the girl’s cheeks says more than enough.
The rational part of her brain knows it’s all just a deception to him. That he’s so good at it precisely because none of it is real.
But the irrational part of her brain is angry at him, still. Angry that he can do this at all, that he can lean down and whisper sweet nothings to someone who isn’t her.
It doesn’t help that the mark is also her exact opposite , in so many ways. She’s a pretty Kaelish girl, with fiery red hair and soft, milky skin. The veritable picture of easy, effortless beauty, she’s got the kind of curves that don’t hide well in the straight-cut dresses that have come into fashion (though it’s hardly a violation anyone would protest). To top it all off, she’s wearing real , glittering crystals — not the cheap imitations being worn by those around them.
In short — she’s a rich man’s perfect, beautiful daughter. One who’s been lured a very long way from home.
Inej had never thought that sort of girl would be someone Kaz might want. But however mismatched it might appear at first glance, there’s something about them together that looks good, that looks right.
She can hear Tante Heleen’s voice in her mind, a voice she hasn’t heard in so long, prattling off idly: Don’t let him get bored, little Lynx. Men are notoriously flighty like that.
Inej straightens at that, then shakes the thought away. Dead women aren’t allowed an opinion in her head. Not any longer.
Focus now , she thinks. She has to pull herself together — they’ve all still got a lot left to do, and a sudden bout of jealousy will do her absolutely no good.
Easier said than done, of course.
Behind her, a waiter idles, as if he’s somehow sensed her foul mood.
“Anything for you, ma’am?” he squeaks, when she finally turns to him. He’s a young man who is clearly halfway through a growth spurt. Maybe fifteen or sixteen, at most.
She must look truly terrifying for him to be this shaken. Or maybe he’s just new to the world that is Ketterdam’s criminal underground, even with its newly-acquired glimmering veneer. Either is possible.
Ah, youth. She’s only two and twenty, so she’s aware that she’s hardly one to speak, but her teenage years with the Dregs feel both like yesterday and a lifetime ago.
She tries to school her features into something more agreeable. For his sake, if not her own.
“I need a stiff drink,” she mutters. “Give me the best one you’ve got.”
The party has barely started, but she can already tell — it’s going to be a long, long night.
Tonight is actually just one small piece in a much bigger puzzle. It’s part of what’s been a whole string of tasks that have occupied her brief time back on land. And Kaz, per usual, is the one with a view of all the cards in the deck.
There’s the question of why this is even happening at all. She’d only just gotten caught up on it herself — long stints at sea had kept her away from witnessing it firsthand, but the last few years had shifted the tides of behavior in ways she could never, ever have imagined. The tiny island of Kerch had re-assessed its legislative priorities and passed laws on just about every dubious subject under the sun.
Most notable — and, no doubt, controversial — among these had been the banning of alcohol. The recent enactment of Prohibition had promised to bring the type of sweeping change Ketterdam’s local politicians never could — an improvement to the dirty, immoral underbelly of the city.
The local breweries had struggled to remain in business since then. Most hadn’t survived the fall.
But the Barrel was built differently, always had been. And Kaz Brekker, well — he’d always been the cleverest of them all.
So the Crow Club had made its way into Ketterdam’s premier speakeasy, with a booming underground liquor business to boot. It had quickly become the city’s most prominent bootleg operation, hiding much of its inner workings in plain sight.
No one from the Stadwatch had dared to crack down on it, either. Most were loathe to investigate a place they sourced from themselves, and the few who didn’t were not keen to take the steep risk of crossing Dirtyhands. The religiously-inclined might have even argued that all of this was Ghezen’s will, and who would dare go against that?
Still — rivals had begun to emerge out of the woodwork. The competition in the Barrel was always unfriendly, but with Prohibition in place, it had grown longer claws than ever before. And it was no longer restricted to the Barrel, either — the rich and powerful had begun to dip their toes into the business. There was no telling where things might go, next.
So the heist tonight isn’t for jewels or baubles or gold.
It’s for information, secrets, shame. In many ways, the same as it always has been.
It’s now been just over an hour since the party’s started. Inej has gathered all of the intelligence needed for her end of things, and despite the jovial mood of the Crow Club, the cheery sound of live jazz music hanging in the air, she’s absolutely miserable . Though they’re currently out of eyeshot, Kaz and the target have been frazzling her nerves all evening.
So if her jaw has clenched and her gaze has darkened a little too obviously to maintain her cover, she can’t find it in herself to care. Behind her, she faintly registers Nina approaching, no doubt to investigate why she hasn’t already joined the rest of them.
“Inej. Darling.” The words are somehow both affectionate and admonishing at once, but it comes as no real surprise — Nina can read her like an open book at this point, even with her back turned.
“Hello, Nina,” she murmurs, not quite ready to divulge what it is that’s annoying her so. There’s a part of her itching to confess her feelings in all their ridiculousness, but she’d like to hold out for the sake of her own crumbling dignity, if just for a moment longer.
After said moment has passed, she turns around. Takes in the sight of her friend for the first time since this job had started.
Unlike her, the Heartrender looks perfectly at ease with their settings. She's wearing her signature red tonight, lips and dress paired to match. The latter is a stylish cut she can't quite remember the name of, but it's covered almost entirely in fun, elegant fringes that move cheerily along with her. Not to mention, it comes with a scandalously short hem and a neckline that provides a very generous view of her chest.
Matthias, wherever he is, must be dying, Inej thinks. Of thirst.
She notices offhandedly that Nina’s lips are moving, and then the words come back to her:
“Sweetheart, it’s a party ,” she tuts. “And you look so... blue .”
A kinder choice of descriptor than she would have probably selected for herself, but Inej appreciates it anyways.
“Ah. Well, that’s because the latest batch of drinks isn’t strong enough,” she deflects half-heartedly. “I think the bartender is skimping. Or perhaps just very new.”
Nina frowns at that. “Is it really? I hadn’t noticed.”
She nods in affirmative. Despite her other complaints tonight, this one grievance is actually true. If secrets were indeed worth their weight in gold, well, alcohol made them flow that much easier. And what good was a Barrel party without its too-strong drinks?
“Ugh.” Nina rolls her eyes at the poor bartender’s expense, shakes her head. “I’ll have Wylan go check.”
“Now,” she continues, honing back in on the real question at hand, “who’s put you in such a mood ? Wait — let me guess.”
She wiggles her eyebrows animatedly with her next words: “It’s Kaz and his new girl, isn’t it?”
Inej shudders visibly. “Don’t call her that.”
Nina just chuckles. “I thought you agreed to this, love.”
“We all make mistakes,” Inej grumbles. She doesn’t need to be told this.
“So what’s the plan?” Nina prods, an ever-so-slightly humored lilt settling into her voice. “Are you going to kill her, Inej? Because you definitely look like you might. And I don’t think we’re ready for that sort of cleanup, tonight.”
Inej’s fingers curl into frustrated fists at her sides. The motion is just about as useless as angrily simmering over them for the last hour has been, but it provides her with a little necessary release. “No, but I damn well want to,” she mutters darkly. The words cost her more than she’d like to admit.
She’s met with a single raised eyebrow, this time. “And her crime is being, what? Young and a fool?”
Inej fixes her with a low-level glare. “The Barrel has chewed up and spit back out most for less.”
“And you suddenly speak for the Barrel, too?” Nina counters, easily. “With all your time at sea?”
She walked herself right into that one, admittedly. “Well, I'm back here now, aren't I?”
Nina simply laughs again, red fringes flitting with the movement. “Saints, I never thought I’d live to see the day I saw you grow jealous, but here we are.”
And Inej knows she shouldn’t feel defensive, not with Nina , of all people, but she can’t help it.
“How would you feel if it were Matthias out here flirting for the job, hmm?”
Nina grins at that, lips parting to show perfect white teeth.
“I’d laugh my ass off, because he’d do a terrible job.”
Inej knows she’s right — the mental picture of Matthias rigidly trying to make flirtatious conversation with a woman he does not know lifts the corner of her mouth, but only for a moment.
“I wish I could say the same,” she murmurs, and she can feel her anger shift towards something more akin to despair. “Kaz’s doing a little too well, I’d wager.”
“No, no .” Nina snaps a finger, as if to break her out of her spiral of thoughts. “You’re not allowed to be thinking about that right now. I’m going to distract you, because, as I mentioned before, this is a party.”
“Though, speaking of,” she frowns, as if seeing her for the first time, “Inej, love — why did you wear this?”
The offending garment in question is a simple, black dress with modest hems, lengthened sleeves and a dropped, loose waist, covering her like a dark, smoky shadow. There’s no embellishments or delicate fineries on it, but it serves its purpose well enough, she thinks. That purpose usually being to avoid attention.
That and she’s become weirdly attached to it, as of late — it’s quite the comfortable wear.
So Inej pouts at the slight to her dress, despite her best efforts not to. “What’s wrong with it?”
Nina gives her a dazzling, forgiving smile. “Darling, I love you, I really do, but let’s get you changed out of this. Please.”
“I have nothing else to wear, Nina.” And luxury has never been her style. Years on the sea have generally provided little reason for her to dress up. In many ways, this new era of opulence doesn’t suit her.
“Well, I do. And yes, before you ask, it is in your size.”
She prides herself on mostly being able to anticipate what Nina’s up to, but for once, she’s been caught completely off-guard. Inej is not sure if she should be flattered or flabbergasted in response.
“Nina, did you... did you buy something for me?”
“Heavens no, darling. Would love to take credit, really, but I just nicked it off the last job.”
There’s something a little too casual about the inflection of the remark, but Inej is willing to let it slide. It’s probably fairly close to the truth, anyways.
“Convenient as that is, I’m not sure I have time for an outfit change. If Kaz sees I’m off my post...”
“What will he do, pray tell?” Nina challenges. “Has he even looked your way once this evening?”
Points to Nina, again. “No,” she admits. And even if he did, what could he say? Nothing.
“No one will notice, I promise,” Nina insists, echoing her own thoughts.
“No one will notice what?” a familiar voice chimes in.
“Saints, Jesper!” Nina’s got one hand clasped on her heart in surprise. He’s made it a thing to sneak up on her, these days. Matthias too, albeit with a very different response, most of the time.
She recovers her composure quickly enough, as it were. “Help me,” she begins dramatically, motioning to Inej, “convince her that she’s got time for an outfit change. A brief intermission, if you will.”
“Oh no, I agree entirely. This is not a difficult choice, love.”
There goes her last hope of escaping an unnecessary wardrobe swap. “Really, Jes?”
“Sorry,” he says with a cavalier grin, looking entirely unapologetic. Inej can’t find it in herself to be too mad, though — clad in a gorgeous, plum-colored three piece and flashing pearl cufflinks, he’s so in his element that she knows she wouldn’t want to take away from it. Inej makes sure to tell him as much, watches the way he lights up again.
Nina bumps her with her shoulder, tragically breaking her out of the otherwise-reliable distraction that Jesper provides.
“Yes, yes, Jesper looks great,” she acknowledges, to his continued delight.
“But so will you, after I work on you,” Nina insists, right before helpfully adding: “You’re allowed to have fun every once in a while, you know.”
“This will be fun?” It’s meant to be a question, but comes out sounding more like halfway to a statement. A confused one, at that.
“Yes, it will,” Nina says firmly, grabbing two drinks from a passing waiter’s tray. “Now, let’s go!”
“I’m still not sure about this,” Inej murmurs, looking herself up and down in the large, gilded mirror. “It’s so ...”
“Hmm. Is the dress not to your liking?”
Quite the opposite, actually. The outfit is gorgeous beyond belief: colored in a shimmering, seafoam green, the dress is not so much embellished with crystals as it seems to be made with them, though she cannot for the life of her decipher how . The material flows over her like water, bringing back stirring memories of the sea.
As for her hair, well, Nina’s pinned it up in the styles of late, pressing her dark locks into soft curls and finger waves. The pins themselves are entirely unique, however: milky white and adorned with delicate flowers, they give the impression of dangling willow branches, looking as if they might slip out of her hair at a moment's notice.
They pair perfectly with a set of long, white evening gloves that go past her elbows and offer some drama as well as some much-appreciated coverage. Between that and the slightly longer cut on the dress, it feels like she’s got protection, of sorts. Armor of quite a different kind, even after all this time.
A bit of smudged kohl, some rouge on her cheeks and a soft color on her lips round out her makeup for the night. Nina may no longer be able to Tailor appearances as she once did, but she clearly kept her gifts in other ways. And despite all the extra glam, Inej doesn’t feel remotely out of sorts — in fact, she feels bolder, sharper than before.
“No, it’s all beautiful," she admits at last. “Too beautiful, I’d argue.”
“Only enhanced by its wearer,” Nina agrees, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “And you look so very pretty when you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry anymore, Nina,” she mutters in faint protest. It’s a bald faced lie, of course, and one that rings false to her own ears immediately.
“Saints, Inej.” Nina takes an exaggerated sip of her drink — a tart little cocktail called the ‘corpse reviver’, a name she finds endlessly funny — before she carefully places it back down on the vanity and meets her eyes in the mirror.
“I’ve never known you to stew over something for this long. So talk to me, love. What’s really going on?”
And Inej doesn’t know what it is exactly that changes things, but looking back at her friend and bolstered by all the effort she’s put into her, something shifts. It feels like a heavy weight coming off her chest as she finally admits:
“Okay, yes. I’m stalling our return because I’m still angry. Saints, I’m furious at him, Nina.”
She’s been mad at Kaz plenty of times before, of course. But this is different — it’s a dark, ugly, all-encompassing feeling.
“I hate seeing someone else all over him, seeing him act with her in ways he’s never shown me.”
A half-truth, that. Part of it is necessity — their attachment is deliberately kept quiet and out of the public eye. But even in private, Inej realizes, he’s never flirted with her like that. It ties a little too well into her next grievance —
“Seeing them together — it scares me not because it’s a con, but because it’s just plausible enough.” Plausible enough to make her wonder , to awaken a thousand fears she’d never even known she’d had.
“I never thought I’d be feeling anything like this,” she confesses. “I feel so desperately out of control, Nina.”
That’s what scares her most, she thinks. Her jealousy makes her feel dangerously reckless. Bad in general, and even worse for survival. She should know better — and despite that, she can’t shake it off, either.
“But he doesn’t deserve my anger,” Inej finishes, voice tight with resignation. “I did agree to this.”
The words hang in the air between them, then. She knows her confessions are safe with Nina. But a sharp current of tension still lingers as she watches her friend process her words.
“Well, Kaz Brekker doesn’t deserve you in general, love,” she starts, words slow and deliberate with thought. “But do you know what I think?”
Nina draws nearer, then, red lips curving into a conspiratorial grin.
“You spend so much time fighting your vices, darling,” she declares. “Perhaps you need to... indulge in these new feelings a little more.”
The words sound just a little too similar to the broader rhetoric that’s being peddled in Ketterdam’s streets these days, so Inej can’t help the slightest note of disdain that enters her voice: “Why? Because Ghezen commands it so?”
“No,” she exclaims with a gasp, a false-indignation coloring her words. “Because I do!”
And the declaration is so very her that Inej can’t help but chuckle, in spite of herself.
"Careful, Nina. You might be struck down for blasphemy. I hear he doesn’t take such offenses lightly."
She rolls her eyes. "I’d tell him to join the queue. Djel feels similarly about me, I’d bet."
“In any case — jealousy can be a delicious thing, if you’d just allow it.” she continues, idly fixing a small strand of hair that’s come loose. “Another tool in your arsenal. See it as a way of taking your control back — of getting it all out of your system, if you must.”
Slowly, surely , Inej can see what she’s getting at. Sees an idea forming, crystallizing in her mind’s eye.
She can work with this, actually. It might be a careful balancing act between her own temper and sense of restraint, but Inej thinks she can manage it. Probably.
“So, just to be clear — you’re saying I should let myself get angry and jealous and petty?”
“Yes,” Nina confirms. “All of the above. Within reason, of course. And maybe a little outside of it, too.”
“Could certainly make for a more interesting night,” Inej agrees, picking up her drink. She holds her coupe out towards Nina, who picks up her glass and cheerily clinks them together.
“Exactly. Embrace the new age of hedonism, darling,” she finishes with a wink, that all-too-familiar glint of mischief in her eyes. “You’ll feel all the better for it!”
“To bad decisions, then.” Glass against glass, again.
“Oh yes, all the very worst ones.”
They drink to that, finishing off the last of their cocktails. The sweet, citrus tang goes down Inej’s throat like a much-needed elixir.
But she’s ready now — she’s certain of it. Though not without one last acknowledgement —
“I love you, Nina.” she murmurs softly. The thank you goes unsaid.
“I love you, too.” She places one hand on hers, then, all the easy affection she’s grown to love over the years offered at once. Inej meets her eyes in the mirror, again, the golden frame glinting in the hazy light.
“Now let’s get you back out there, darling. There’s a party that’s waiting just for you.”
Nina’s words were meant to be figurative only. Inej hadn’t expected, upon her return, to be making an entrance in such a literal sense.
The timing couldn’t have been more apt — she’s perched at the top of the stairs just as the last song wraps.
A relative hush falls over the crowd — relative because the Crow Club is never quiet, not really — and she can feel their gazes turn onto her.
Ordinarily, this sort of attention would have made her bristle. Inej had always preferred to watch than be watched. After all, in most instances, it’s the observer who carries all the power.
But not this time. In a split second, she decides — this time, she’s the one wielding it. Choosing to be seen, driving the room to sudden, wondrous rapture.
For once, she’s the distraction. And this time, it’s Kaz who’s the mark.
It takes another moment, but she doesn’t even have to turn her head to know —
Inej can feel his dark eyes on her. Truth be told, she’d know them anywhere, everywhere.
And then she’s meeting his sharp gaze, can feel the axis of the earth tilt beneath her.
His face is as she’s so rarely ever seen it — handsome features pulled into something reverent and greedy and dangerous, just as he is. It knocks the air out of her chest, sends her heart beating wildly in her throat.
Even after all these years, he still affects her so. Perhaps he always will.
But there’s something liberating about knowing that he can be brought to his knees, too. She feels the heat rise in her cheeks, feels the liquid tension between them build as she takes every little detail of him in.
Hers, she thinks. Only hers.
It lasts for only a moment. She watches the moment die — registers gloved fingers flexing over the silver head of his cane before he turns his head and brings his attention back to the mark once more.
It’s almost as if he’d never even seen her.
This time, she doesn’t try to swallow her anger down. Inej lets it curdle in her chest, and then steps past it.
Because in the end, she knows, she’s lost absolutely nothing at all. It only serves to make her more deadly.
It’s Wylan who’s waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, ready to sweep her away from anyone who might get any ideas. Dressed in soft blue and cream and gold, he looks like an angel, a storybook prince come to life.
“Forget him,” he whispers, offering his arm out. “Kaz doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
No , she thinks, he does.
But this time, when the moment comes — he will have to be ready to pay a very high price.
In the end, it almost ends up alright. Wylan, Nina, Jes, and even Matthias — the only person actually abiding by Prohibition rules in all of Ketterdam, probably — help keep her occupied, letting her dance the night away.
It’s only when she sidles up at the bar for one last drink that she realizes who she’s right next to.
At this point of the night, the mark is a giggling, tipsy mess. Against her better impulses, Inej listens in.
She goes on and on to anyone in earshot: how handsome Kaz Brekker is, how clever, how funny. It’s only at the fleeting mentions of the back room and meet in private that make her blood run cold.
It’s not a trick — it can’t be a trick — this girl is simply too naive for that. Too drunk, as well.
Saints . She’s going to kill Kaz the minute she gets her hands on him.
But first, she thinks, a bit of friendly advice:
“Is this your first time in the Barrel, love?”
Inej catches a flash of hesitation — just the slightest — before the girl nods.
She’s not mad at her, not anymore. She’s found a far better target, anyways.
“Tread carefully here,” Inej says, taking a sip of her drink. “The men might not always be there to save you.”
Kaz is already waiting for her in the Crow Club’s back office by the time the last stragglers make their way out. He’d worn a classic black three piece suit for tonight’s job — fleeting fashion trends had no sway on him, even now — but he’s already taken his suit coat off, white shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his arms. Even from the other side of the room, she can make out the details of the Crow Cup tattoo on his forearm, the flex of his biceps beneath the shirt.
Saints. Damn him for looking like this when she wants nothing more than to wring his neck.
Evidently, he notices her murderous intentions. A good skill in the Barrel generally and for Kaz specifically.
“You’re angry at me, aren’t you?” he says, simply. Doesn’t even so much as look up from his desk, where he’s very urgently putting some papers away, apparently.
Inej deflects, for a moment. Her wrath needs to have direction, aim.
She draws nearer, then. Picks her next question carefully:
“Did you get the information you needed tonight, Kaz?”
This time, he looks up at her, dark eyes flashing. She sees it again, that hungry, dangerous look on his face as he takes her in, but that’s quickly joined by another look she’s all-too-familiar with — his scheming face.
She can practically see him working it out in his head — he’s definitely onto her.
“ Yes,” he starts carefully, stating it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “of course I did.”
Inej steps to his side of the desk so she’s got his full attention. Can feel her jealousy, her anger — messy, mostly unwarranted, but present all the same — curdling just below the surface.
“And what did it cost you, exactly?” she snaps. “Because your mark seems to think that she might be able to sleep with you, somehow. In this very room, no less.”
If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. Of course , she thinks, the bastard isn’t surprised in the slightest.
“Many have thought that before,” he says coolly. “Doesn’t mean it will actually happen.”
“Did you say something to make her think that, Kaz?” That would be a transgression she could not forgive.
“Never,” he says, and she knows immediately that he’s telling her the truth. “Even I have my limits, Inej.”
It’s good, but it’s not good enough, not when she’s this angry. “You looked at me once all evening, Kaz. I come back after months on sea, and all I see are the two of you together, whispering and chatting the night away.”
“Ah,” he says simply. “So that’s what this is.”
Kaz draws nearer to her, now. She can see him searching her face, sees the moment it all clicks.
“You’re jealous of that little act. Aren’t you?”
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Yes,” she snaps instead, daring him to counter her.
A better man wouldn’t. Kaz, of course, is not a better man.
“You want me to tell you sweet things, Inej?” The words are low, almost mocking. “Compliment your dress, your jewels, the pins in your hair?”
“Is that truly so beneath you?” she retorts. “Or is that honor only reserved for a select few?”
“I can tell you whatever you’d like to hear,” he responds smoothly. “All the lies and flowery words I told her.”
He’s so close she can see every last detail of his handsome, terrible face. Takes in the sight of him as greedily as he’d taken in hers, even as he tears her heart out, makes her blood boil. Infuriates her, like no one else can.
“But why settle for a half-measure,” he murmurs, voice going soft, “when you could have the real thing?”
Inej’s heart is beating out of her chest, suddenly. “And what’s that?”
“You, Inej. You,” he rasps. “Nothing and no one else could ever compare.”
And she hadn’t known she’d needed to hear those words, but it’s like the floodgates have opened. She doesn’t register when or how, all she knows is suddenly she’s pushing him forward, pinning him down in his own office chair.
“What,” she says emphatically, “am I supposed to do. With you.”
He’s a bastard but he’s hers. No one else’s.
“I won’t do it again, if it so irks you,” Kaz offers, one hand skimming the dip of her waist. “There are always other ways.”
The other ways are often messier, more violent, more risky. She can’t allow it, not yet. Not on her behest.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Kaz,” she murmurs. “Just remember — ”
Inej winds one hand into his scalp, then. Pulls it so he’s forced to meet her gaze, the line of his throat bared.
"You’re mine," she breathes out. “Understand?”
“Understood,” he rasps back, and then his mouth is surging up to capture her own.
She kisses him back easily. Deepens it, into something hot and hungry and reckless.
It’s everything she’d wanted all night. And he’s right, of course: nothing else could ever compare.
Then the last thing she remembers is the way he groans beneath her, his clever lockpick fingers stealing the pins out of her hair, her name pressed on his lips.