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Inej can still remember the first time she killed someone, like the memory of it was seared into her brain. The sickening squelch of her knife as she drove it home, just where Kaz had taught her to. The man, who, mere seconds before, had been breathing and living and fighting, now lay dead at her feet. Sankt Petyr protruded from his chest menacingly, marking her as a murderer.
She had done it to protect Kaz and Jesper in a fight, leaping down from her vantage point to join the fray, thinking of nothing but the knife that had very nearly hit Kaz, and that would almost certainly find purchase when it next struck. So she acted first. Better alive and guilty than dead in this city.
Kaz had been standing near her, having taken out three men on his own. He looked over at her and nodded, as if to say good job. She hadn’t done a good job, though, she had killed a man, and she would never be able to forgive herself. It was one line too far, one more barrier that she shouldn’t have crossed, and one for which her Saints would make her pay the price, she was sure.
Jesper had barely noticed, but no one would expect him to. He’d killed two of the men with his pistols, and then walked off as if nothing had happened.
They left the bodies on the ground, a warning to any other gangs who might seek to cross Dirtyhands and the Dregs.
The walk back to the slat was not insignificant, but to Inej it felt like only a second before she was up in her room, alone. It was only then that she could start crying, the tears leaking out of her eyes and onto the threadbare mattress.
Kaz could hear her crying. He’d known this would happen. She’d been reticent about killing from the start. He’d still taught her how to, you never knew when, despite all your morals, you would need to do something drastic. And he’d been proven right.
Still, he paced his room, following the path between the old rug he’d taken from downstairs and the small bed. When he’d claimed this room, he hadn’t expected to need as much room to pace. He really should have factored that in to the layout.
There was a strange feeling in his chest. It wasn’t pity, because Dirtyhands didn’t feel pity. It wasn’t regret, because Dirtyhands didn’t feel regret. He couldn’t place it. Perhaps he had eaten something abnormal, but that was distinctly unlikely. Perhaps it was not Dirtyhands who paced his office now, but Kaz Brekker, or, even worse, Kaz Rietvald.
No.
She would get over it. She’d be back again tomorrow, ever his faithful spider, working toward the freedom she so desired. This was just one small step on the way to achieving that.
But he couldn’t shake the image of her tear-stained face from his mind. Her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears, curled up on her tiny bed.
Without conscious thought, he found himself outside her door. Her muffled crying was the same volume as it was in his room, perhaps quieter. Her window, like his, must have been open, desperately trying to get some fresh air in this filthy city.
He knocked on the door, and waited. It took her two minutes and thirty-six seconds to open the door. She looked a little bedraggled, but ready to go.
“I want to plan another heist. Care to help me?”
Dirtyhands didn’t ask for or accept help from people. He acted alone, only considering others insofar as they could provide him material gain.
“Ok.”
He hadn’t expected to agree either, and was surprised to find that he didn’t hate the idea of her company.
So he and Inej sat in his room, pouring over maps. He was in his usual chair behind the desk, and Inej had dragged over a small stool, allowing her to sit next to him. They spent hours plotting, until they looked out the window and saw the sun rising. Inej looked exhausted.
“Have a rest, Inej.”
“I don’t think I can, not after that.”
“All men meet their fate one day, at our hands or others’. He had it coming. He tried to kill us, and you saved our lives in taking his. Did one of us have more right to live than the other?”
“I still killed him.”
“Yes, you did. I will not persuade you otherwise, and you should not be persuaded otherwise, but you must learn to wear it. This is our livelihood, Inej, this is how you escape this city. This is how I get my revenge.” His voice quieted for the last sentence.
“I don’t know how to.”
“Give it time. If you wish, you can sleep on that sofa. It’s quite comfortable. It used to be Haskell’s, before he decided he wanted nicer ones. I took it. I can’t abide by waste like that.”
Inej took the sofa, and within seconds, she was asleep. She didn’t expect that being watched over by Dirtyhands would scare away her demons, but it had, and she slept in peace.