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The woman behind the desk wore her dark hair in a bun as severe as the frown on her face. She acknowledged Wylan and his father with a curt nod as they settled into the seats across from her. After scratching a final few words into her ledger, she put down her pen.
"Mister Van Eck, I trust you had no difficulty locating these offices?"
Despite rarely appearing otherwise, Wylan was always made to tag along for business dealings at the University of Ketterdam. It was a kindness, his father would say, as there was no other way a person of Wylan's deficits would be welcomed at such an esteemed institution of learning. This visit had something to do with the university's paper supplier, but he wasn't privy to the specifics. The woman reached into a drawer to produce a sheaf of papers that she passed across the desk for the merchant's inspection.
Though the chair he sat in was upholstered, Wylan could not find it in himself to relax against its back. He sat with impeccable posture at the edge of the seat, hands clasped tightly in his lap. He'd learned through experience that the expression least likely to draw attention from business partners, and thus his father's ire later, was one of gentle interest. He forced a faint smile and looked at the document in his father's hands. Only the occasional figures scrawled among the words made sense to him, but they were useless without their unreadable context.
His father began to comment on the paper mills under contract. The Council was revising taxes, which would affect certain importers more than others. The woman pursed her lips and jotted something down. Wylan tried his best to listen along, but his eyes soon drifted. There wasn't much decoration in the room. A small shelf of dusty tomes, a large shelf of pristine ledgers. The windows gave the woman's office a close view of the neighboring building's brick exterior. She asked something about the next Council meeting, but Wylan's mind had wandered too far to follow the thread of the conversation.
I'm the world's worst son.
Wylan blinked. That was a thought that crossed his mind on occasion, but he knew the voice in his head. That was not his voice. He glanced around, but his father was engrossed in negotiations like nothing was amiss. If only he heard the voice, then…
Could it mean that his soulmate was here, somewhere in this building? He'd dared to dream when his mother read him stories about soulmate bonds, minds that met before their bodies did. Everyone had a soulmate, and someday he hoped to hear that fated someone's voice enter his thoughts. Then his mother died and took those grand tales with her. Chance encounters in a Ravkan palace or at a quaint village dance in southern Kerch faded to faint memory. Wylan's dreams of finding his soulmate withered like his father's love.
The boy spoke perfect Kerch, but with a slight lilt that gave the impression of being from an unpinnable elsewhere. In an instant, an ember fell on hopes Wylan hadn't known were capable of reigniting. He almost squeezed his eyes tight to concentrate on his response, but remembered just in time where he was. He settled for a hard blink.
Is this my soulmate? I'm sure you're not the worst son.
The voice appeared in his mind again almost immediately. Though the initial statement had been morose, there was now an excitement injected into his tone that hadn't been there before. It didn't fully erase the boy's sadness, but it was an improvement.
I guess it is! Wish I could agree with you, but you're talking to the University of Ketterdam's latest dropout.
That would explain both the mood and the presence in this stuffy administrative building. Failure and disappointment were Wylan's area of expertise, but in university settings, not so much. He failed his subjects in the privacy of his own home.
Wylan's soulmate interrupted his thoughts again, and he tried to keep his face carefully schooled. If you're a student, said his soulmate, I'll come back to visit you.
He snorted at that, quickly masking it by coughing into his elbow. His father seemed to buy it, or at least decide the matter wasn't worth his time. The man went back to sifting through files he'd brought in his briefcase. If Wylan were a student, he wouldn't have been dragged along to spectate this dry business deal. He'd be preparing for studies at the university, not given a reminder of how he was too stupid to attend.
He focused on a reply back to the other boy. I'm not, no.
This news brightened his soulmate's spirits, if the warm thrumming in the connection was anything to go by. Wylan understood; visiting the physical representation of his failures wore on him, as did his father's satisfaction at that fact.
Can we meet? I'm outside the student residence office.
In his mother's stories, this was the part where the pair would connect in-person. It would be a grand affair, rushing to find the body attached to the soul with only their minds to offer clues. Such a meeting was not in the cards for Wylan. Being here on official merchant business, or simply being Jan Van Eck's unfortunate sole heir, meant he had no leash. If he could sneak out someday to find his soulmate, the inevitable punishment would be worth it. But today was not that day.
His father was leaning forward, signing a document as the administrator woman looked on. He placed the pen in her outstretched palm so she could do the same. Wylan shifted in his seat before breaking the bad news.
I…can't. Not right now. I want to, though. He imagined slipping out the kitchen door to track down his soulmate's home. It would probably have to wait until his father's next business trip. All he'd need to know is where to go. Where will I be able to find you?
His soulmate didn't respond immediately. Wylan thought back over the last thing the other boy said, and oh. If he's at the residence office and dropping out, then maybe—
I don't know.
The uncertainty in those three words sank deep into Wylan's bones. He could tell the boy he lived on Geldstraat, but that would put both of them in danger. Years of being told he didn't deserve a soulmate all but confirmed that.
"Wylan, we're leaving."
Jan Van Eck was standing now, his briefcase handle clutched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. He stared daggers at his son.
As Wylan leapt to his feet to scurry after his father, he sent a final thought to his soulmate. You'll find your way. Then we'll find each other.
He hoped that was true.
Jesper wished he could've finished that cup of coffee. Unfortunately, Kaz's every last suspicion had proven correct, forcing him to ditch his plainclothes café surveillance to pursue the rank and file Gulls slipping out from the eaves.
An offer to do business had come in from an ambitious young merch still carving a niche for himself in Ketterdam's cutthroat markets. He wanted to rent a berth in Fifth Harbor, but only if the meeting was held by his current berth in Third. If it were Kaz's decision, those particular terms would take the deal off the table. Merchants conducted business in the Financial District; it didn't escape anyone's notice that the meeting location was to be deep into the Government District, as far away as possible from Barrel reinforcements should anything go south.
The decision lay with Per Haskell, who wanted Kaz to meet the man in the off-chance he was one of Ketterdam's rare honest men. If the offer was genuine, after all, that would mean more kruge for the coffers without him lifting a finger. Inej, already the best spider in the city, found that the mercher had been to the Razorgulls' offices thrice in the past week. That was all the confirmation Kaz needed to assemble a crew for dealing with the Gulls looking to get the drop on Dirtyhands.
The merch had insisted on walking and talking, despite Kaz's leg. Jesper had to give it to him; forcing this moving interaction meant he could walk Kaz straight into an ambush. It was a couple doors past Jesper's stakeout point when the first Gulls made themselves known.
The sharpshooter rushed after the pair as Dirix sent a bullet through the first Gull's knife arm. The shot rattled the morning market, bringing the bubbly atmosphere to a stunned silence. By Jesper's estimate, there were two dozen Gulls, though the frenzy of fleeing customers made the exact count difficult. Kaz brought eight Dregs. Jesper unholstered his pistols and pushed through the fray.
When Jesper managed to regain a line of sight on the last place he saw Kaz, the other boy was gone. The duplicitous mercher was nowhere to be seen, either. No doubt these facts were related. The Gulls thought they could encroach on the Dregs' cash cow harbor if they brought in a smooth-talking businessman as their smokescreen. They thought wrong.
With Kaz nowhere to be found, the Gulls gladly settled for his crew. The Dregs had been spread out during the initial plan, so Jesper took a moment to locate his brethren. A hotel window shattered, raining glass shards onto the knife fight beneath it. Jesper fired two shots at a sniper lurking behind shipping crates before taking off down the street. The outnumbered Dregs would do best to flee; seeing Specht disappear around the far corner of Pouvwerstraat with an unconscious Pim over his shoulder told him the ex-sailor was on the same page.
The air of the Government District was growing hazy with gunsmoke, the normal hustle and bustle retreating until only Barrel scum remained. Jesper dove behind a poffertjes cart that had wisely been abandoned by its vendor the minute bullets started flying. He crouched low to catch his breath and stretch the limbs that poked out from his too-small suit. He'd had to wear the drabbest thing in his wardrobe for Kaz's operation, a gray ensemble that hadn't seen the light of day since he turned in the key to his room and sidestepped when asked why he wasn't yet registered for the next term's courses. The only bright spot on that day had been meeting his soulmate, but that had been before a year of gunpowder and mounting debts. He'd tried to lock that interaction away in his mind, or else risk dwelling on how far he'd fallen from soulmate material. The only way he found for himself was to the next card table. He wasn't someone worth finding anymore.
Jesper scanned the street in front him for who had yet to disengage. The flash of blonde hair had to be Anika. With her soulmate knocked out and hopefully en route to the Slat, she'd been stripped of her extra set of eyes. A dagger flew from an opposite rooftop to embed itself in the Gull who'd wrapped his dirty mitts around the girl's neck. She ripped herself free and took off after Specht.
Rotty and Muzzen stood back-to-back, exchanging blows with enemy bruisers. A bullet whizzed past Jesper's cart and embedded itself in the building behind him. He spared it a glance. Of all the places to be backed up against, he'd sought refuge against the Stadhall itself. Funny, that, but ultimately unimportant. What mattered more was getting everyone back to the Slat in as whole a piece as possible. He hefted his pistol, peeked around the cart to select a particularly burly Gull, and put a hole through his shoulder. That gave Rotty an opening to connect perfectly with his jaw, and the man was out cold.
Jesper pulled back again, hoping he hadn't drawn attention to his position. Best not to take chances with any more time spent visible than strictly necessary. How many bullets do I have left, anyway? he wondered idly.
Soulmate? Are you fighting outside?
No, it couldn't be. That same voice he'd heard a year ago rang crystal clear through his mind, the boy whose parting words had been an unwarranted belief in Jesper's future prospects. It was the sound he'd most longed for then dreaded since their interaction. Of all the places for his soulmate to be, why would he be in the heart of the Government District? Jesper sagged against the Stadhall, dazed at hearing something through his soul connection again. He focused his thoughts into a coherent response that no doubt would disappoint the other boy.
Unfortunately so. I run with a gang now. Handy with a gun.
Even as Razorgulls themselves began to retreat down the street, the general commotion distracted Jesper enough that he couldn't fully concentrate on listening to his soulmate's thoughts. Or maybe his soulmate had blanked upon learning his fate was entwined with not just a dropout, but a Barrel gunman. If he were just the first part, maybe his soulmate could make peace with that. He was under no false impressions that the full Jesper Fahey package would be of interest whatsoever. Only then did the voice of his dreams cleave through his wallowing.
If you're wondering why I'm here, um. His soulmate paused. My father is a merchant.
Oh. As if it couldn't get any worse. A merchling was his soulmate? They might have lived in the same wretched city, but as far as Jesper was concerned, they occupied separate worlds entirely. That was the last nail in the coffin. There's no way a mercher's child would voluntarily shackle themselves to him, soulmates or not.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by the loud rap of knuckles on a wooden sideboard. Rotty grinned down at him despite sporting one hell of a shiner. "Nice shot, Jes. Ya gonna stay here all day, or? C'mon." He patted the cart absently and strode off through the emptied street after the last few Dregs.
Jesper focused his thoughts one last time as he clambered to his feet. I can tell you where you can find me now. I live in the Barrel. He figured the other boy could feel his bitterness seeping through their connection. It was one thing to be a sharpshooter indebted to a gang, but another to admit it to someone blissfully outside it all. His da didn't know, and hopefully wouldn't for as long as Jesper could keep it that way, but now his soulmate did. And there's no way he'd be wanted after that. Maybe if he'd made something decent of himself after leaving university, landed an honest job, he might've been someone worth considering, worth finding. But he fell to his vices, and ta-da. His soulmate got a real winner. He dusted himself off and jogged after Rotty.
If his soulmate responded, he wouldn't know. He was already out of range.
Wylan watched from his bedroom window as his father helped his lovely new bride Alys into their awaiting carriage and contemplated, not for the first time, running away. The carriage door was secured behind them and off they went, through the Geldstraat dusk to a gala Wylan had explicitly been disinvited from. Not by its hosts, who were none the wiser, but by esteemed Councilman Jan Van Eck. Now that Alys had entered the picture, there was less pressure to parade around his useless son and spin lies about how the young heir's studies were progressing. And so he remained, a silent spectator to the lamps flickering in neighbors' window sills and servants letting themselves out the front gates to go home while the sky still held reddish hues.
The Van Eck mansion emptied of its staff, eager for the early night brought on by their employer's absence. If anything were to happen while Wylan was home alone, well, his father would be more concerned about property loss. A few more carriages rolled down the street as the dusk turned to twilight and then there was nothing. Normally, Wylan would pull out his sketchbook and capture the view. That wouldn't be possible until he got his hands on a new one, however, on account of his father having tossed the previous book into the hearth. He pressed his forehead against the cold panes and stared off in the dark distance toward the Barrel.
The first time Wylan connected with his soulmate, the other boy had been thoroughly miserable, but was brightened by having found his other half. Some of his discouragement was replaced by eagerness to meet Wylan. A year on, it took a moment to place the voice in his mind as being the same boy. His voice sounded deeper, for one, more of a smooth baritone. But that wasn't the most jarring difference. No longer did the connection bring any enthusiasm to his soulmate's voice, just an overwhelming wave of bleakness.
Wylan was plenty familiar with others' disappointment. It was almost always directed at him. This time, though, was different. Maybe it was their connection, but he could tell that every last ounce was pointed inward. Wylan had worried that his soulmate would turn his nose up at a silver-spoon merchant's son, understandably tarring him with the same brush as his peers who basked in Ghezen's glory without a care in the world as to who suffered for it. Merchants had no love for the Barrel types, and the feeling was mutual. He expected the boy would dismiss him before even learning how much of a failure he was at being his father's son.
Instead, all his admission garnered from his soulmate was dejection. Then he'd disappeared before Wylan could tell him that no, it didn't matter to him where his soulmate lived or what differences lay between them. He'd want to find the other boy anyway.
The Barrel was the dark heart of Ketterdam. There were no pretenses of morality there. If you had the money for even the most wretched of desires, your wish would be granted. At least, that's what Wylan had been told. The older sons of councilmen would regale each other with Stave exploits once they'd downed enough champagne to loosen up. In the Stadhall, Council meetings always dedicated time to decrying the gangs' latest activities. The councilmen pretended that they were all above such illegality, as if most of them hadn't at one point or another paid someone with that telltale inked forearm to make their problems go away.
A few weeks after the Stadhall shootout, Jan Van Eck had a terrible day. A jurda ship he'd invested in had gone missing off the coast, Alys's father demanded a higher bride-dowry at the last minute, and worst of all, Radmakker insinuated that Wylan's lack of attendance at trade meetings was beginning to raise eyebrows. Only one of these problems resided in his home. The second his colleague exited the premises, Jan stormed over to his pathetic son's room and channeled his ire through his fists. It didn't make him feel any better, but it didn't make him feel any worse.
Wylan began packing the moment he'd stanched the flow of blood from his brow. He stuffed a few changes of clothes into a canvas bag, alongside his second-best drawing pencils. It was only when he went to grab his flute that he realized he wouldn't last a day in the Barrel. Who was he kidding? Sure, he'd dreamed of many grand scenarios that involved seeking out his soulmate, chasing down leads until he found the right well-worn doorstep to wait at until the boy emerged. Realistically, he'd have his last worldly possessions stolen off his back the moment someone laid eyes on a limping, skittish boy with clothes that looked nothing like Barrel flash. He shoved his bag into the bottom of his bureau and didn't touch it again.
Something moved at the edge of Wylan's vision. He blinked. There, another movement, but closer this time. Right near the corner of the Van Eck property. He stood on his toes and craned his neck for a better view. It was too dark out to be sure, but was that a person? His fears were confirmed when a cloaked figure vaulted the stone wall. As if it couldn't get any worse, another one then followed suit. Wylan felt his heart in his ears as the two shadows sprinted in his direction.
He glanced around his room. There wasn't much he could defend himself with, other than his music stand. Its cold iron was the best he would get. He pointed its rack toward the window in his best attempt at a menacing stance and awaited the inevitable. Only then did his blood turn to ice.
Leaving a mansion unguarded is willfully stupid. Window up there's probably unlocked, too.
Wylan couldn't breathe. It had been months since he'd heard that voice. And now his soulmate was here. Breaking into his home. His gut instinct to flee from intruders fought viciously with his desire to finally meet his twinned soul. On one hand, this was his fated match, the boy he'd dreamed about since the stuffy university office. On the other hand, what if his gunman soulmate shot first and asked questions later? In the end, his yearning won out. He pressed his back against the wall next to his window and gripped the stand like his life depended on it. Which, for all he knew, it could.
There was a scuffling sound against the brick exterior for a couple heartbeats, then the window was wrenched upward. Wylan held his breath and willed himself to become a statue in mind and body. A boy tumbled over the sill into a crouched landing, the hood of his cloak falling to his shoulders. He was Zemeni, the moonbeams revealing dark skin and close-cropped curls. From what Wylan could see of his face, he was beautiful. Thought as much. The audacity to leave it unlocked.
Soulmate?
Halfway through the process of standing up, the Zemeni boy toppled over. With eyes so wide they threatened to pop out of his head, he spun around and found Wylan. Steel gray locked with clear blue. Silence echoed through both channels.
The spell was broken by a cane dropping through the window with a thump much heavier than it should've made. The accomplice hoisted himself after it and landed on his friend, who'd been too transfixed to move from where he'd tumbled to the floor. This jolted Wylan into motion, and he brandished his makeshift weapon at the not-soulmate.
"Fuck's sake, Fahey. Why are you—" The second boy, clearly both Kerch and underfed, realized Wylan was there. His dark eyes widened infinitesimally before hardening to match his scowl. He snatched up his heavy cane with black-gloved talons, only for another hand to grab onto it. His soulmate, Fahey, gripped the silver crow's-head topper and tugged it for all he was worth. The other boy snarled and ripped it out of his grasp.
Fahey yelped. "Kaz, no, Kaz, he'smysoulmate!"
That got his attention. Kaz lowered his cane before raising his eyes upward as if asking Ghezen to smite him. He sighed and pulled himself to his feet, looming over Wylan. Fahey hopped up behind him, even taller but not quite as menacing. Face-to-face in the moonlight, he could see in fine detail how the boy really was gorgeous. And his soulmate. His soulmate?
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jesper's soulmate."
Wylan squeaked at the new and decidedly female voice that addressed him. A small Suli girl had materialized at Kaz's shoulder, though Wylan would swear she wasn't there a second ago. She smiled warmly, in contrast to Kaz's glare. Behind them, Jesper did his best impression of a fish, mouth opening and closing with no further sound emerging.
Not knowing how to respond to her, Wylan stepped back half a pace and pulled the music stand closer to his body. He'd be subdued immediately should the intruders decide to attack, but hefting it as a makeshift shield was the only coherent thought in his mind at the moment. Jesper was a gunman and Kaz had that cane. While no weapons were immediately visible on the girl, she surely had something on her person.
Kaz narrowed his eyes, staring intently at Wylan like he was an equation on the verge of being solved. Whatever answer he was looking for, he found. "Wylan Van Eck, I presume."
How did he…? Panic seized Wylan's chest. This break-in wasn't opportunistic bad luck; this house was thoroughly cased beforehand. They'd expected it to be empty, not realizing he hadn't gone with his father. Maybe this is the end, after all. He took another larger step backward in the direction of the doorway.
A familiar baritone cut through his panic. Kaz might be a sour bastard, but he wouldn't harm my soulmate. Wylan glanced over at Jesper, whose brows were knit in concern. A frown tugged at his frankly perfect lips. Though most fibers of Wylan's being still screamed for him to bolt, the part that instinctively trusted his soulmate won out. He set the music stand down and turned to face the trio.
His voice came out fainter than intended. "That's me," he confirmed, though there wasn't any real need to do so. Kaz hadn't asked a question so much as stated his correct conclusion.
Jesper's gray eyes widened, pieces of the soulmate puzzle undoubtedly slotting together. Wylan was in the Stadhall because his father wasn't just any merchant, but one of the most powerful men in all of Kerch. He expected the revelation to inundate him with all manner of questions, but no voice echoed through his mind. If Jesper had any, he was keeping them to himself. It was an appreciated restraint.
Kaz and the Suli girl retreated to their own silent conversation. He frowned at her, but with none of the heat that had been directed at Wylan earlier. Whatever sentiment that frown expressed caused her to raise a skeptical eyebrow.
Preempting the question before Wylan could word it, Jesper's voice came through. Yeah, they're soulmates. Inej is good for him. Wylan looked up to see a fond smile growing on Jesper's lips as he shook his head bemusedly at the pair. If Wylan was interpreting the narrowed eyes and head tilts correctly, the conversation had morphed into some kind of debate. It concluded when Kaz abruptly turned to address Wylan.
"You aren't at De Boekhalter's." It was an inquiry, despite the continued lack of rising inflection in the boy's rasp. "I've been informed that it's the 'event of the year.'" The derision that accompanied those final drawled words was almost palpable. Kaz drummed the gloved fingers that rested atop his cane and stared expectantly for Wylan's explanation.
What was he to say to that? He knew how it looked: a councilman's heir left behind in an empty house while the man himself mingled with the rest of their societal echelon. It looked exactly as it was. He hoped his shrug passed for nonchalance as he said simply, "I wasn't invited."
The girl, Inej, pursed her lips. She rested a fist on her hip as she tried to tease out meaning from words Wylan left unsaid. Her searching gaze, though just as unwavering as her soulmate's, held a sort of gentle compassion he wouldn't have anticipated receiving from a thief who'd just broken into his house.
Jesper's voice floated through his mind again. That can't be right. The biggest mercher party of the year, every house in this damn district is there. We made sure of it before planning our…evening.
He didn't want to voice it aloud, but this was his soulmate. If they were going to get to know each other, this would come out sooner rather than later. My father's happier when I'm not around. He scuffed at a smudge on the floor instead of looking at the boy.
"What?!" Jesper's outburst caused three heads to snap up. Kaz wheeled around to face the gunslinger, cane reflexively tossed into a bludgeon grip. Inej looked on perplexedly. Maybe when Jesper realized how unloved Wylan was by his own flesh and blood, he'd decide to trust the expert opinion. But it was too late to take back the admission.
I'm a disappointment to him. That's why he disinvited me. If I were there, he'd have to pretend he actually wants me as his heir.
Jesper's eyes turned steely as a blade's edge. Three words seared through Wylan's mind, more heated than he'd ever heard from his soulmate. How dare he.
He held up his hands as a placating gesture but kept his response mental. I'm used to it.
That was the wrong response. Instead of backing off, Jesper's face contorted like he'd been struck. He slipped past his friends to approach Wylan for the first time. The other boy towered over him, lanky limbs shaking with restrained fury as he reached out to place a comforting hand on Wylan's shoulder. Even though Wylan knew the anger wasn't directed at him, he couldn't help but shrink back.
The movement was not missed by any of the gang members, though Wylan only watched Jesper's reaction. He lowered his hand slowly as he processed the unintended response to his action. Wylan expected his soulmate to say something, but nothing came. Jesper just stared absently at his lowered hand.
In that moment, Wylan decided to be brave. His old dream, stashed away in a dark drawer, sparked to life again as he realized his soulmate cared. With these Barrel-hardened three alongside him, he wouldn't get jumped on the way to his soulmate's doorstep. They'd reach the door together.
He reached out to take Jesper's hand. The touch felt like pure energy was arcing through his blood, radiating warmth and a sense of security he hadn't felt since the day his mother went away. He knew Jesper could feel it too. The silver of his eyes gleamed with wonder as he clasped Wylan's hand tight.
I wanted to tell you that I didn't care where you lived. I wanted to find you. I packed my things to leave for the Barrel, but I wouldn't survive alone.
Tugging his soulmate along behind him, Wylan led the way over to his bureau. He crouched down and pulled open the bottom drawer. There, shoved between a box of dried acrylics and an untouched tome of Ghezen's wisdom, was the bag of supplies he'd packed for his aborted mission. With both hands, he pulled it out to inspect its contents.
He could hear a pair of footsteps striding up behind them, accompanied by a rhythmic thud. Kaz didn't need to speak to make his presence obvious. Instead, it was Inej who spoke, despite Wylan not hearing her move at all. Her voice floated down from above him. "Is that a travel bag?"
He craned his neck to meet her curious gaze before answering. "I packed it for the Barrel," he said. All the items in there were good to go, though he pulled an extra sweater from the top drawer when he stood up. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go with you."
Kaz grunted in response. Wylan took Inej's sustained side glance to mean she was having another private conversation with him. He could feel Jesper's warm breath on his cheek as the taller boy leaned down to his ear. "I wouldn't mind," he murmured. "There's space for two in my room."
Wylan could feel his face heat up at the implication. He met Jesper's cheeky smirk with a small, sure smile of his own. Behind them, Kaz cleared his throat impatiently.
"Enough flirting. Jesper, we're leaving. Van Eck, if you truly want to come with us, this will be my only offer."
It was really happening. Wylan made to heave his bag over his shoulder when a thought occurred to him. "Wait," he said, pressing the bag into Jesper's arms in order to dash across the room. He plucked his flute off the nightstand and scooped up a folder of sheet music that had fallen to the floor when he'd grabbed his stand earlier. "Alright, I'm good now."
He headed back over to where Jesper was lounging against the bureau. There was a sparkle in the boy's eyes, one that seemed to express amusement and admiration in equal measure. He held out the bag for Wylan to take. "You're bringing a flute? My, I've got a talented soulmate. Cute, too. Now c'mon, let's go."
A breeze drifted through the window, seemingly responding to the thumb Jesper jerked in its direction. Inej had already vanished into thin air, and Kaz was maneuvering his upper body over the sill. In a blink, he dropped out of sight. Wylan had never done anything close to descending a wall before, but there was a first time for everything.
As he shimmied down the drainpipe, Wylan reflected on the future that lay ahead. No more untraceable encounters and wistful daydreams. They'd find their way together.