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“I think Kaz Brekker is going to kill me.”
This is not an unusual announcement to make in the Barrel. The fact that you’re saying this aloud to an empty room, although odd, is again not something that happens infrequently. Dirtyhands has a reputation for going after anyone who slights him, and he doesn’t accept apologies when he can take something a little more permanent, like a life. Many of his victims are prone to complaining via soliloquy.
The only difference between you and the dozens of Ketterdam residents currently pacing restlessly in fear of Kaz’s wrath is the response such a statement receives. When you make your pronouncement, instead of being greeted by the rustle of wind against the eaves or an ominous feeling in the pit of your stomach, you’re answered by the Wraith herself.
Inej chooses to respond to you instead of retreating back to the Slat to tell Kaz his latest fear campaign has worked, unlike how she’d treat anyone else. Although she wasn’t visible in the room, the second you speak aloud to the seeming emptiness, Inej appears in a flash of dark fabric, crouched on your window ledge, and says, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
You frown at her. “I am not being ridiculous. I think he actually means it this time.”
Inej rolls her eyes, slipping into your room through the window you’re pretty sure was locked from the inside when you were last here. “That’s just his usual friendly demeanor. You’ve known him even longer than I have, Y/N, you can’t possibly think that he means you any harm.”
You grimace. “See, that’s what I thought too. I mean, I met Kaz when we were both kids, I’ve kind of taken our friendship for granted. He’s never so much as stubbed my toe with his cane.”
Inej frowns. “So what changed?”
“It’s happened a few times now,” you admit. “He keeps saying stuff about how something with me has got to change, and if I don’t get around to it, he’ll fix the problem I’ve created. He wasn’t joking, Inej. Whatever I’ve done, he’s not inclined to back down until he gets it sorted out, and you know how Kaz likes to solve his problems.”
Inej winces. “Kaz threatens a lot of people. You can’t take it too much to heart.”
“If you were there, you would know,” you grumble. “He seemed, like, genuinely unhappy. He said that my problem was starting to cast a pall on his reputation. He said I was making it his concern. Usually, he trusts me to sort out my issues, but this– this was different.”
Inej must be able to sense your genuine concern, because her expression softens and she walks forward, placing a soft hand on your shoulder. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it. Kaz has a lot on his plate. You’re his best friend, Y/N, or so Kaz would say if he would let himself rely on anyone. He doesn’t want you dead.”
You lean into her palm. Just like always, it brings comfort like nothing else. Just like always, you can’t help but chase the warmth of her touch, wishing for more that you may never receive. Not as a friend. Not just this. “You’re his best friend, too. Have you heard anything?”
Inej shakes her head. “Not a word. I can ask, though. Discreetly, of course.”
You smile. “Of course. I trust your secret ways, you know that.”
Inej laughs, and pulls away after a heartbeat, although her eyes follow the place her hand had been for a while longer. “I think I’ll talk to him now. I don’t want you worrying for no reason.”
You let out a grateful sigh. “Thank you, Inej. I mean it.”
She flashes you a grin as she heads back towards the window. “Anytime, Y/N. One more question, though,” she adds, perched halfway in your room and halfway in the open air of the Kerch streets, “How did you know I was here? When you first said you thought Kaz was going to kill you, I mean, how’d you know I would hear it? I didn’t make a sound.”
You lift a shoulder. “I just did.”
Inej frowns crossly. “I need to know so I can improve my skills. What gave it away?”
You grin. “Maybe I didn’t know. Maybe I was just talking to myself.”
Inej scoffs. “You don’t do that.”
She says it with absolute certainty, the product of enough time spent watching from the shadows. “What if I knew when you were watching so I only talked to empty rooms when I knew you weren’t around?” You ask, laughing.
“That still brings us back to the subject of how you always know when I’m there,” Inej points out.
You wave a hand vaguely around. “I don’t know. Honestly. I just feel it, I guess.”
Inej considers this, still crouched on the window ledge, her heels over empty air, her knuckles brushing the cracking paint. You walk closer so you can get a better look at her. The midnight moonlight clings to her hair, her skin; it’s not just you who doesn’t want to let her go, or so it seems. Inej smiles at you, fond, and then she’s gone, disappearing into the empty night air. You surge to the window, but even after sticking your head out and looking around, you can’t spot one flicker of movement. She has simply vanished, as if from the very country itself.
You don’t know that you could respond any better to Inej’s question even if you were ready for it. You never have been able to put a proper name to the sensation you get whenever Inej is nearby. Some could call it infatuation, others could refer to it as a good friendship, but it’s more than that. Inej is the person you look to first in a firefight. Inej is the one you want to see when you have the day off, when you’re finally safe from a dangerous job. It’s her. Always has been.
You started looking for her in earnest the day you realized that the feelings you had for her were more than just platonic. After that, it was easy. Inej is not so pedestrian as to reveal herself in a shower of loose roof tiles, nor a kicked pebble on the street, but she is still human. If you really try, you can hear her in the quiet of perfect stillness. The brush of cloth against cloth. One held breath. Even secrecy makes noise, and you’ve memorized every way to tell it’s her when a shadow lingers nearby.
You don’t get a response until the next morning. You’re idling on the cobblestoned streets, pretending to wait for a friend but really watching the flow of pigeons from the Dime Lions’ club to the Dregs’. You tuck your face into your hand to hide a yawn, and when you look back up, blinking against the crisp wind, Inej is by your side, leaning against the railing of a bridge just a step or two away.
“‘Morning, Inej,” you greet her. “Sleep well?”
She smiles, closing her eyes so she can tilt her head back and bask in the meager few rays of morning sun that have managed to break through the dense clouds that usually block out Ketterdam sunrises. “You know,” she says absentmindedly, “I really do like that about you. Everyone else just demands information whenever I show up. You say hello.”
You feel the corners of your lips flicker up in a traitorous smile despite your best attempts not to respond to the compliment. “Is it terrible if I ask for information on your conversation with Kaz now, then?”
Inej laughs, shaking her head. “No, that’s why I’m here. I think you’re right to be scared, by the way.”
You freeze slightly. “You actually think he’s going to kill me? Inej, I thought you were here to reassure me that everything was fine, not confirm my fears.”
Inej ponders this. “I don’t think he’s actually going to kill you. Just shake you up a little, maybe. I think he was more mischievous than genuinely threatening.”
This doesn’t make you feel any better. “Kaz’s idea of a fun parlor joke is stabbing someone through the hand. I’m going to need a little more evidence of his support of me before I sleep well at night again, thank you very much.”
Inej shrugs. “I think it’s very unreasonable for you to want to feel safe around Kaz Brekker, but everyone has to have their dreams, I suppose. If you want an indication of his favor, though, he’s assigned both of us to a job.”
This does grab your attention. Kaz would only trust you with Inej on a job if he really believed in you. Of course, he could be sending Inej to kill you, but you don’t think she’d do that. Inej would never hurt you. She’s pledged that before, and you made the same promise to her.
We all come to the Barrel for terrible, terrible reasons, and sometimes those reasons make themselves known in long and awful nightmares. Sometimes, when you wake up screaming, you need a friend who will never hurt you. Someone you can trust unconditionally. Sometimes, when one girl wakes up in a haze of bad memories, tears hot on her face, she needs another girl to hold her until the shaking stops. A girl to promise that there will be someone else in the world who will watch after her, who will keep the endless fears at bay. It was you for Inej, and it was Inej for you.
So no, then– if Inej was asked to hurt a hair on your head, she would not only refuse but protect you from other would-be assassins. The only answer is to then trust that this mission of Kaz’s is not designed to hurt either of you.
“Alright,” you say, shrugging your shoulders, “What does he want from us?”
He doesn’t provide you with an awful lot of information, that Dirtyhands. Inej tells you an address, a room, an object, and a time. You both head to your destination. There isn’t much security at all, hardly any passersby, so you’re able to slip in without difficulty. Once inside the designated room, you notice that there’s not much inside, just some simple furniture and a note on the desk.
The note you read with increasing indignance. Inej, who has been scouting out the room’s perimeter, glances over at you with concern when you fling the paper back against the desk. “What is it?”
“This is a trap,” you tell her, furious, “And it’s all Kaz’s doing.”
Inej furrows her brow, then softly pads across the room to pick up the note and read it herself. You can tell from the swiftly changing expression on her face alone what she’s discovering, having practically committed the note to memory yourself.
Dear Y/N and Inej,
I have had enough. Both of you have something that you need to tell each other. I have grown tired of both of you tiptoeing around it, so you won’t be leaving until I hear you say it.
K.B.
Both you and Inej turn in unison to stare at the door, but before either of you can start towards it, you hear the door lock with an audible click. You glance towards the window, but Inej shakes her head. “Locked from the outside. He must have specifically chosen this room and secured it beforehand so none of us can get out. It’s basically a holding cell.”
You yell some choice insults at Dirtyhands in general, but you only hear a soft, low laugh from behind the door, which is incredibly frustrating. You pivot slowly back to Inej, who is swaying slightly back and forth on the balls of her feet.
“Well,” you say as casually as you can, “I guess we have to say something to each other, then. That’s it, though, and then we can leave.”
“Yes,” Inej says evenly. “But what to say?”
You have a terrible feeling building in the pit of your stomach, something telling you that you know exactly what Kaz wants you to say to Inej. It might have something to do with the feelings you keep burying whenever she’s around, but the note said that both of you had to say this thing, and there’s no way that Inej could ever– she wouldn’t feel the same way, no. It must be something else, then.
“Any idea what Kaz would want from us? You’re pretty up to date on his motives,” you mention cautiously.
Inej looks studiously at the ground. “You’ve known him for longer. Maybe you would have a better guess than me.”
The floor receives your stare as well. It’s easier than looking her in the eyes. Easier than trying to make a guess as to whether or not she could possibly love you. Inej takes to prodding the door and window for possible gives, even attempting to see if the ceiling could be pushed aside to make room for escape, but no luck.
You plead weakly with her as she attempts to unscrew the hinges of the door with one of her knives. “Is whatever he wants you to say to me really that bad that you would go to all this trouble to avoid it?”
Inej stills, her hand still on the frame of the door. “You have no idea what he wants me to say.”
“But you do,” you counter, “Don’t you?”
“It’s about you,” she whispers. “It could be terrible.”
“If it’s you,” you tell her, “It could never be terrible.”
Slowly, carefully, Inej turns to look at you. Her eyes are wide and haunted. It occurs to you that maybe you were wrong, maybe she is here to kill you in some sort of way. She could hurt you without ever drawing blood. It would be easy at a time like this, with your entire body thrumming in the wild, desperate hope that the secret Inej must share is something that you have to tell her as well.
Her voice is quiet, barely even a sigh, when she speaks at last. “He knew that I love you.”
It is strange, how even with your mad hopes and prayers, you’re still absolutely consumed by the knowledge that Inej Ghafa loves you when it is finally confirmed aloud. You go completely quiet, mind racing with this incredible knowledge. Inej owes nothing to the world. She defies gravity, she defies nations. She gives nothing if she can take it, but Inej– Inej has given you her heart, free of charge, and it is the most lavish and lovely gift you could ever hope to own.
Whatever reaction Inej was hoping for, she must not find it in your awestruck face, because she abruptly turns to the door and knocks on it loudly. “I told her,” she says crossly, although you swear you detect a little bit of fear undercutting her words, “Now let me out.”
“Not yet,” you plead with her. “He can’t let you go yet. Not until I tell you that I love you, too.”
This time, Inej doesn’t turn slowly. Instead, it’s as if she’s crossed from the door to you in half a second. “Really?”
Inej never doubts herself, nor the information she gathers. Still, the look of pure joy on her face when you repeat your feelings makes her ask again, and again. You have no problem answering her. For once, you are not afraid.
The door clicks open. You glance towards it. “Footsteps on the landing.”
Inej lets out a quiet half-laugh. “Let him go. It would be sporting to give him a head start before we chase him down for pulling a stunt like this.”
You grin in response. “Still, I suppose we shouldn’t be too devastating in our wrath. Who knows how long we would have kept this a secret.”
Inej tilts her head to the side, considering this. “I don’t know. I’m rather good at finding out secrets.”
You arch a brow. “Is that so? How long do you think I’ve loved you, then?”
Inej beams. “Tell me.”
You impulsively reach out a hand, smoothing back a dark lock of hair from her face. “Since the very start.”
This is only the first of many such secrets. Inej has yet to learn just what made you love her, or where you were when you figured it out, or even perhaps how you learned to tell when she’s trying to sneak up on you. Until then, however, you have no doubt that she’ll commit herself to figuring out every intricacy that makes up the girl she loves. You. Until then, you welcome the challenge.