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Chapter Text

All that mattered to Jesper Fahey were good odds and a pint of lager. And as of that moment, he had both. 

Jesper couldn't remember the last time he'd walked out of a gambling hall with a grin on his face, but he had a feeling that tonight his problems would run dry. 200 kruge were his for the taking, and with the way his luck was looking, he would have two new hats in his collection by tomorrow. 

"Are you playing or leaving? It's your turn," the robust man next to him asked, irked. 

Usually, Jesper would've considered those words a personal invitation for a fight, but in that moment, he was in too good a position to ruin it by getting thrown out. 

"Settle down, I won't be playing for much longer," Jesper remarked. "Typically, my rule while winning is to quit while I'm ahead, so after I win and rob you of your last kruge, I'll be on my way."

Not an inch of what he had said was true, but lying through his teeth was a talent that came naturally. Jesper had no such rule about quitting while ahead, and if he somehow did, he had certainly never listened to it before. The way he saw it, winning had no real purpose if you didn't exploit your luck to win further. Quitting after one game was like stopping after one drink, virtually impossible.

Regarding Jesper's winning streak, or lack thereof, maybe he did have a rule about not testing his luck. It had been so long since he had come remotely close to staying in the positives, he might have forgotten. 

Not that it mattered. Much to his demise, he really did have to leave after this game, Kaz's orders. 

The time was flying by, and before Jesper knew it, the game had ended. It took all of his willpower to step out of Club Cumulus 130 kruge richer. Ridiculous, he thought. The one time I actually have a winning streak and I'm cut short. 

This stream of thought carried him all the way through the Barrel. 

How dare Kaz steal my one moment? Doesn't he know my luck when it comes to gambling in the Barrel? Does he know what it feels like to have the odds stacked against him? Debauchery would be so much easier without- 

Jesper's inner monologue was interrupted by the piercing sound of Kaz's cane slamming against the door to the Slat. 

"Jesper," Kaz spat. "Pick up the pace, my job won't wait for you to gallivant along the Barrel."

I'd like to see you walk this fast, Jesper suppressed the thought from exiting his mouth, a notion he took pride in. After stepping close enough to the door, Kaz simply turned around and walked inside, leaving Jesper to keep on his heels. 

"I want you to know you robbed me of millions of potential Kruge tonight," Jesper complained, following Kaz through the betting tables, greedily looking out at the players. "If it weren't for you, I'd still be in that gambling hall winning my way to a mansion." 

"If it weren't for me, you would be coming home with lighter pockets and heavier debts," Kaz replied. "Besides, you'll get more from this job than in any game of Three Man Bramble."

Kaz led Jesper into his room and shut the door behind him. The thunder of noise emerging from the Slat subsided, and a blanket of silence filled the room. Inej was already perched on a windowsill, waiting for them to arrive and looking out at the harbor. From this side of the Slat, they could see all of the ships coming in and out of Ketterdam, exports and imports. Jesper noticed that Inej spent a lot of time staring out at the horizon, perhaps missing the life she once had before being taken to Ketterdam. She talked about her childhood, traveling and performing acrobatics with her family, quite often, but every time she spoke of it, there was a sad twinge in her voice, a mix between nostalgia and longing.

Kaz sat down behind his makeshift desk, a warehouse door atop stacked fruit crates, and began speaking of a job. 

"Jan Van Eck sent a messenger requesting our services. We have a meeting with him tonight." Jesper had heard vaguely of Van Eck, a wealthy member of the merchant council. However, he didn't know much about him, as it was widely known that Van Eck kept his personal life deep under wraps. "From what I have been made aware of, the job should be fairly simple and pay well. No death." Kaz looked at Inej when he mentioned the last bit, Inej nodding with a slight smile. Jesper felt an unwanted pang of jealousy; he knew that Kaz understood her better than he ever could, and vice versa, but it still hurt to think if Kaz would give the same forethought to him. No, he wouldn't. 

Not that Jesper minded shedding a little blood. He shuddered to think about what his younger self would think. If that sweet farm boy saw him now, would he see a fine gentleman with serious sharpshooting abilities, or a reckless, irresponsible boy who was in way over his head? Jesper never enjoyed taking a life, but his conscience had been through enough. What was one more soul? One more daughter? Father?

Get a hold of yourself. Jesper pulled himself out of his mental rabbit hole and tuned back into the conversation. 

"Jan Van Eck, why would he want thieves doing his bidding?" Inej asked. "Couldn't someone in his position just call the stadwatch and have them resolve his problems for free?"

"Not if his issue isn't legal," Kaz said.

"Sounds like someone's finally dipping their toes into Barrel life," Jesper joked, although it was partly true. There weren't many officials in Ketterdam who hadn't come to Kaz for a job at some point, which in turn meant that he had dirt on almost everyone in the saints' forsaken city. 

"Where are we meeting him?" Inej asked Kaz.

"At his home in the Geldstraat. Until then, just stay out of trouble." Kaz looked pointedly at Jesper, clear in his message.

After every last question was answered, Kaz giving ambiguous responses like always, the meeting was over. 

As the moon rose higher in the sky, the three separated and away from the others, Jesper let his mind wander once again. He had been on many jobs throughout the years, and although their crew was quite large, most of the missions involved only himself, Kaz, and Inej. Their skills were so individual and ingrained in themselves, perfectly curated over their lifetime. Jesper, however, knew his skills weren't as learnt as they were innate.

He was aware of his abilities, taught from a young age that being a Durast was a gift, something of great pride. He remembered flickers of his childhood where his mother instructed him to embrace his power, starting with small tasks like reshaping metal cans or fixing small jewelry clasps. He might have been proficient at it back then, but now there seemed to be a ticking timer in his head, like every day he neglected his abilities, they withered away. 

He knew that she would be disappointed in him, ignoring the very thing that made him unique, tucking it away beside memories of his youth and his mother. It brought him great shame, not thinking of her as much as he should. But memories of her were intertwined with pain and loss, feelings that he couldn't afford to embrace in the Barrel. Jesper tried to convince himself that Ketterdam felt like a version of home, but no amount of jobs or coin could bring back all he had lost.

Saints, he thought to himself, If I keep this train of thought up, I'll find myself face down in the canal. 

In hopes of repressing his rather sullen thoughts, he wandered to Fifth Harbor, watching the dull waves hit the labyrinth of docks. Jesper observed the moonlight bouncing off the water and creating a faint mosaic shining on the ships nearby. Not many people were around, making it easy to focus on only the entrancing light. Strangely, it made him feel better, helping him see a beautiful part of Ketterdam that he didn't have back home. 

As twelve bells rang, he reconvened with his crew, and they made their way to the Geldstraat, the neighborhood home to Van Eck. Having regained his energy, he carried a nonstop stream of chatter all the way through the Barrel. 

"Van Eck, he owns those sugar silos, right? Saints, I wonder how much he makes off that alone. One of those silos is probably five times my entire hat collection, doubled over. Which I suppose would make it ten times, but that sounds a bit-"

"Jesper," Kaz interrupted, "quiet. Focus."

There really was nothing to focus on, as the walk in one of the nicest areas in Ketterdam didn't have many thugs roaming about, but Jesper could tell Kaz was not in the mood for one of Jesper's signature rants.

"Will do, boss." Jesper turned to Inej. "Alright, your turn."

"My turn for what, exactly?" she asked, a grin playing on her face. 

"To talk. We have to pass the time somehow. Tell me about that time you performed on high wires over hot spikes when you were nine."

Inej couldn't resist, just like he knew she couldn't, and her eyes lit up as she started telling her tale, painting the picture of a bright summer's day. This time, Kaz didn't interrupt once. Jesper looked over and swore he could see him listening intently to her story, as hard as he pretended not to. It was no secret, especially to Jesper, that Kaz had a soft spot for her. Well, as much of a soft spot as Dirtyhands could have. 

Eventually, they arrived at the mansion, which was no more lavish than any other merchant's home, but extravagant, nonetheless. Outside of the building stood a servant sporting a red laurel tie pin, the Van Eck crest. The boy, who couldn't have been older than fifteen, led them into an entryway. The room was wide, with pillars etched in elegant patterns along the walls. A winding staircase sat at the middle, and the halls were lined with ruby red benches. On one of those very benches sat Van Eck, waiting to meet them.

"Kaz Brekker, how I have heard so much about you," Van Eck rose from his seat, bringing himself level to Kaz and taking his gloved hand up for a handshake. "Are the rumors true?"

"You'll need to be more specific," Kaz replied, bringing his hand back and crossing his arms. Jesper could see it in his eyes, the Kaz Brekker from a few moments ago was gone. This was a job, which meant Dirtyhands took the reins. 

"The ones that say your hands are stained with the blood of your enemies. That underneath your gloves hold all your scars from jobs gone awry," Van Eck looked expectantly at Kaz, as if he expected him to answer truthfully. 

"You know what they say about rumors," Kaz replied breezily. "Some are built upon, some fabricated, but they all start with something. Somewhere between all the myths is truth."

"But what is truth if not one man's word?" Van Eck questioned. "Can truth be trusted any more than a lie?" 

"I tell myself what I know is true," Kaz replied. "Being able to see the difference for yourself separates the feeble-minded from the strong."

Jesper sighed internally. At the beginning of almost every job, Kaz would do this same dance, sizing up his customer, engaging in a battle of witty metaphors and analogies. Attempting to sound as clever as possible, it always devolved into convoluted sayings with no deep meaning worth picking apart, contrary to what they believed. Jesper knew that Kaz could hold his own in a dialogue if he pleased, a little too well at times. 

"Right, well, as fun as this conversation is, does anyone want to tell us why we're actually here?" Jesper interrupted. "Preferably you, Van Eck, although at this point, I'm not picky."

Van Eck looked Jesper and Inej up and down, as if just noticing them for the first time, and eventually led the group up the staircase. On the second floor, they found themselves in a vast hallway, with doors of various designs and colors sporadically placed along the space. Van Eck walked halfway through the hall and stopped in front of a large painting hung on the wall. 

"Can anyone tell me what this painting is?" Van Eck questioned, pointing to the canvas. 

"It’s a DeKappel, The Ravishing Woman," Inej said. 

"Correct and incorrect. While this is identical to The Ravishing Woman you speak of, it is not the authentic version. This is a replica, a temporary solution." Van Eck sounded disdainful, as if he was embarrassed to be speaking such disgraceful words aloud. A fine merchant, with a replica of a very prestigious painting in his home. The horror, thought Jesper. It's not like no one will ever notice the difference. 

"Where is the real DeKappel?" asked Kaz. 

"Right now, I suppose it's lying untouched in Domini Alvard's wine cellar. It was stolen from me at a charity auction two nights ago, and I intend to get it back."

"And by stolen, do you mean outbid?" Jesper asked, wondering why someone would choose to spend money on some oils on canvas, when it could be spent in the Crow Club or Club Cumulous, or even the Emerald Palace, for that matter. 

"No, I mean stolen," replied Van Eck, with an edge creeping into his voice. "I had spoken to Alvard moments before about how I had my eye on said DeKappel, and for him to suggest to any potential buyers that they should stay away from my painting. He knew how much money I was willing to spend and outbid me by 10 kruge. Instead of going above my limit and stooping down to his level, I decided to let him temporarily collect it, and now I will take what is rightfully mine."

So not stolen. Dirty? Yes. Smart? Also yes. Jesper couldn't blame Alvard for what he did. Van Eck threatening other auctioneers to opt out of the DeKappel was low, so he went lower. That was very Kaz of him. 

"You want us to break into Alvard's wine cellar, steal the DeKappel, which is most likely heavily guarded, and bring it back without a scratch?" Kaz asked, sounding not so much incredulous as bored. 

"Yes," Van Eck replied simply. When you're a merchant, your time was very valuable. 

"Alright," said Kaz. Apparently, it was for the Bastard of the Barrel, too. 

"Concerning the-" 

Van Eck was interrupted by a door on the left side of the hallway opening. Out came a boy, about the same age as Jesper, if not a little younger, with red-blonde curls that had a clear mind of their own. The boy was walking with his head down, humming some tune, in his own world, until Van Eck cleared his throat and the boy jolted, looking up. He had the bluest eyes Jesper had ever seen. 

Van Eck gave him a withering glare, and after a few moments of silence, watched as the boy sped back into his room without a word. Van Eck went back to discussing the details, cementing the finer points of the job, but Jesper couldn't stop thinking about the boy. Van Eck's son?

Chapter Text

Wylan was exhausted. He had stayed up all night tracing his sheet music onto parchment paper, as was the strange request of his even stranger music tutor. His tutor didn't factor in the extra time it would take someone like him to copy everything down, but Wylan didn't blame him. Normal people would have been able to do it with ease. 

At least I can understand this, he thought to himself. Although his father didn't recognize it, music brought him great comfort, serving as the one thing connecting him to conventional life. It was beautiful, different melodies conveying universal emotions, able to bring together all types of people. 

Looking at all of his hard work in front of him, he felt satisfied with how it turned out. It wasn't perfect, but it was as good as it was going to get. 

I deserve a reward, he told himself, mainly as an excuse to eat the lemon biscuits hidden downstairs in a cupboard.

He stacked up his sheet music, trying to remember all the notes shuffled together in his head.  As he opened the door and made his way towards the kitchen, he directed all his focus towards humming the complicated tune he should've been studying, as his tutor would quiz him on it only hours later. 

Was it A-C-C... or A-C-B...? No, perhaps it was-

Suddenly, he heard his father's throat clear. Shit. The meeting. How could he have forgotten? That saint's forsaken painting was all his father could talk about. How could Wylan have been so careless? He had been told time and time again that when his father was striking deals, he was to remain in his room. 

Wylan looked up ever so slightly to catch a glance at his father, trying to gauge his level of anger. Not liking what he saw, he turned around and hurried right back to his room. He knew he was going to be in loads of trouble, and he wanted to prevent any further damage. 

The time seemed to move slower than ever waiting in his room, and for many agonizing hours, he sat there anticipating what his father was going to do to punish him. In the past, he had been screamed at, belittled, and degraded, but never physically harmed by his father's hands. When things got serious, one of his attendants would be tasked to strike Wylan for him, as Jan Van Eck would never get his hands dirty in such a way.

He wasn't a disobedient kid, not remotely. It just seemed that whatever he did struck a match in the fire of his father, who was already angry enough on his own. It was apparent he needed something to take his anger out on, and Wylan became the live-in punching bag for his rage. He only ever blamed himself for all the troubles life had brought him, as if he were smarter or better it would have made a difference.

After what seemed like hours, his father stormed in and slammed the door shut behind him. 

"How dare you interfere with my business?" Van Eck roared, pacing the room in a fury. "How many times have I told you to stay in your room while I am making a deal? Your thick skull can't comprehend words on parchment, but I was under the impression the Kerch language was still comprehensible. The gall of you to-" 

Wylan had heard it all before. One wrong move, one misstep, and his father would explain in great detail all the reasons he was less than. Reasons why his mother died, or he wasn't allowed to leave the Geldstraat, all somehow leading back to his "defective nature." Over the years, he had learned to tune him out and started humming to himself the chords from earlier that day. 

"Are you humming?" his father said incredulously. "I have never seen the level of disrespect that you give me. I hope you do the world a favor and hum your way into a shallow grave," and with that, he stomped out as quickly as he had come.

The silence that followed was long, save for his father's faraway voice ordering some poor servant to bow down to him, but Wylan's head was roaring. As much as he tried not to let his words get to him, Van Eck always knew how to strike the right chord. 

At least in a shallow grave I'll be alone.

Every time his thoughts started getting to be too much, Wylan would remind himself of the day sometime in the future when he would leave and never look back, maybe find a home in the countryside and stay far away. But every day, that fantasy started to feel increasingly unattainable, his father's words getting to his head.

"If you can't read, how will you survive? You'll have no job, no livelihood, no life at all," Wylan recalled him saying. "You are indebted to me, like a thorn in my side I can't remove."

Not all jobs require you to be literate, he would say to himself. I could be a server or a deckhand, anything outside my present life. And although technically true, these ideas would quickly get drowned out by his father's voice once again.

"Useless, you're better off lying down in the dirt now, you'll be there eventually." 

Wylan walked towards his desk and pulled a piece of parchment out of the drawer. Using the dyed wax he had made on a previous night such as this, he began to picture the DeKappel he had seen on the way to his room every day. Shading the mountains and vast sunset began to clear his mind, serving as a form of therapy. Wylan was an inherently creative person, and whether it was music or art, he found it lifted his spirits in the darkest of times. 

 Straying away from the negative internal dialogue he had had just a moment ago, he began to put more anger towards his father.

It's not my fault I can't read, Wylan thought. If you had helped instead of shaming me, maybe I'd be better at it. Maybe I wouldn't despise myself as much as I do. Disabilities don't make people defective.

Getting up, Wylan paced around his room, eventually deciding to step outside for some fresh air, and to not feel so enclosed. He made his way down the long, dark hallway and reached the edge of the stairs when he froze. 

Down below him in the entryway stood his father speaking with a weary old man. The man had on a crisp black suit, with a handkerchief sticking up out of his breast pocket. Everything about his demeanor gave off wealth, from the way he dressed to the way he spoke. They were talking in a hushed whisper, but from straight above them, Wylan could hear every word. 

"Kruge is highly monitored," the man said. 

"Yes, I am aware. I'm willing to double the amount of the imitation as your real payment."

"A pair of real bills for every forged Kruge?"

"Correct," Van Eck said, seeming slightly annoyed at the rephrasing of his own sentence. Wylan tensed up, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"I would need them by tomorrow, the day after at the latest," said his father.

"Alright. What do you plan to do with the counterfeits?"

"I don't see how that concerns you," Van Eck remarked, with more than a bit of edge in his voice. 

"And I don't see how I am obligated to help you. While your money is appreciated, it is nowhere near needed, and as I am the only trustworthy forger in Ketterdam, I believe I deserve to know," the man snapped back.

Wylan could see the fire in his father's eyes, but he could see the minuscule panic as well. His facade of composure was easily uncovered by Wylan, who, out of necessity, learned to recognize all of his father's shielded expressions.

"If this gets out, you'll have bigger problems than Hellgate," he said, attempting to threaten the man. With no response, he continued. "I've hired a ragtag team of local Barrel rats to retrieve something for me. Kaz Brekker included."

At the mention of Kaz, the seller tensed up, with fear sparked in him. Wylan had never heard the name, but then again, Wylan was so sheltered he knew virtually no one.

"The pitiless thief has too much dirt on me, and I'm looking forward to locking him up for good."

Wylan stepped back, completely disconcerted at what he had heard. He inched into his room, willing every creaky floorboard still, and softly shut the door behind him.

Once safe inside, he collapsed onto his bed, his mind reeling. Deep down, he knew he was being ridiculous. It was obvious to any onlooker that with the size of his father's fortune came some unlawful and questionable activities. He was nowhere near a saint, and Wylan knew that. But for some strange reason, he had propped his father up on a pedestal, unwilling to commit any petty crimes and perfectly noble when it came to business. 

Paying Kaz Brekker with fake Kruge was condemning them to a lifetime at Hellgate if caught with it, the most dangerous prison in Ketterdam, as being found with counterfeit coin was no laughing matter. It was a bit of a gamble, however, Wylan thought, as many different circumstances could keep the Kruge from being discovered. It could be kept in savings for years, given to someone else, or traded without a thorough check of its legitimacy. 

Quickly, Wylan put himself in his father's mindset and came to the conclusion that the most likely thing to happen was Van Eck alerting the Stadwatch of the fake cash in Kaz's pockets, a surefire way to get him found.

They don't deserve that, Wylan thought to himself. He had no idea who the crew was, or what crimes they had committed, but his father using his wealth and power to trick them into submission seemed unlawful to another degree. 

So right then and there, without knowing anything more about the crew than Kaz Brekker's name, Wylan decided that he would help them take down his father, going against every natural instinct he had. 

Chapter Text

The boy had the bluest eyes Jesper had ever seen. He imagined looking into them, falling into a sea, serene and peaceful, far away from the barrel life he was accustomed to.

Or maybe they resembled more of a sky blue, with no clouds in sight and seagulls flying by. The sky never darkened, but days and nights passed within seconds, eternities spent looking at the same heavenly view. Jesper could have spent an eternity gazing at the boy's eyes. 

"Jesper."

Kaz's grating voice brought Jesper back to the present, where he was sitting in Kaz's office discussing the plan for the night. They had run over the fine details twice already, and Jesper was sick of hearing it. 

In the day they had had to prepare, Kaz had managed to find the merchant Domini Alvard's home and located the exact location of the painting, in his wine cellar. He had also sent word out to a few untrustworthy members of the Dregs that the heist would happen the following evening, a false statement that both challenged information and covered their tracks. 

Inej had listened in on brew keepers chattering in a dark tavern near Alvard's home to learn the times when workers would be in and out of the cellar, and those when no one would frequent it. She then trailed said brew keepers straight to Alvard's home and watched from a nearby window as they stepped right into the room where the painting lay. According to her, four guards had been hired to protect it, but they worked in shifts, with only two on duty at any given time.

And Jesper, well he had been tasked to stay out of trouble.

"Have you listened to any part of what I just said?" Kaz asked, knowing very well he hadn't.

"Who was the boy, the one who came in behind Van Eck?" Jesper said, asking a question of his own. 

"How is that at all relevant to the job?" Kaz snipped.

"It's relevant because if you refuse to tell me, I'll trot myself over to the Geldstraat and find out for myself." Jesper turned himself away from Kaz but could still feel him rolling his eyes behind his back. Threats didn't work on Kaz, especially empty ones, but logic did. He had known Jesper well enough to know he would not drop the topic easily.

"Wylan Van Eck," Kaz said, not masking the annoyance crossing his face. "Jan Van Eck's son."

Wylan. Jesper had an immediate affinity to the name, like something one could scream aloud.

"Why did I not know he had a son? Why is he not being paraded around like other sons of merchants?" Jesper had seen them around town, riding in the back of posh carriages and regarding everyone in the Barrel with meticulous disdain. Never having seen a second of real hardship, they all had an air of arrogance that could be sniffed from miles away. 

"Van Eck rarely lets him leave the Geldstraat. Nobody knows much of anything about the boy. Now can we get back to speaking of something that matters?"

"Why can't he leave?" Jesper barreled on, deliberately avoiding Kaz's attempts to steer the conversation back to the heist. "He didn't seem to have anything wrong with him."

"Jesper," Kaz chastised. "If you're so curious about his life, ask him. Otherwise, stop speaking about this nonsense and focus on the job." 

With that, Jesper knew Kaz would no longer be willing to share spouts of information and promptly dropped it. He had learned to take what he could get with Kaz while simultaneously never expecting to get anything at all.

"Inej," Kaz continued, "you'll be alone inside Alavard's home while Jesper and I work as distractions, you're confident you know the exact location of the DeKappel?"

Inej nodded in response, and that was that. Jesper noticed that Kaz had immediate trust in her, something he had never been given.

After their plan had been run and rerun in their minds, Jesper was set loose until the job was to begin. He perused his way through the Barrel until he reached the Crow Club, where he sat at the bar, greedily eying patrons gambling their last dimes. Not able to drink before the heist, or gamble without it getting back to Kaz, he sat for hours, attempting to feel joy vicariously through the winners. 

For the past few years, Jesper had felt as if his life had been on pause. Far away from his family in the countryside, he had no one real except for Kaz and Inej, and even then, he felt second in their lives. He wanted someone to depend on him, to be someone to lean on. He didn't even know if he was capable of doing that, but he wanted to try. Even more than that, he wanted someone to talk to, and to know every part of his life. Someone to love, but with his life of chaos in the barrel, no one lived up to those standards. Everyone here loved exactly like he did. 

Not like back home in Novyi Zem. There, people were bright and caring, trusting of one another. Jesper could picture his life there now, if he had never left, a calm life farming jurda with his father and amplifying his skills as a Durast. The only issue, the reason he left in the first place, was that days there felt stagnant. Months bled into each other, dull days repeating over and over. There was no energy or action, things Jesper sought after, and he remembered how boring it could become. Maybe Jesper didn't belong anywhere, he thought, or maybe his expectations were too high. 

He looked around the gambling hall at all the pigeons getting their Kruge taken from them with a grin on their face, and he suddenly felt embarrassed that that's who he had become. 

As the sky turned orange and the damp humidity of the Barrel began to fade, he reluctantly left his warm seat and reconvened with his crew. 

Even in those few hours they were apart, Kaz and Inej had been hard at work, marking the intricate details of everyone's roles down to the second.

Jesper couldn't help but feel left out, assigned with no task but to not cause trouble, and embarrassed that they believed it was all he was fit for. As the resident gunslinger, he was not depended on for his brains, but for his weaponry skills, which as of late, hadn't proved very useful. Many missions required sneaking in and leaving unseen, so firing a noisy bullet was out of the question.

It stung even worse that he had essentially proven them right. Instead of trying to be helpful, he wasted his time away at a gambling hall. 

No wonder they don't trust you. 

Before no time, the mission began, and they made their way to Domini Alvard's home, taking great care to walk in the shadows, for being seen by anyone could send word right back to him. Save for drunkards stumbling out of bars, the streets were empty and strangely serene. Ketterdam wasn't known for its peaceful environment, but in those late hours of the night, Jesper could almost imagine he was back in the countryside visiting a nearby sleepy town.

They eventually reached the perimeters of Alvard's home, which was partially covered by a towering hedge garden and brick path. The color of the brick was an unnatural bright blue, and Jesper's mind wandered to Wylan Van Eck.

I wonder what he’s doing right now. 

No. None of that. This was a job, the one time all of his thoughts were supposed to subside and his brain could quiet down. Thinking of the merchant's son was not going to help achieve that.

As they got further into the property, the crew split up. Inej headed towards the skylight at the center of Alvard's home, where she would repel down unnoticed and sneak straight into the cellar. The guards would be conveniently missing as Kaz was to create some sort of disruption on the left wing, leading one guard to abandon their post. This was when Jesper was to lure the second away with a disturbance, giving Inej the perfect opportunity to waltz in and steal the painting, unnoticed. 

A more seasoned guard would know to never leave the cellar unprotected, and that the correct call was to wait for their partner to return, but Kaz had bet that Alvard hadn't sprung for the best and the brightest for one measly painting. The guards would most likely be young and naive, not seeing the risk in leaving their post unoccupied for a single moment. 

Kaz and Jesper walked in opposite directions towards the left and right sides, and stood waiting for their signals. Jesper inspected the windows above him and chose the one that would become his unlucky victim.

In a matter of minutes, he heard a faint birdcall from above, Inej's sign that she was about to make her way down. Seconds passed, and then right on cue, a loud bang was heard from the left wing, Kaz's doing, and faint feet shuffling from inside the home. Jesper backed up from the wall, getting a good view of the window and then scanned the sky. His target, a fairly large black bird, flew down on the hedge next to him, and Jesper pulled out his two trusty guns from their holsters. Simultaneously, Jesper fired the two, one aimed towards the window and the other at the poor black bird, and a blasting crash followed the shots. 

Jesper walked over to the bird, picking it up. From up close, he could tell it was a crow.

"I'm really sorry about that," he said to the corpse. He then, as gracefully as he could to a crow carcass, threw it into the now open window, hearing it hit the ground with a thud. Jesper laid himself flat along the wall, so as to be hidden from anyone peering through the window, and held his breath, hoping the sound of footsteps would come his way. Thankfully, they did, and Jesper exhaled, knowing Inej was probably already climbing back through the skylight with the painting in tow. 

"Damn bird," Jesper heard grumbled through the window. He hoped the guard didn't look too closely at the bird, specifically the bullet wound in its gut, but even if foul play was detected, Jesper and the others would be long gone. 

After a moment, the footsteps receded from the window, and Jesper made his way to the backside of the property, where Kaz and Inej stood waiting. In Inej's hand was the painting, wrapped in a black sheet to conceal its identity, and Jesper broke out into a smile. 

"That wasn't so hard; we should do things like that more often."

"Any trouble?" Kaz asked. 

"No," Jesper replied breezily, "not unless you happen to be the unfortunate crow that caught a bullet. I hope it knows its death was for a good cause." Good was debatable, but what it didn't need to know couldn't hurt it. 

The three left Alvard's the way they came in,  with a considerable new object in tow, and headed towards Van Eck's mansion. All the merchants' homes were close enough together that the walk was quite short, but now they steered far away from anyone out on the streets. The painting was carried between them, protected fiercely, as an extra precaution. There was no real worry of anyone stealing the painting; between Inej's knives, Jesper's guns, and Kaz's cane, they wouldn't get more than three feet before being struck down. But any damage to the work would make it worthless, and that wasn't a chance they felt like taking. 

In a matter of minutes, they arrived at Van Eck's back door, typically used by servants and housekeepers, but now serving as an entrance far out of view from the watchful eye of neighbors. Instructed not to knock on the door, they walked straight into the home, met with a washroom of sorts, and made their way through the ground floor until they reached the foyer they had entered from previously. 

Van Eck waltzed down from the spiraling staircase, clearly one for a dramatic entrance, and walked up to the crew. Jesper found great humor in the idea of Van Eck waiting for hours atop the stairs for them to arrive, thinking how absurd he must have looked. 

His thoughts also brought him back to Wylan. He must be somewhere in the house right now, maybe humming that faint little tune Jesper heard before. Maybe Wylan was thinking twin thoughts with Jesper, such as Wow, that Zemini boy was strikingly handsome or He looks like he had an outstanding hat collection. Maybe not so much the second one, but a boy could dream. 

Jesper returned from his wandering mind to Van Eck's foyer, where Van Eck now stood pulling out a thick stack of Kruge from beneath his waistcoat. He handed it to Kaz, thanking him for a job well done, holding on to the uncovered painting he must have grabbed sometime while Jesper was mentally elsewhere. Kaz took the Kruge, fanning the bills out in his hands. Although it might have looked small, Jesper knew that tiny gesture was him counting every single bill. 

There must have been just the right amount, because Kaz simply nodded his head and said they were to be on their way. Van Eck gave no offer of escorting them out, so Inej led the way back through the door they came in from. 

Jesper gave one quick look behind him, maybe hoping to see Wylan somehow appear in his sights, but saw nothing of the sort and followed Inej and Kaz out the door. 

Chapter Text

Wylan had been pacing his room for hours. The thrill of going against his father consumed him, and even though he hadn't accomplished anything yet, he thought he might explode being kept up inside. It was a foreign feeling for Wylan, impatience; he had previously never had anywhere to go. At the every whim of Van Eck, he'd spent most of his life in his room, and until now, he had never felt too disturbed by that.

Something must have shifted in his brain chemistry yesterday, a newfound rebellious streak, and Wylan quite liked how it felt. It was like he was alive for the first time, something close to a real teenager. 

From the hallway outside his door, Wylan heard his father's footsteps striding steadily down the stairs. Technically, it could have been for a number of reasons, but Wylan had a sneaking suspicion who he was meeting. In the early morning that day, before the sun had even fully risen, Wylan heard the back door open and shut. His room on the second floor was close enough to the back of the house that he jolted awake at the noise. Through his bedroom window, he saw Van Eck in a full black ensemble hurry down the street in the direction of the University District. 

What business could he have there? Wylan had thought to himself. The University District was frequented only by young adults working on their studies or professors, not a merchant with no prospects there. 

Think, Wylan. What could he be doing?  Still new to the whole scheming and deceiving game, it took him a frustratingly long amount of time to put together the pieces. He remembered one afternoon long ago when Wylan had been in his father's office, back when he still believed his son might grow out of his "dysfunction". His father was briefing him on all of Ketterdam's Districts. 

"The University District is far enough away from the heart of the city that the Barrel rats haven't corrupted it yet," he had said. "Bad business rarely occurs there, save for beneath Speaker's Bridge." 

Young Wylan's eyes had lit up, remembering all the folk tales of trolls under bridges and mystical creatures he had been told. Soon, he would learn that a bridge was nothing more than wood above water. 

"On Speaker's Bridge," his father had continued, "men meet to make underground exchanges and shifty deals. Remember this, son..."  When was the last time his dad had called Wylan son? "If anyone ever arranges a meeting with you there, know more will be dealt than secrets."

Wylan hadn't really understood his father's words, but he did remember the name of the bridge all those years ago, and if Wylan were a betting man, he would bet loads that the Speaker's Bridge is where his father was headed. Wylan could have followed him there, spied on what he was doing, maybe called him out and stopped him from buying illegal forgeries. But deep down, Wylan Van Eck was still the sheltered boy from the Geldstraat, and it was going to take more than one day to forgo all of his natural instincts. So instead, Wylan waited by the window until 8 bells, when his father returned with a noticeable new pep in his step and a suit pocket much heavier than before. Now sure of his father's wrongdoings, he spent the entire day attempting to concoct a plan to stop him. In turn, his room became as effective as an outdoor track, floors worn out by his incessant pacing. 

He was scheduled to have a music lesson that day; usually he would’ve been practicing all morning. But now, it seemed like the most irrelevant thing in the world, and he promptly cancelled it.

His father's footsteps eventually reached the bottom of the stairs, and Wylan could hear murmurs of conversation. Not enough to satisfy him, as he creaked open his door inch by inch and tiptoed his way towards the bannister, where he peered down at the clear view of his father's interaction. 

Wylan was immediately thrown off guard that the crew he was speaking to, the one that had stricken fear into the forger's heart just by the mere mention of Kaz Brekker's name, were teenagers not much older than Wylan. He chided himself for not paying more attention to their appearances during their first encounter in the hallway, but now he had the chance to inspect each of them. 

The one closest to his father, seemingly speaking for his entire crew, commanded Wylan's attention first, with his pitch black hair and moonlight pale skin. He was dressed in an all-black getup, looking more fit for the morgue than a merchant's home, and had a firm grip on a cane embellished with a silver crow. Even though he couldn't make out exact features from his distance, Wylan could almost imagine the look on his face, dark and brooding. He made a fair assumption that that was the famed "Kaz Brekker."

Next to him stood a lanky boy leaning lazily on the wall, with an air of charm attached to him. Wylan saw a far-off expression on the boy's face that made him smirk, as anyone with the ability to zone out in the middle of a serious business deal might just give daydreamer Wylan a run for his Kruge. Strangely, even with two pearl revolvers hanging from his hips and a rifle strapped to his back, Wylan found that he instantly trusted him. He could tell, simply from observing the boy for minutes at most, that he was good-natured, solidifying the idea in his head that he was doing the right thing. 

And if Wylan also conveniently thought the boy was devilishly handsome... well he wouldn't spend much time mulling over that. 

His father then reached into the shadows behind the two boys, and a third figure popped out with a black veiled canvas in her hand. Wylan jumped, he hadn't even noticed she had been there, and he had been staring directly at them. She was smaller than the other two, and more nimble, but she had the same sense of mystery that the rest of the group exuded. 

Van Eck took the sheet off the painting, and Wylan saw him give a tight nod. Supposedly satisfied, he pulled out a thick bundle of Kruge from his pocket, and Wylan's heart stopped. Kaz took hold of the money and did a quick inspection, but said nothing. 

This is when you're supposed to do something, he told himself. He would go down there, stop his father in his tracks, take back the counterfeit coin, and save the day. "Thank you so much," the Zemini boy would say, and everyone would be proud of his heroic act. Yeah, right. 

He looked back down the bannister and was incredibly alarmed to find that the three were already gone, clearly not the type to stay for pleasantries. Wylan hurried back to his room, peaking out of his window overlooking the backside of the property. He unlatched the lock on the window and opened it ever so slightly to hear the conversation from down below. 

Kaz quickly divvied up the Kruge and hurried ahead, but the sharp girl and lanky boy strolled behind. "I think this calls for a celebration," the boy said with a ravishing grin playing on his face. The girl sighed, "Let me guess, the gambling ha-" The boy finished her sentence excitedly, "Gambling hall! I'm thinking Club Cumulus has my name on it." 

Kaz looked behind him and spoke, Wylan having to squint to hear his words as he was almost out of earshot. "Don't spend all your money in one place, Jesper. I would suggest not spending it at all."

The boy, Jesper, snorted, "Yes, Kaz, and then I'll invite the king of Ravka to perform a tap dance on the betting tables. Actually," he continued, making his way onto the street and far enough away that only certain words traveled across to Wylan, "more likely... becoming... very patriotic." 

Wylan had a sudden urge to yell out a warning, to tell them to stop, but nothing came out, and he instead just slinked back into his room, dejected. He had blown his only chance to do something on his own by being frozen in fear, a trait that had followed him throughout his life. When some people were in peril, they fought back, or maybe ran to escape their dangers, but Wylan had never been brave enough for either. He replayed the events of the past ten minutes over and over, thinking of every possible scenario and witty thing he could have said. 

Maybe I'm just not cut out for spying and lying like the thieves from the Barrel. He had never even stepped foot in that part of town; his father detested the scummy business and dirty streets. Maybe one day he would visit. 

All of a sudden, an idea came to Wylan's mind, completely absurd, but one that just might work. He thought back to what Jesper had said about going to the gambling hall, Club Cumulus, and how he was going to celebrate by spending his newly earned Kruge. Once Wylan started to scheme, he couldn't stop, and fragments of a plan were beginning to connect in his mind.

All you have to do is go straight to the source. Walk right down to the gambling hall and warn them directly. Sure, you've never been alone in the Barrel for a day in your life, but how hard could it be? 

Wylan rushed to his desk, pulling out his history work pages. He frantically riffled through the notes until he found what he was searching for, the comprehensive map of Ketterdam. Although the district labels and key would prove useless, he tried thinking back to what he had been taught in his lessons. He knew East Stave housed the gambling halls along the Barrel, and he thought he recalled his tutor mention the most efficient way to cross to that side of Ketterdam was the Zentsbridge. Long ago, his father had brought him along on a trip to the south side of the Financial District, where they had passed a dingy old bridge above the canal. His father had mumbled something that Wylan couldn't catch and steered them away from the water, but Wylan had never forgotten the smell and smog wafting over him, an entirely different world mere feet away. 

Just follow the smog. South towards the bridge and follow the smog. 

These words bounced back and forth in his head as he left the comforts of the Van Eck mansion and headed towards East Stave, staying to the side of the canal. His heart felt like at any second it was going to beat outside of his chest, and he had broken out into a full sweat despite the chilly autumn weather. As he walked, he passed the Geldrunner Hotel he had seen countless tourists hole up in, filling the streets with life and witnesses. However, tonight, an eerie silence filled the district, as not a single person roamed to calm Wylan's sporadic nerves. Past that, he saw the Church of Barter and soon enough, the Exchange. Every building lay quietly, and Wylan saw a completely new side to the city he had spent his whole life in. Without merchants and the Stadwatch perusing the streets, they felt bigger and somehow even more daunting. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Wylan saw a sort of fog drifting across the water up ahead, and unless his mind was deceiving him, a bridge he prayed to every Saint was the Zentsbridge. He hastened towards it, ignoring the way his skin prickled at the fact that this was the furthest he had ever traveled alone. As he stepped onto it, the bridge planks moaned and creaked, but nothing could have stopped Wylan now. He felt his chains restricting slightly, each new step taken a step away from his father. Wylan laughed to himself, Was that really so hard?

Just as Wylan was about to enter the crammed alleyway leading him directly to East Stave, he felt a sharp knock on his head. A bright white flash hit his eyes, and he hadn't even fully hit the ground before he knew he had majorly messed up. 

Chapter Text

The bar seat was warm, the whiskey was bearable, and the dazzling Makkers Wheel was almost his to play. So what was this looming feeling in Jesper's chest?

He had felt it ever since leaving Van Eck's mansion earlier that night, a restlessness clawing at him. He wasn't a stranger to feeling on edge, a need for constant motion, usually remedied by shooting something or sitting down at a cards table. But this was different. It was as if a swarm of stir crazy butterflies had burrowed their way into his stomach and were refusing to leave.

"Another, lad?" the barkeep asked, looking down at his empty shot glass. Jesper pushed it towards the man with a nod. The second shot went down much easier than the first.

The entire walk back from Van Eck's mansion, Jesper had seemed elated. A hefty stack of Kruge sat in his pocket, and he only had to sacrifice one measly bird to get it. But every step he took away from the Geldstraat, he felt he was leaving something behind. He could admit he might've wanted to see the merchant's son again, maybe ask him what song he was humming or why he never saw the light of day. But was that really it? A three second interaction was enough to make Jesper feel like jogging all the way back into Van Eck's foyer like some star-crossed lover? That wasn't how Jesper operated. Maybe not until now. 

He knew he was being irrational. So why was it that every time he tried to get his mind off the boy, he always went back to those crystal blue eyes? 

If you're so curious about his life, ask him, Kaz has told him. He had meant it as an insult of sorts, but now Jesper didn't take it as too bad an idea. If for nothing but to get this foreign feeling off his chest, he needed to go back. Maybe Wylan would be completely insufferable, a true stuck-up merchling, but Jesper would find out for himself. 

He got up from the bar stool with a start, fishing around in his pocket for two silver coins. Revealing a thick wad of Kruge in a place like this would have every thief in the Stave following Jesper for miles, so the coins would have to suffice. 

As he stepped outside of Club Cumulus, he felt small raindrops hit his head, a warning of the larger storm coming from the harbor. Maybe this was a sign he should've turned right back into the gambling hall he was usually comfortable wasting away hours in, but now he was determined. His stride became much larger, and the time it took to make the trip was halved. Before he knew it, he was standing in the back of the Van Eck's house, soaking wet, wondering how he got there. A guard stood by the front door, donning the red and gold livery of the Van Eck estate. 

Jesper followed the hedge bushes to the back door he had entered from earlier that led to the servant's kitchen and washrooms. He hoped with all his might that the door was unlocked; Jesper did not inherit the lock-picking skills from Kaz or the ability to enter anywhere unnoticed like Inej. To his delight it was, probably kept open for servants coming in and out in a rush, and he peered his head in cautiously. At this time of night, it was abandoned, save for a candle burning; its wax melting down into the silver plate beneath it. 

He tiptoed his way along the tile floors, shivering, whether from the cold rain or the eerily quiet house, he wasn't sure. He willed everybody to be dead asleep; Jesper wasn't revered for his sneaky breaking and entering skills. He had gotten in, but it seemed as if every joint in his body was cracking at a volume they had never done before. Every step sounded incredibly loud in the silent and echoey rooms, and the stairs did not better his situation. Clinging onto the banister for support, he slowly inched his way to the second floor. 

Jesper stood in the middle of the hallway, facing a large display of doors looking back at him. He didn't remember there being this many to choose from, but it now seemed that his memory had failed him entirely. He was sort of sure Wylan had come out from the door on the far left, but Jesper didn't want to see the look on Van Eck's face if he barged into a sleeping merchant's quarters with no other explanation than "I was looking for your son I saw for all of two seconds." Even Jesper wouldn't buy that. 

He looked down at the dark red carpet that ran on the entire second story's floor. Certain areas had plenty of wear where the carpet was more faded, like a smaller door on the right side of the hall that Jesper would've bet was a closet housing some hefty cleaning supplies. Other doors, like the one on the far left, had practically no wear at all. Didn't Kaz say Wylan barely left Van Eck's mansion? What are the odds he extended that to his room?  Walking closer towards it, Jesper knew he was right; there was no solid reasoning, but he was certain this was where Wylan had come from.

The door was a hefty red oak, and it was standing in front of it that Jesper started to second-guess what he was doing. He looked down at the revolvers on his hips and the clear fashion of the Barrel he was sporting; he wouldn't be surprised if Wylan took one look at him and thought he was being robbed. Waking up in the middle of the night to a boy standing armed in your bedroom wasn't exactly the picture of romance. Who's to say he even saw Jesper in the hallway, or remembered what he looked like? If Jesper was going to go in there and get himself killed by a Van Eck guard, what was the point?

But he was already here, and even though his reasoning was starting to become more unclear, he still opened the door to Wylan's room. The pitch black vastness overwhelmed him, but as he closed the door behind him, his eyes began to adjust. He saw papers strewn throughout the floor, posters lining the walls with drawings of landscapes and mountains, but most importantly, the empty bed in the corner of the room, noticeably devoid of the teenage merchling he was looking for. 

Where the hell is he? For a boy who supposedly never leaves his room, it seems rather empty. Where would someone like him even go this late at night? Maybe he has a secret double life fighting crime. 

Jesper thought back on how scared Wylan had been interrupting his father, and decided he didn't seem the type for late-night escapades. But that still didn't answer the question of where he had gone. 

He checked in the closet, under the bed, even in the vent above him, to see if maybe the boy had gotten spooked and hid somewhere, but found nothing. He made his way over to the window looking out over the back of the property and paused. The latch that held the window was open, and Jesper saw that a small crack had been left between the window and its frame, leaving it slightly ajar. 

He still wasn't sure if Wylan was one for the nightlife of the Barrel, but it was apparent he had snuck out of his room and left the window propped for his return later that night. Jesper made it a point that one day, if the two ever spoke a word to each other, he would teach Wylan about the dangers of leaving a window wide open, practically inviting any Barrel rat to stroll right in. The irony that that was essentially exactly what Jesper had done did not escape him. 

Wylan's room was interesting, and Jesper could have spent all night opening drawers and looking at his artwork, but if Wylan returned to a 6-foot lanky Zemini boy skulking in his bedroom, they wouldn't exactly get off on the right foot. Not like Jesper's original plan of sneaking into his room when he was sleeping was much better, but these were things he could reflect on later. For now, he just knew he needed to leave. 

Doing one final scan of the room, he made sure everything was organized exactly as before and headed towards the door, but not before Jesper saw light flooding in his eyes and the bedroom door opened by none other than Van Eck himself. 

"It's not what it looks like." 

Chapter Text

Wylan never liked the dark.

Growing up, in those late hours of the night with no light other than the moon reflecting off the Geldcanal, he would see monsters slink under his bed and in his closet, shadows playing tricks on his eyes. As he grew older, the dark became a symbol of the unknown; the idea that anything could be waiting for him within its reach terrified him. His room was brimming with half-melted candles and kerosene lanterns, acting as a sort of force field from the darkness lurking outside. 

When he had woken up from his time being knocked out, it was hard to get past the immediate shock. Memories rushed in of a younger Wylan curled up in his bed at night, willing the monsters to go away. Sometimes they listened. Now, he didn't think he would be so lucky. The room he found himself in was pitch black, and although Wylan could feel fear creeping in, he focused all his energy on piecing together what had happened. He remembered walking by the canal, making it to the bridge, and then nothing. Nothing was also a fine descriptor for what he saw around him, not even a sliver of light coming from anywhere. 

He was seated on a thin metal chair, his calves restrained against its front legs and his hands tied behind his back. Immobile and blind, he assessed his injuries from what he could feel. A large swelling had formed near the right side of his forehead and was throbbing at an alarming rate. At least the damage is external, not inside my brain. Wylan laughed sharply to himself then, the gravity of his situation truly dawning on him. How low did he have to be that external bleeding was a good thing? 

From somewhere behind him, he heard movement, and a moment later, a green hue illuminated the room from what he knew to be a bonelight. Wylan could now see he was in the center of what looked like an abandoned warehouse, entirely desolate save for a second chair and a rusty metal table in the corner. The movement he had heard behind him drew closer, hefty footsteps echoing along the walls of the bare room. 

A man came into view from Wylan's right side, enveloped by the green lantern in his hand, making his features seem that much more ominous. His captor was rather large, with red hair and Kaelish features. He was dressed in the attire of the Barrel, a flashy pin-striped suit and emerald trousers. Not exactly dressed for the part of kidnapper, Wylan thought. Behind him stood an even larger man, a bruiser of sorts, in a considerably less flamboyaunt get-up. He trudged to the corner of the room, enshrouding himself within the shadows. 

"Hello, Wylan," the green man said. 

Wylan couldn't talk. The familiar feeling of being frozen in fear was back, but it was worse than ever before. What does one do when they get kidnapped? Wylan thought he might pass away from fear alone before anyone was able to lay a finger on him. 

"I'm assuming you know who I am." He sounded sure of himself, like he had done this before, but Wylan had no idea who he was. That didn't mean much; he could've been Wylan's next-door neighbor, and he might not have known. The unrecognition must have shown on his face, and the man let slip a brief moment of shock before returning to his stoic expression.

"My name is Pekka Rollins," he said, pausing. "And we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Wylan cleared his throat, willing himself to speak. His voice didn't sound like his own, scratchy and small, but words were progress. "I don't have anything you could want," he said. 

The man laughed, although Wylan didn't think anything was funny. "You have the most important thing in the Barrel, lad, something everyone seeks. Information." 

"I don't know anything," Wylan pleaded. 

"Careful now boy, we don't want to start our meeting with lies now, do we?" 

Wylan said nothing. What he had said was close enough to the truth; his father had stopped including him in all business conversations long ago, but this Pekka Rollins didn't seem like he would take no for an answer. 

"Your father is somewhat of an enigma to those of us in the Barrel. He has refused to engage in any business with us for years, and has said on multiple accounts that we are 'poisoning the good name of Ketterdam and are a disgrace to Ghezen's work.'"

Wylan believed it; his father always spoke poorly of Barrel bosses, calling them the scum of the Stave. He just hoped Rollins didn't take his anger out on Wylan. 

"As a result," Pekka continued, "I am forced to search for other means of retrieving information on his business practices; after all, he is one of the city's most profitable merchants." 

With that, the bruiser in the corner of the room stepped forward beside Pekka, both of them towering over Wylan dauntingly. 

"My friend here has been brought on to.. aid you in remembering details about your father's practices." 

Wylan was panicking; neither man seemed like they would spare him, but he truly had no information to give. There was no chance this was going to end well. 

Pekka and the other man stepped forward in tandem, mere inches away from Wylan. "Let's start simple. How many accounts does your father have in his name?"

Silence filled the room,  and Wylan's good friend fear choked him up again, feeling as if he was drowning on land. The bruiser landed a swift punch to Wylan's face, hard enough that he assuredly would have keeled straight over if not for his precarious restraints in the chair. He groaned, finding his words, "I don't know." 

That earned a second punch, somehow much worse than the first, and Pekka leaned in close enough to Wylan's face that he could feel his breath. "What was that?" 

Wylan leaned back as much as he could. " I don't know. My father doesn't speak to me about business."

Pekka stepped back and began to pace the space in front of him. "You mean to tell me that Jan Van Eck refuses to tell his only son, the same boy that will one day inherit his entire fortune and an esteemed spot on the Merchant Council, about any business endeavors whatsoever?" The question was rhetorical, but Wylan thought he had hit the nail on the head pretty well.

This could have been the moment for Wylan to reveal that he couldn't read, answering the question as to why his father had disgraced his presence, but if Wylan was going to die here, he wanted his greatest shame to be his alone. He wouldn't tell Pekka, only to be ridiculed some more, and then eventually killed upon realizing that he truly had no secrets to give up. He couldn't go out that way; he wouldn't. "Yes, that's true." 

A bellowing laughter came from Rollins, and Wylan looked up to see him sneering down at him. "You really take me for a fool? Well you'll learn quick." 

Pekka then nodded to the bruiser, who slammed his fist into Wylan's gut. He doubled over, feeling as if his insides were about to come out, but his head was yanked up by the bruiser gripping onto his hair, and another punch was harshly given to his face. Wylan felt a bone-shattering crunch in his nose, and blood began to drip down his chin onto his lap. 

"Different from what you're used to in your daddy's mansion, is it?"

Wylan said nothing, directing all his energy in staying conscious, mortified of what would happen to him if he were not awake to protect himself. 

"Let's say you're too loyal to your father, unwilling to give up any information on him. I doubt you'll stay like that for much longer, but for now, I'll change course." Wylan looked up, wondering what else Pekka could have to ask.

"Yesterday evening, Kaz Brekker and his gang of thieves were seen entering your father's home. Does that name mean anything to you?"

"No." Wylan didn't know why he lied, but he knew Rollins was no good.

"Well, let me jog your memory. Word is Van Eck hired them on for a job; the first time he's ever proceeded with anyone from the Barrel. I've gotten no whispers of what they've spoken about, but merchants' mansions echo, and I know you heard something. What did they speak about?" 

Pekka glared down at Wylan, his patience wearing thin. But Wylan was at a loss for words. Not because he didn't have the right answer, he could piece together what had gone down in the deal fairly well, but because an overwhelming voice pulled at him saying 'Don't tell Rollins.' He had never spoken to the crew, but they were teenagers just like him. Maybe they'd fallen in with the wrong crowd, or maybe they were the biggest and baddest in the Barrel, but Wylan couldn't rat them out. He stayed silent, looking up at Pekka. 

As he started to speak, Wylan could see veins popping out aggressively in his neck, as well as his fists bunched together tightly at his sides. 

"Brekker has been funneling pigeons from my club directly to his, costing me business and Kruge," Rollins said, speaking fast and furiously. "The last thing I need is the Bastard finding a business partner in one of the richest men in Ketterdam, so I'll ask you again. What do you know about the crows?"

Pekka's gaze was piercing, and Wylan from that morning would have folded instantly and told him everything. But now, he sat in a dilapidated warehouse with virtually no chances of survival, so if this was the end for him, he would try to go out strong. And if somehow, with the miracles of every Saint, he managed to survive, he could leave knowing he didn't bow down to Pekka Rollins. Instead, he stared straight ahead, mouth closed shut. 

Pekka muttered a small tsk and shook his head. "You're gonna regret that." 

He turned to his bruiser, who looked at Wylan with a foul look in his eye. "Do what you must." He then placed the bonelight on the floor and walked behind Wylan towards the way he had come in. When he spoke again, Wylan could just hear his voice, brimming with enmity and bitterness. 

"And Wylan, when I return, do not think I will be so kind as to leave here without answers to my questions." With that, a door behind him creaked open and shut, and Rollins was gone. 

The bruiser cracked his knuckles and took a step towards Wylan, who knew he was in for a very long night. 

Chapter Text

Jesper couldn't have looked more guilty if he had tried.

Wylan was noticeably missing from his own bedroom, and in his place was a lanky Zemini boy. Standing in the merchling's room, guns at his hips and sporting the flashy attire of the Barrel, it wasn't hard to come to a solid conclusion. 

"It's not what it looks like." Jesper barely believed himself. There were dozens of ways he could die tonight, and if Van Eck was as prosperous as he claimed to be, dozens of ways his murder could be covered up. The night had definitely taken a more interesting turn. 

From the doorway, Van Eck laughed a slow, unsettling laugh, and Jesper stood awkwardly in front of him. Was he laughing at his stupidity? The gall of some lowly criminal to attempt to break into his home? Van Eck stalked forward, and Jesper instinctively stepped back, hands moving to his revolvers. 

"You've made a grave mistake," Van Eck said, still smiling. He was a puzzle to figure out, why he seemed not at all threatened by the possibility of his son's abductor standing in front of him. But Jesper didn't plan on staying long enough to find out why. 

He inched his way backwards towards the unlatched window, raising his hands in the air like one caught in the act. "Listen-"

Van Eck did nothing of the sort. "It seems you've taken the wrong merchant's son."

Jesper stopped and stared questioningly at the man. What?

"Whatever it is you want by kidnapping him, information, or maybe a hostage trade, you won't get it. You can keep him." 

This time, Jesper voiced his confusion aloud. "What?" It wasn't very often that he was stunned, but the idea that Van Eck wouldn't even try to get his son back baffled him. 

"You know, I'm rather glad you've done me the service of ridding my home of that disgrace. It would've been a headache to arrange myself." Van Eck's expression was indifferent, as if he were discussing the Sunday brunch menu or the weather. Not the potential loss of his son. Maybe it was a bluff, something to throw Jesper off his game, but he didn't think so. 

"I don't understand." Jesper had been thrown very far by Van Eck; he was fairly confident he knew how to escape angry merchants or dodge fired bullets, but he was not prepared for the callousness with which he regarded his son. It was so different from the cold and casual demeanor he presented during the business deal. Even that fateful moment when Wylan had interrupted the meeting and Van Eck had given him a withering glare, he still seemed sane and levelheaded. Now, watching him speak so heartlessly, it was jarring. 

Van Eck scanned the room distantly and picked up a framed picture sitting on a dark wooden dresser. The miniature painting was Wylan as a child, his ruddy curls bouncing in front of his eyes, sitting between a woman with amber hair and an older man in a suit and tie. Van Eck,  Jesper realized, and what must be Wylan's mother. Van Eck scowled at the picture and placed it face down. Looking around the room, Jesper realized that all of the portraits were of Wylan as a child, and stopped completely when Wylan was maybe 7 or 8. What happened? Jesper wondered. How can he view his own son with such ruthlessness?

Van Eck wiped his hands on his trousers, then leaned back on the door, returning to his detached demeanor. 

"You really should do your research before stealing a merchant's son. Maybe you would've found that Wylan wasn't worth the effort you took to capture him." His eyes darkened. "You're lucky I'm not going to kill you for simply breaking into my home, but I do have a message for you to deliver to your boss." The last word was said spitefully, like it pained him to call Kaz Brekker any sort of boss. 

"Kill him or sell him, frankly I don't care, but make sure he knows not to come back here." 

Van Eck swiveled out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him. The light disappeared behind the door, leaving Jesper in complete darkness and confusion.

Kill him. Van Eck had said the words so casually; he couldn't imagine a merchant treating his own son that way. Jesper wasn't an idiot; he knew some parents didn't deserve their children and that abuse happened anywhere, but it was different seeing it right in front of him.

And where the hell did Wylan actually go? Unless Kaz had pulled the most brilliant heist from right under Jesper's nose, he was pretty sure he did not kidnap the Van Eck heir. The window was still ajar, and Jesper supposed he could wait for Wylan's return, but what if something else had happened? What if he wasn't on a midnight stroll through the Geldcanal, but was in danger? 

Jesper spared one more glance at the merchling's room, and crawled out of the window feet first. He would've preferred the back door, but having been caught in the house, he thought it would be frowned upon to stroll back downstairs and go out the way he came.  

The entire walk home, Jesper tried to make sense of what had went down — it didn't go very well. But what he did know was this: if Wylan and his father had an estranged relationship, he could be used as an asset for information. Jesper would never think of him like that, but he knew someone who would, Kaz. 

The door to the Slat was open, as usual, and Jesper nodded to the members of the Dregs still drinking and laughing in the living room as he made his way up three flights of stairs. Kaz had to live on the top floor, Jesper thought spitefully to himself. He knocked three times and waited for a painfully long moment before the door unlatched and Jesper barreled his way into Kaz's room.

"Jesper," Kaz said, closing the door behind him. He was dressed in his typical all black attire, seemingly paying no mind to the late hour. Jesper wondered if the boy ever slept, or if it was beneath him. 

"I went to the Van Eck house again," Jesper said, pacing around Kaz's makeshift desk. 

"I know, Inej saw you," of course she did. "Why?" 

Jesper paused. The last thing he wanted to explain to Kaz Brekker was that the only reason he trekked to the Geldstraat was to see Wylan Van Eck, the boy he did not know and who did not know him; he would never live it down. But so much for quick thinking, because Jesper couldn't come up with a single other reason as for why he would've snuck into the merchling's room. 

"I... wanted to talk to Wylan." 

Kaz raised an eyebrow, which made Jesper want to strangle him, but said nothing. 

"So," Jesper continued, "I snuck into his house and went up to his room, but he wasn't there. The window was open and he was gone." 

"Maybe the boy has a secret night life," Kaz said, but Jesper could tell he didn't mean it. If Wylan Van Eck was sneaking out every night, Kaz would know about it. He was intrigued.

"I doubt it, but I was standing around in Wylan's room and then.." He stopped for a moment. He knew Kaz wasn't going to like the next bit.    

"And then?"

"Van Eck came in to say hello." 

Just as he thought, Kaz was now thoroughly interested, if not furious. "What? Did he recognize you?"

"I do have a very memorable face." 

"Jesper." 

"I haven't even gotten to the good part yet," he said in an attempt to calm Kaz down. "Van Eck assumed that I had kidnapped Wylan, which honestly I can't even blame him for; I looked terribly guilty." Kaz scowled. "But then, he told me that I had done him a favor by getting rid of his son. He said that I could kill Wylan or do whatever with him, I just had to tell him not to come back home. And then he left, and that was it."  

Jesper looked at Kaz and saw his signature scheming face in full effect. "And you're sure he wasn't bluffing?" 

He thought back to the way Van Eck had looked at his family photo with pure disgust, and the callous way he spoke of his son. "I'm sure." 

"Barrel bosses have tried for years to get information on Van Eck; his son would be a good place to start."

"Wouldn't Van Eck think of that, though? Doesn't he know that by telling me he doesn't get along with his son, he could be used for information?" Jesper asked.  

Kaz shook his head, "He's a merchant, and he thinks like one, too. We are going to find Wylan before Van Eck can regret what he revealed."

"And how exactly do we plan on doing that? He could be halfway across the Lid by now."

Kaz paused for a moment. When he looked back at Jesper, he had a sure look in his eye. "Before Inej followed you to Van Eck's house, she saw two members of the Dime Lions with some sort of hostage. They were holding him upright, and he had a bag over his head, but Inej said he looked young, wearing clothes not fit for the Barrel. They took backroads and alleyways, and Inej trailed them all the way to the Warehouse District before she saw you."

"You think that's him?" 

"I think there are very few people the Dime Lions would kidnap with such care." 

The wheels were turning in Kaz's brain, and it was all Jesper could do not to shake him and make him reveal his plan. Kaz never revealed too much, even to him. 

"Tomorrow, you and Inej will get Nina; bring her to the Slat. We take Wylan from the Dime Lions at midnight." 

"What about you?"

"I'm going to distract Pekka Rollins." Kaz had a murderous grin on his face.

Jesper liked where this was going.

Chapter Text

Wylan had never felt this way before. Sure, he didn't have the best teenage years, but that seemed like a cakewalk compared to what he was experiencing now. 

Following his conversation with Pekka Rollins, he had spent the entire night with his not-so-friendly bruiser, who found joy in giving Wylan the beating of a lifetime. He had tried so hard to detach his mind like he had done countless times with his father, but there in the strange, dark warehouse, he couldn't seem to tune out. 

After what had felt like hours, he changed shift with another brutish man, but this one paid Wylan no mind. He dragged a metal chair over from the corner of the room and took a seat behind him, on guard. The next day consisted of Wylan sat motionless, trying his best not to topple over; his mind foggy from hits to the head. Even though he couldn't see himself, he could feel his injuries; the pain like a burning fire throughout his body. There was no food or water, and no one came to interrogate him, not even Pekka. 

When I return, do not think I will be so kind as to leave here without answers to my questions, Pekka had said.

He dreaded his return.

Whatever was going to happen next, Wylan knew it couldn't end well. He could lie and tell Rollins false information, but eventually he would catch on, and Wylan shuddered thinking about how Pekka would react. He had tried multiple times to tell him he didn't know anything, but Pekka refused to believe that. Of course, there was the other option, divulging the little information he did know, but Wylan wasn't stupid. He knew, no matter what he said, Rollins didn't plan on letting him out of here alive, so there was no point in giving up Kaz Brekker's, or anyone else's, secrets. 

He could picture his father's voice, peering down at Wylan with the repulsed expression he knew too well. You're a disgrace, he would say. It's a good thing you're dying now, so you don't wreck the good Van Eck name.

Wylan hated that he was proving his father right; he was going to die here, and no one was going to care. 

Not unless he did something about it. 

Wylan turned as much as he could in his seat and saw the man who was supposedly guarding him fast asleep at his post. He had been there all day, and clearly had grown tired of his rather boring position. Wylan felt sorry for him; he wouldn't want to be stuck watching a poor old hostage either. 

Wylan had no plan and no escape route, but he was virtually alone, and that was a start. 

He shifted his hands to feel the ties behind him. The rope felt thick and the knots seemed never-ending. He was never going to be able to untie his way free, but Wylan's wrists were small, so easing his way out seemed like the best method. His hands felt strange after being unused for so long, but once he got them moving, he realized the ropes weren't as tight as he once thought. Sure, they were thick, but Pekka probably didn't expect him to be able to slip right through. In a matter of minutes, he was freed and got to work on his ankles. 

When he stood up, he immediately sank back down; his body sore and not used to the strain of being beaten and bruised. His muscles felt tired, but they were just going to have to push through because Wylan would be damned if he failed before he had even begun. On a second attempt, he rose, and slowly tiptoed throughout the open space to the small warehouse door on the far end. His every movement seemed incredibly loud, and Wylan gave sparing glances to the man in the chair, praying to every Saint he wouldn't wake. 

Whether the Saints were feeling generous or the man was passed out from exhaustion, Wylan couldn't say, but he made it to the door with no interference.

Feeling on top of the world, he opened it, and was met by the sun setting beneath the harbor and two guards at attention on either side of the warehouse door.

The men's conversation came to a halt, and they stared, stunned for a moment, before seizing Wylan, sending him toppling to the ground. 

Blood rushed to Wylan's head, and the world became foggy, as if he were underwater. He faintly felt the guards giving sharp kicks to his ribs, picking him up by his collar and dragging him back to his old metal chair. He could see they were hitting him, punishing him however they saw fit for his piddling escape attempt, but it was as if Wylan had floated out of his body, watching it happen to someone else entirely. 

The nausea he felt in full though, as well as the fatigue, and suddenly he realized how tired he was. His bones were creaking, and the next time he blinked, his eyelids simply stayed closed.

Wylan. 

He heard his mother's voice before he saw her, the singsongy inflection with which she spoke and the way he could always tell she was smiling. He opened his eyes and was in his childhood bedroom, his mother crouched beside him. Her hair was the same auburn shade he remembered, but her face was faded, like an old painting. She was speaking rather fast, words tumbling out of her mouth, but all Wylan could hear was his name, over and over again like an incantation. 

He got up from his bed, sensing something was wrong, but the moment his feet hit the ground, his surroundings changed. He was no longer in his bedroom, but in his father's office. He stood in front of the dark mahogany desk he knew too well, in front of his father, eyebrows furrowed and expression upset. He looked to be yelling at Wylan, hands bunched at his side in fury, but all Wylan could hear was Wylan, Wylan, Wylan. 

His footsteps echoed as he ran out of the room, into what should have been the second-floor hallway, but was instead his back garden, brimming with hedge plants and gardenias. Somewhere around him, he heard voices, the same Wylan, Wylan, Wylan, but this seemed different; it felt closer, like he could reach out and touch it. He turned the corner and started; three teenagers stood by the side of his house. Wylan stared at them; they seemed so familiar. Where were they from?

That's right, they were the ones with Wylan's father in the hallway. The magic girl and the brooding boy, and the other one. The tall one, brimming with charm and confidence, guns at his hips and a deathly smile playing on his face. Wylan quite liked his face. He returned a smile of his own and started to walk towards the group, but not before the mean one stepped forward. He grabbed Wylan by the shoulders, shaking him quite unkindly.

Wylan. 

Wylan was back in the warehouse, with the mean one, Kaz, kneeling in front of him. 

"He's awake," he announced, untying the knots at his ankles. Wylan looked around the room, startled by real words coming out of someone's mouth. 

"Is this real?" Wylan asked softly. "Are you guys real?" 

There was faint laughter from behind him, followed by the other boy, Jesper, stepping beside Kaz. Wylan thought he heard his breath catch in his throat, and he muttered a simple, "Saints." 

Wylan was incredibly confused; one moment he had been in his father's backyard deep in some sort of dream, and now he was here being rescued?

Nothing made sense. 

Chapter Text

"You failed to mention that distracting Pekka Rollins was code for blowing up the Emerald Palace."

"Did I?" Kaz smirked. 

They had felt the explosion all the way from the end of the West Stave, followed by the screams of Barrel dwellers running from the flames. Jesper had known Kaz was responsible before even looking his way. 

"You know I'm all for a bit of danger, but what possessed you to do this? Rollins is going to want your head." 

Kaz stopped from where they were walking, and turned to Jesper. "We needed a diversion; consider Pekka Rollins distracted."

Inej was walking behind the two and spoke from the shadows. "Who made the bombs?" Jesper had immediately suspected that this was another plot he was singled out of, but the look on Inej's face after the explosion had said otherwise. Even in the darkness of night, he could see the hurt of not knowing. 

Kaz carried along, seeming not at all affected by the havoc he had caused. "I asked Pim to make them."

"Pim is shit at explosives; I think I recall him almost blowing off your arm a few times," Jesper said. 

"I didn't need precision, I needed chaos. If you aren't okay with that, leave before you compromise the job." 

Jesper looked back at Inej, touchy subject. Kaz had a hatred for Pekka Rollins unlike any other, and he decided not to press the matter.

Earlier that day, Inej and Jesper had retrieved Nina from the White Rose and brought her to the Slat, where he suspected right now she was finding the nearest waffle shop. Kaz had been off doing what Jesper knew now as planting explosives. At twelve bells precisely, they all met up by the docks at Fifth Harbor and were on their way to Wylan Van Eck's supposed location. 

Kaz claimed that the Dime Lions had a property in the Warehouse District, filed under tax reports as a linen factory, but oddly enough, they never exported any linen. When Inej trailed the grunts carting Wylan earlier, they were headed towards said property, and Kaz had bet they used the space to store hostages just like Wylan. 

Kaz's distraction was to make sure their party didn't get rudely interrupted by a certain Barrel boss, and although Jesper wasn't expecting a destruction of one of Rollin's most prized businesses, it served its purpose. Security would most likely be occupied elsewhere, and they would have a much easier time stealing Wylan away. 

At least, Jesper hoped. He never really knew what he was getting himself into. 

As they approached the Warehouse District, they passed by dozens of large storerooms and factories, housing everything that made Ketterdam run. Certain areas were policed by the Stadwatch all day, so they stuck to the shadows. The further they got into the district, they saw more dilapidated and run down structures, along with nature run rampant. Apparently, at the end of the city, the unused warehouses lay abandoned; no one maintaining the fauna of the area. The warehouse on the far right belonged to none other than Pekka Rollins. 

Kaz and Jesper stayed hidden, using the tree line as cover, while Inej separated from the two. She used her knives to climb atop the nearest warehouse, jumping from roof to roof along them. She reached their target and climbed inside the second-story window, disappearing through it. Two guards stood beside the front door, blissfully unaware that she had slipped right past them. 

A moment later she emerged, returning to the group. "Wylan's there," she said, "with one other guard."

It was just as Kaz suspected. Jesper wondered how he did it, how he was always three steps ahead. 

They started to move towards the guards, staying away from their line of sight. When they reached the warehouse, Jesper and Kaz inched on opposite sides towards the front entrance. Jesper could hear the guards' conversation. 

"And so I told her, you work at the Menagerie; know your place." 

"Some bitches never learn."

Jesper winced, poor choice of words in front of Kaz. He also felt decidedly less bad about what he had to do next. Before they even knew what was coming to them, the guards fell to the ground, knocked unconscious by Kaz's cane and the blunt side of Jesper's rifle. Kaz gave a sharp kick to both of the mens ribs, pointless, as they were knocked out cold, but Jesper knew Kaz couldn't let comments like that go unpunished.

They flung open the warehouse door to see the third guard, standing at attention at the side of the room, and more importantly, Wylan, sat with his back turned to them. Jesper walked up to the man who was clearly not expecting company, as Kaz slipped past them towards Wylan.

"Your boss asked us to bring Wylan to him," Jesper said, attempting to sound serious. 

"Really?" the man asked, unbelieving. 

"No." Jesper brought down the butt of his rifle over the man's head, watching him fall to the ground rather ungracefully. He slung his rifle back over his shoulder. 

From the other side of the room, he heard Wylan mutter a small, "Is this real?" Jesper laughed sadly to himself, this poor kid. 

He walked over beside Kaz, expecting to tease him a little, but instead froze. Wylan looked horrible, almost unrecognizable to the soft merchling he had seen earlier. His face was bloodied and bruised, and with the swelling around his eyes, nose, and forehead, it was a miracle he was even conscious. 

"Saints." 

"Jesper," Kaz said roughly. "Make yourself useful and untie his wrists." 

Jesper spared one more long glance at Wylan, then stumbled towards his back. The ties were complicated, but it took longer than it should have to set him free. His mind was decidedly elsewhere. 

Eventually, Kaz got frustrated waiting, and pushed Jesper out of the way, untying Wylan's wrists in seconds. Jesper didn't miss the killer glare he was given. 

"Can you stand?" Kaz said to Wylan. 

He tried, shakily lifting himself up from his chair, but quickly plummeted right back into it. His injuries must have extended beyond what they could see. Wylan shook his head. 

Kaz steeled himself, looking like a soldier heading for the frontlines, and nodded toward Jesper.

"Grab his other side." 

Jesper spared no time, grabbing underneath Wylan's shoulder and pulling his arm towards him. Kaz did the same on his other side, and even though Kaz voiced no complaints, Jesper could sense his reluctance. Kaz had strong feelings against human contact, and now he had Wylan's half-limp body pushed up against his. 

In tandem, they hobbled out of the building, Wylan limping with his best efforts. They met Inej outside, her role of making sure they were not rudely interrupted fulfilled, and they started walking back towards the Barrel. Jesper saw Inej eye Kaz, concerned by his current contact with Wylan, but Kaz pointedly ignored her gaze. 

"I don't understand," Wylan said, breaking the silence ten minutes into their walk. They had made it to the outskirts of West Stave. "Are you guys with my father?"

Jesper laughed. "Definitely not, merchling."

Wylan looked up at him questioningly. 

"Oh, merchling. It's what I've decided to call you."

"I don't think I like it."

"You'll warm up to it," Jesper winked. 

Wylan returned to his silence, not receiving any answer he was looking for.

As they entered the busier parts of town, they attracted attention in the form of stares; a bloodied boy being carried by two Barrel rats known to be no good was raising concerns. Kaz sidestepped them into the nearest alleyway, where they now got smushed impossibly closer against the narrow paths. They continued down the back routes, mainly used for quick escapes, but also good for staying unseen. 

Wylan piped up again. "I saw you guys with my father. He hired you for a job."

"Quiet," Kaz said. "We can talk when we get to the Slat." 

Wylan sighed, obeying, and they continued in silence until they came to the small black door leading to the back entrance of their home. Inej leapt down from the roof in one swift motion, appearing in front of them, and Jesper felt Wylan jump against him. Inej opened the door and disappeared. 

"How did she.." Wylan said, before being whisked inside by Kaz.

This must be a very confusing time for him. 

Carefully, they maneuvered him up to a spare room on the second floor, and they opened the door to Nina, sat waiting on the bed. The words on her mouth fell once she got a look at Wylan, and she jumped up, gesturing to lay him down. 

They did just that, with no complaints from Wylan, whose eyelids fluttered closed. Clearly, his injuries were catching up to him. 

"What happened?" Nina asked, looking back at the boy.

He looked like he could almost be sleeping peacefully, a prince flung into the wrong story. It was the blood on his face that told a different tale. 

"Why is everyone so eager to talk?" Kaz said irritably. "Assess the damage, heal the urgent wounds, and then we'll go for a nice little chat." 

Nina rolled her eyes, but looking at Wylan again, they could all tell Kaz was right. He needed urgent care. She stepped forward and softly took hold of Wylan's face, inspecting the wounds. He winced, but didn't back away. Next was his body, and Nina lifted his shirt. Jesper's breath got caught in his throat, eyes clinging to the large bruises covering his ribs, blooming brown and purple. 

"Saints," Jesper whispered to himself again. It seemed to be the only thing he could say. 

Before continuing on with her examination, Nina moved towards Kaz and Jesper. She spoke in a hushed tone, but in Wylan's current state, Jesper didn't think he was going to be quite the listener. 

"I think I'll have to knock him out for the healing bit," she said. "His injuries are bad, and putting back together ribs is incredibly painful. He's too close to the edge to risk him feeling any more pain." 

Jesper knew what she meant by too close to the edge; he had teetered there many times himself, seen his mother fall right off. It wasn't a good place to be. 

"Will he be okay?" Jesper asked. 

"I'm not the most proficient healer, but he won't die. I won't let him." 

Not exactly what you want to hear, he thought, but he thanked Nina nonetheless. 

When she began her healing process, Jesper and Kaz both got kicked out, Nina claiming they were breathing too loudly. They stood in the hallway outside the door, and Jesper moved to head towards the stairs, but Kaz stood in his way. 

"What?" 

Kaz raised an eyebrow at him. 

"What is it?" Jesper repeated. 

"Just be careful." 

"Of what?" 

"Making promises you can't keep."

Jesper rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. "I'm not you, Kaz. And there's nothing to be careful about."

"I may not be you, Jesper, but I have eyes. And if you want to keep denying you feel anything for that boy, maybe stop staring at him like he's the love of your life."

Jesper fumed. Kaz knew nothing, he was no role model, and he shouldn't have been giving anyone advice. Definitely not looking down at Jesper like he was some child with a crush. 

"The way I feel is none of your business."

Kaz looked back at Jesper with his jet black eyes. They were silent for a moment. It's because I care, Jesper imagined Kaz saying. You're my friend.

"If your mind is too muddled with the merchant's son," Kaz said, "you can't be focused on jobs. I need you focused." 

Of course. With Kaz, it was always business. Jesper was a fool for thinking it could be anything else. 

He looked back in the room, Wylan lying down in the bed, Nina sitting beside him. This was something, what he was feeling. And maybe he should push it away, listen to Kaz and focus on his life in the Barrel. But something in Jesper told him to chase this feeling, that it was worth discovering. 

He looked back in the hallway, but Kaz was gone. With his cane, it usually wasn't hard to hear him leave, but Jesper hadn't noticed one bit. 

He did notice, however, the way Wylan's chest rose and fell; the soft, natural smile on his face as he slept. He didn't belong here. He looked so out of place. 

Jesper thought of Wylan's father, and how willing he was to be rid of him. Maybe he could grow to like it here. Just like I did. 

Jesper did not want to think of the future, far away and unfamiliar, but he thought of the now, chasing that feeling that rose in his chest, and that seemed just fine. 

Chapter Text

Wylan felt hands on his neck, nails digging into his throat, air escaping his lungs. His vision began to blur, and he clawed at the hands holding him. He couldn't see whose they were, only that they were much stronger than him. He fought back as best as he could, but he could feel himself slipping away. His movements became slower, and the hands around him only gripped harder. "Please," he heard himself croak, although it didn't sound like him, the voice broken and fragile. His legs eventually gave way underneath him, and his eyes fluttered closed. The hands clasped around him let go, and he tumbled to the ground involuntarily, darkness clouding his vision.

Wylan woke with a start, jumping up from his pillow, then feeling immediate regret at the pain. His brow felt moist, and his palms were clammy. He looked around the room for signs of danger, but saw only Jesper in a chair next to his bed, looking on, worried. 

Jesper clasped his hand over Wylan's, hovering slightly. "Are you okay?" 

Wylan looked down at their hands. "Just a nightmare," he said meekly.

From the small open window in the corner, he saw that it was nighttime, the moonlight shining into the tiny room. 

"What are you doing here?" Wylan asked. 

"Well, I live here," Jesper replied with a smirk. 

Wylan sighed and pulled himself up to a sitting position on the bed. Every part of him hurt, but nowhere near as bad as when he arrived. The last thing he remembered was the excruciating pain fading in and out, and him loosing hold of his consciousness. He still had no idea where he was or what anyone wanted from him, which was driving him mad.

"Well why am I here? Where am I?"

The room he was in was strange. It was remarkably small, more of a closet really, and housed one bed and a dilapidated shelf in the corner. The orange paint on the walls was peeling at an alarming rate, and the whole place smelled faintly of whiskey. The open window didn't help the scent, but Wylan did appreciate the fresh air wafting in. 

"This is the Slat, home of the Dregs." He didn't recognize the name, but he assumed it was one of the various gangs that walked the streets of the Barrel. 

"Is that who took me, the Dregs?"

"Well it was more of a solo mission."

"Is anyone going to explain to me what's going on?" The only thing Wylan knew about the crew was that they had worked with his father previously, but according to them, they didn't save him for Van Eck's sake. 

"What do you want to know?" Jesper sat back, crossing his hands atop his head. He threw his feet over the bed, letting his legs lie over Wylan's, and maybe he would have been upset by that, but everything Jesper did was just so charming. 

"Merchling?" Jesper's head cocked to the side, and Wylan realized he had been staring. He blinked back, cheeks flushing red. 

"I'm still not a fan of that nickname."

Jesper shrugged with a smile, "We'll see."

"Right," he said. "Well, why did you take me from Pekka Rollins?"

Jesper looked back blankly for a moment. When he spoke it was slow and thought out. 

"We... heard that you would be an asset?" He phrased it as a question of sorts, like he wasn't sure how Wylan would take it. 

"An asset? Why would I be an asset?" 

Jesper seemed uncomfortable, a new look for him. "Well," he spoke slowly, "I don't really know how to say this without sounding like a complete creep, so I just want to preface that I'm not." Wylan nodded his assurance, although he had no idea where this was going. 

"The details are foggy, but I may have ended up in your room a couple of nights ago, and Van Eck may have thought I kidnapped you." Jesper flashed an awkward smile, looking at Wylan for a response. 

"What?" If anything, Wylan was more confused now. That explained nothing.

"I didn't kidnap you, obviously, but then..." Jesper trailed off, looking at the ceiling. 

Wylan prompted him again, "And then..."

"We found out that Rollins took you and thought that as a merchant's son, you could be useful," Jesper finished fast. 

Oh, Wylan thought. Maybe it was a naive idea, but a part of him thought that he was being saved, not stolen again. 

"So I'm still taken," he said. "Just by different people." They didn't seem so bad, especially not Jesper, but he would rather not be hidden out in the Barrel by a gang to do who knows what.

Jesper looked back at him quickly. "No, no, you're free to leave. We just.. didn't think you would want to go back home." 

What? He knew the Geldstraat wasn't as interesting as the sights of the Barrel, but there was no question that the dangers of the Stave weren't appealing. He thought back to everything his father had said, how people were skivved and jumped and swindled, and it didn't sound like a picnic. 

My father. In all the commotion, he had completely forgotten about him. That's why they didn't think he would want to go back home. Somehow, they knew. 

"You said you talked to him," Wylan asked quietly, not bothering to specify who. 

Jesper tried to meet his eyes, but Wylan kept his gaze firmly on his lap. 

"Yeah, we spoke, he mistook me for your captors," Jesper said. 

"How did he react?" But Wylan knew. Somewhere, a younger version of him hoped Jesper would say he was worried or concerned, but he knew his father. Or at least the person he had become. 

Jesper said nothing for a long moment, and Wylan's hope faded more and more. Eventually it disappeared altogether, and the last dreams for some semblance of a normal father-son relationship were gone.

"He didn't care, did he?" Looking up at Jesper, he saw his face was racked with guilt, like he had to be the one breaking the news. 

"No," Jesper admitted. "That's why you're here. He said he didn't want you to come home." 

Wylan took in what Jesper said. He expected to be sad, or at least disappointed, but truthfully, he found nothing. That last part of his childhood was gone for good. 

The thing that did upset Wylan however, was the looming prospect of his future. Where was he supposed to go? Even if his life in the Geldstraat was hell, at least he had a path in life. Now, he had nothing, not even a real place to stay. 

"Are you.." Jesper paused, "okay?" 

"Sure, yes." 

Jesper looked unconvinced. He moved his feet from their position atop the bed to back on the floor, bouncing one knee feverishly. Wylan missed the contact as soon as it left. "Can I ask something?" he said. "What happened with your father?"

Wylan thought for a moment. He had never explained his circumstances to anyone before; he wasn't sure he even knew how to, but Jesper was looking at him so earnestly, he knew he wasn't going to be judged. Everything felt easy with him, and comfortable, like they had known each other their whole lives. 

The looming secret, the thing his father had held over his head for years as the reason for all of his misfortunes, was the only thing that stood between him and finally feeling free. He wouldn't give the secret any more power.

"I can't read." He blurted out. He could feel his face reddening, an involuntary reaction from years of shame boiling over. He was afraid to look at Jesper, he knew any sort of negative reaction and he would never speak again, so he just looked back down at that familiar spot on his lap. 

"I never could," he continued. "My father spent years and dozens of tutors trying to fix me, but it never worked. Once he realized, I became useless. I can't inherit his companies or become the heir to his fortune if I can't even read a ledger, so I served no purpose. I've spent most of my life holed up in my room because it was better than being around him and his wrath. My getting kidnapped probably made his day; someone got rid of his pathetic excuse for a son before he had to do it himself." 

Wylan stopped, exhaling; he had been holding his breath for ages. His big secret was finally out, the thing that had run his life for so many years. The words hung over him, repeating in his head, but he couldn't take them back now. All his old fears of this exact moment, that one day someone would learn about his shortcomings and laugh in his face, were coming back to him. He pictured Jesper walking out, grumbling that they took him for nothing, and it was almost too much to bear.

"I can't whistle."

Wylan looked up, thinking he imagined Jesper speaking. "What?"

"I never could. My neighbor Jin could whistle the best melodies, but I could never learn."

The sideways smirk that Jesper gave Wylan made his stomach lurch. Out of every reaction he had spent eight years groveling over, he never expected this. A broken laugh emerged from him, and Wylan realized he had been crying, overwhelmed with emotion. He couldn't be embarrassed though, not while he was too caught up in the act of Jesper's words. 

Jesper grabbed his hand again, as secure as an anchor. 

"We all have our things, merchling. Nobody can be good at everything." 

Through his tears, he laughed. "I don't think reading and whistling are comparable." 

When Jesper smiled back at Wylan, it was enough to root him in place. 

"Well don't tell that to Jin, he'll be very offended."

They looked at each other, something palpable sparking between them, and Jesper opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Kaz swinging the door open. Their hands quickly separated and Jesper sat up in his seat. Inej followed behind him as they made their way into Wylan's room. 

"You're awake," Kaz said. 

Wylan nodded. 

"I assume Jesper told you why you're here." Kaz's hands wrapped around his cane. "But I do have a question for you- why did you sneak out of your room the night you were taken?" 

Oh, right. Being kidnapped twice had completely muddled Wylan's mind that he had forgotten about what he was originally trying to do. 

"I was trying to warn you guys. My father gave you counterfeit Kruge in hopes of framing you and sending you to Hellgate." 

Kaz looked back at Wylan emptily. "I knew." 

Wylan didn't miss the look of betrayal that crossed Jesper's face, but mostly he was just confused. "You knew the money was fake?" Everything Wylan had planned to do, his great big scheme, seemed entirely pointless now. He thought he was making a difference, but instead was just making a fool out of himself. 

"What I don't understand is why you tried to help us. Why would you attempt to travel to the Barrel in the darkness of night to warn a group of criminals you have never met about a con your own father was running?" 

"Well.." In all fairness, it was a simple question, but Wylan didn't have an answer. He supposed he had been so caught up in getting away from his father that he didn't quite realize everything that could have gone wrong in his plan. "It just seemed like the right thing to do," he said sheepishly. 

"Well thanks to your heroic act, you almost got yourself killed."

"Kaz," Jesper said sharply. They exchanged a wordless but deathly glare. 

"Now that you are here," Inej said, stepping soundlessly up next to Kaz. "We think you can help us, as insider information on your father's business practices."

Wylan remembered his conversation with Pekka Rollins and how he had been wanted for the same thing. "I don't know anything about his business, really. He stopped including me long ago." 

Kaz narrowed his eyes at Wylan, searching for a lie, but evidently, he found Wylan was telling the truth. "You lived in his home, you met with other merchants, you heard his conversations throughout the house. You may not realize it, but you do have information that is useful. I'll get back to you when I need you." And with that, Kaz turned swiftly around and walked right back out the door. Inej gave one glance at Jesper, then followed. 

Ever since Kaz had told them he knew the Kruge was fake all along, Jesper had been distracted, a demeanor so different than how he was with Wylan mere minutes ago. 

He got up from his seat next to the bed, sparing Wylan a tight-lipped smile, then left the room. 

Alone again, all Wylan wanted to do was sleep. That bone-aching tiredness was back, and now that he wasn't in imminent danger, it seemed to seep in unconsciously. His eyes fluttered closed, and as he drifted away, he felt the ghost touches of Jesper's hand on his, and the unfamiliar feeling of flutters in his stomach.

Chapter Text

Jesper followed Kaz all the way up the long, winding staircase to his room. Kaz didn't acknowledge him, but he knew he was there. Jesper's anger seemed to be emanating from him. 

Kaz opened his door and walked in, Jesper close behind him, slamming it shut. 

"What do you want?" Kaz paid little attention to him, instead walking to his desk and shuffling through the papers stacked on top. 

"You shouldn't use Wylan like that." He didn't move from his spot near the door, rooted in place. He was scared that if he moved, he would pace right through the floorboards. "It's not right." 

"I don't think I asked for your opinion on morality. You seemed just fine when it was your idea to take him in the first place." 

"He's not built for this, Kaz." The way Wylan looked, so wholesome and gentle, he didn't belong in the Barrel. He deserved better. "He shouldn't be a pawn for you to act out your personal vendettas against the merchants." 

"What would you rather?" Kaz barely spared a glance from his papers. "Him be killed by his father in his cozy merchants home? Or stay here, where he has a roof over his head and a safe place to sleep. He's getting a second chance at life, and you know it."

Jesper rolled his eyes, but Kaz was right. The way Van Eck had spoken about his son, he would be better off anywhere else. In truth, this wasn't really what Jesper was mad at him for, but it was a welcome distraction. 

"Why are you really here?"

Damn it. How did Kaz always know when something was off? 

Jesper sighed. "You knew the Kruge was fake." 

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jesper tried hard not to sound hurt, but his voice betrayed him. Kaz finally looked away from his desk, eyes glued on Jesper. There was no compassion in them. 

"I told you not to spend it all. If you chose to do so, it was your mistake to make."

Jesper couldn't believe what he was hearing. Did Kaz really think that was okay? Was he incapable of feeling any remorse, apologizing for a single mistake? It was clear he should have told Jesper the money wasn't real, especially after hearing he was going to a gambling hall. 

He spoke slowly, trying to match Kaz's apathetic expression. "It could've ended so poorly. If I had spent it, who knows where I would be." 

"But you didn't," Kaz said. "So what's your problem?" 

Maybe Jesper was being too emotional. Maybe he should just chalk it up as a Classic Kaz move, but the way he was being spoken to, like he was irrational and dumb, really bothered him. "You kept things from me. How am I supposed to trust you if you tried to set me up?" 

Kaz rolled his eyes and laughed, but there was no humor. "I didn't set you up."

"If I got caught, I could've landed in Hellgate." 

"You would've learned a lesson about gambling away your money. And I was never going to let it get that far." 

There it is, Jesper thought. More of that unearned Kaz Brekker arrogance. Would he ever understand that having your future in someone else's hands isn't something you can shrug off? 

"How, Kaz? What was your master plan to spring me from the most secure prison in the city?" He could hear the bitterness in his voice; it was unlike him. 

"It's none of your concern. It didn't happen. And I don't deal in hypotheticals." Kaz walked back to his desk, sitting down and shutting Jesper out. "You can leave," He said, his voice icy. 

Jesper scoffed; he was being treated like he was a naive child. 

"Yes, I can." When he slammed the door shut behind him, it was much harder than the first time. The noise reverberated through every floor, silencing the sounds of the Slat for just a moment. 

He paused briefly by Wylan's room, cracking the door open. He lay so calmly, the small smile rested on his face. He still looked like he had had a rough beating, but better by the day, and his color was coming back to him. 

Jesper heard footsteps from the opposite end of the hall, Rotty coming out of his room, so he quickly shut the door and left. His bedroom seemed miles away. 

That night, sleep was difficult, which was a rarity for Jesper. Usually he had no problem, the shouts and sirens of the Barrel acting as a lullaby. But even now, when he hadn't slept in days, he lay awake on his thin mattress. Everything seemed wrong; he was bothered by every small sound. Whether he felt disconcerted because of Kaz or Wylan, he didn't know, but the thoughts in his head didn't let up. The night was mostly spent staring up at his peeling ceiling and counting the floorboards, his brain allowing for maybe three decent hours of rest. 

The night bled into morning, and Jesper got up from his half-sleep. He opened the door almost unconsciously, his feet leading him straight to Wylan's. The floor beneath him creaked, springing Jesper into doubt. Was it too early? Would Wylan think he was being overbearing? He had never acted like this with anyone; he didn't know the rules. He stood at his door for an embarrassingly long amount of time, and decided he would wait at least two more hours before knocking. He started to walk back to his room, but only got a few steps away.  

"You can come in, you know." A voice said from the other side of the door. Jesper cringed on the spot, but collected himself and opened it slightly. 

He peeked his head through, smiling at Wylan sat on his bed. "Hello. I was just observing your door. Good wood." 

Wylan smirked, nodding at Jesper to come in. He did just that, pulling up his old chair and sitting down beside him. 

The sun was hitting Wylan's face, his freckles and ruddy curls aglow with light. He looked amazing, like he was from another world. His blue eyes sparkled with curiosity, and unless Jesper was imagining it, interest. 

"What?" Wylan said, looking away. His ears began to red. Jesper noted how easy it was to get him to blush, like he was always right on the verge. 

"Nothing," Jesper smiled. "You just look good, merchling." 

Now his face was a bright pink, but he laughed anyway. He scanned the room for a moment, biting his bottom lip. When he looked at Jesper, the interest he had seen in his eyes couldn't be denied. "You don't look too bad yourself." 

Jesper thought of a thousand quick-witted flirts off the top of his head. It's all natural. Coming from you that's a high compliment. What's too bad is how far apart we are. But Jesper didn't want to do that with Wylan. This was different, and he didn't want anything to happen too soon. 

So he simply shrugged and smiled, the response he thought he should have. 

"How'd you sleep?" Wylan asked. 

"Great," Jesper lied swiftly. 

"Me too!" When Wylan spoke, it was with such passion, no matter what he was saying. "I slept better than I have in years." 

Wylan looked happy, but the undertones of what he was saying were not. The fact that he slept better in this foreign, dirty flat than he did in his father's home was hard to imagine. 

Wylan pulled his legs up towards his body, wrapping his arms around his knees. He looked out of his small window, and the small crow that had found solace perched up on his windowsill. He smiled that sweet Wylan smile and watched it peacefully. 

He looked so small, harmless. How could anyone ever hurt him?  

Jesper realized he was staring again, so before he could think twice, he got up from his chair and moved onto the bed beside Wylan. It creaked with age as he settled, the two boys shoulder to shoulder, but Wylan didn't pull away. He stayed looking at the crow, but Jesper could hear his breath catch in his throat.

"That one's named Luna," Jesper said, pointing at the crow.

Wylan looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "Really?" 

"No," he grinned. "But it could be."

"Okay," Wylan said, turning towards it. "Hello, Luna. I'm afraid I won't be able to tell you apart from your friend." Another crow joined Luna on the windowsill, and they stood at opposite ends watching each other. 

"Now you have to name the other one."

Wylan observed the crow for a moment, as it bowed its head towards Luna and strutted towards her. "Lars." 

Jesper laughed incredulously, "Lars? And you had the nerve to question my 'merchling' nickname." 

"Lars has character. Merchling is too on the nose."

Jesper nudged his shoulder, and Wylan turned to look at him. "Do you actually hate the name? Because I can stop," he said sincerely. 

The blush was back, better than ever, and Wylan stayed silent for a moment. They stared at one another for a beat too long to be ignored, then Wylan cleared his throat. 

"No. I don't hate it." 

A wide smile spread on Jesper's face, and Wylan immediately groaned. "Oh no, was that a mistake?"

"I don't know, merchling. You tell me, merchling." 

Wylan laughed then, a real, full laugh, and Jesper thought he would tell a thousand jokes just to hear that sound again. 

The crows flew from the window, spooked by the loud noise, and settled down on a street sign.

Wylan looked past them, out at the morning sun, a longing look in his eye.

"I'm going crazy stuck in this bed," he said softly. "I miss the outside, the breeze." 

"Can you walk?" Jesper pulled back ever-so-slightly, having forgotten about Wylan's broken ribs. 

"Probably. But Nina has me bed-bound until she sees me later today." 

"Well let's hope she sets you free, because I have some exciting Barrel ventures for us." 

Wylan shifted so he was facing Jesper, as much as he could in the tight space, and narrowed his eyes. "Such as?" 

"If I told you, that would spoil all the fun, wouldn't it. You'll just have to get better to find out."

They exchanged twin smiles, sparks flying between them. Wylan looked down and bit his lip again, a habit when he's in thought. Slowly, he grabbed Jesper's hand, holding it in his own, and gazed up at him. 

"Thank you, Jesper," he said with total sincerity. 

"For being devilishly handsome?" Jesper cocked his head with a smirk, but inside, his heart was hammering. 

Wylan rolled his eyes, but held on stronger. "For being here. I really, really appreciate it. I've never... just thank you." 

"Of course, merchling." 

A moment passed, and they sat silently staring at each other. Jesper saw Wylan's chest rise and fall, his hair falling slightly over his eye, his throat bob. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead went back to biting his bottom lip. Shadows danced on his face, his eyebrows turned down ever-so-slightly, and a tiny eyelash fell onto his cheek. 

Before Jesper even knew what he was doing, he reached up and cupped Wylan's face in his hand. His thumb brushed over his cheek, sweeping the eyelash away. The pink flush was back, but Jesper had no quippy remarks. No jabs on Wylan's sweet naivety or wide-eyed expressions. His mind had gone blank. 

Wylan exhaled softly, a sound so pure, and Jesper leaned in close, tantalizingly slow. Every idea of not wanting to rush things or move too fast was gone, because he was inches away from Wylan's face and he felt as if a piece of him had been searching for this for years. 

Right as their lips were about to meet, so close Jesper could feel Wylan's breath against his, a loud thump was heard from behind him. It had no effect on Jesper, so accustomed to hearing sharp gunfire, but Wylan jumped back, visibly startled. Jesper's hand dropped back down onto his lap, immediately missing the contact. 

The noise was heard again, a knock at the door, and louder this time. Jesper exhaled dramatically, and Wylan smiled. His cheeks were blushed and his hands were tapping steadily on his knees, looking far more nervous than Jesper had thought. 

"I suppose I should get that, shouldn't I?" he looked at the door with disdain. 

Wylan nodded, sighing himself, and Jesper rolled out of bed. He opened the door and saw Nina standing impatiently in front of it, feet tapping against the wooden floor. She looked up at Jesper and her eyebrows raised. 

"Hello," she said surprised. "I wasn't expecting you." 

"Yes." Jesper feigned seriousness. "Very important business matters."

"Oh?"

He leaned against the door frame and knocked on it in succession. "Well, I was inspecting the quality wood on the door, when-" 

Nina let him get no further before interrupting his soon-to-be tangent. "Right. Well as much as that fascinates me, I have real business matters concerning my patient here. So if you don't mind.." She smiled and pushed past him, walking into the room. 

It was small, so it took her mere steps to get to Wylan's bed. Jesper leaned against the door frame, watching as Nina inspected the bruises on Wylan's face. A particularly nasty one on his forehead was healing nicely, and she hummed in approval. 

Sensing Jesper's gaze on her, she turned. "You know, if it's not too much of a hassle, I would love a fresh cup of tea." She beamed innocently.

Jesper scoffed humorously, putting his hands on his hips. "Have I really been demoted to your personal grunt?" 

"It's not just for me, you can get Wylan a cup too." 

Wylan perked up at the idea, eyebrows raised. "Wylan would like that," he said. 

Jesper looked back and forth between the two of them, pointing his finger at them both. "I don't like this." 

"Well I like mint in my tea, just in case you're wondering," Wylan said. He glanced at Jesper with a mischievously handsome look in his eye, smirking.

Jesper folded quicker than a sheet of paper. "This is ridiculous, you two." He stepped back, leaving the room. "On an unrelated note, I will be back shortly, with two cups of tea... for me." 

As he headed downstairs, he heard Nina and Wylan giggle, and he laughed silently to himself. 

Mint in his tea. Do we even own mint leaves?

He walked into the kitchen, and was greeted with Inej sitting on a tiny windowsill in the corner of the room. She was looking out at the Barrel streets, vendors and patrons roaming the stalls. 

Jesper opened a cupboard, pulling out two mugs. "Hello," he said cheerfully. Inej hadn't looked his way, but she could tell he was there. She always could. 

She turned, smiling. "You look happy."

"I am." The bottom drawer held the tea bags, and he ruffled through it. "Do you know if we have mint leaves?"

"Good morning to you too." She hopped off the window straight onto the cabinet top, swinging her feet over it. 

"Good morning." He stood, facing Inej. He could tell she was holding something back. "What is it?" 

"Do you want to explain?" 

She didn't have to elaborate, it was clear what she meant. 

"Oh, don't act like you don't know," Jesper said. Inej was like a seer, she could always sense things around her. 

"I see the way you look at each other," she said. "But you look like you have something extra on your mind."

Jesper sighed. There was no fear in admitting anything to Inej; he could always confide in her. She had given him no reason to mistrust her, quite the opposite actually. 

"We almost kissed."

"Do tell." She leaned in close, listening intently. 

"I don't know. You know me, I'm all flings and flirtations. I never thought I could have anything serious. But I really like him, and I've never felt this way about someone before. I'm overthinking things, staying up at night wondering if he feels the same way, it's odd." 

And it was. Wylan had a strange effect on him, like all of his years of experience in the field of romance meant nothing compared to this. 

"I'm not a love expert, Jesper. But if you guys almost kissed, I'm pretty sure your feelings are reciprocated." 

He thought back to Wylan's tapping fingers and look in his eye. "You should've seen him. He seemed really nervous after, like maybe he regretted it." 

"Well, I doubt it," Inej said confidently. "But just get to know him, become friends, and then see where it goes." She nudged him, grabbing his arm, and stared assuredly at him. "The best things take time, and you are an amazing person, Jesper. Anyone is bound to see that."

He laughed, full of gratitude. Inej always knew the perfect thing to make him feel better, and it worked.

"Why don't we just run off together and start a life in the Wandering Aisle? That would be easier." 

Inej grinned and hopped off the counter. She started towards the door, looking back at Jesper. "The mint leaves are in the second cabinet on your right." 

He looked down at the mugs in front of him, having completely forgotten his original mission. "Thanks..." he said, but when he glanced up, Inej was gone. 

The tea didn't take too long to make, and in a matter of minutes, he was carefully walking back upstairs. His steps were more confident and his path clear, the doubts in his mind fading away.