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Ketterdam smelled of rot and rain.
Even in the early hours of the morning, when the fog pressed heavy against the windows and the streets were quiet, the city reeked of whore houses, stale beer, and the salt-heavy scent of the sea.
Kaz Brekker stood on the roof of the Slat, boots planted on the rusted tin, his coat fapping faintly behind him in the wind of the damp night.
It was late, most of the Barrel was unconscious or otherwise occupied. The Dregs were sleeping, drinking or mingling.
Wylan had finally convinced Jesper to return home at some point while the night started dying down,
and Inej had slipped away silently in the evening as she frequently did.
Kaz looked out over the city — the towers in the Geldstraat barely visible through the mist, the heavy chains in the harbours clanking in the wind.
Victory tasted strange. He’d broken Pekka Rollins. Ruined him. Took from him what mattered most — reputation, power, the illusion of invincibility. For years Kaz had carried Jordie’s memory like a wound and a weapon, letting it sharpen him, harden him.
Now that he had achieved it all he didn’t know what to do with himself.
He had his revenge.
So why did he still feel like he was drowning?
Kaz exhaled sharply and lowered himself to sit, slowly, onto the edge of the roof. His leg throbbed in protest, but he didn’t care. The pain reminded him he was alive.
He looked up at the fog covered sky.
"You always said the stars were different in the city” he muttered. “That they look different. That Ketterdam hid the sky.”
His voice was rough, half-buried in the wind.
Kaz wasn’t sure why he was talking to Jordie now.
Maybe it was because the city was quiet enough to hear ghosts.
•
He remembered the first night in Ketterdam.
The way Jordie had looked at the buildings — not with fear, but awe. Excitement. Like a child who thought the world would bend to his dreams.
“Look at that,” Jordie had said, pointing to the bustling city that loomed ahead like a never ending party. “That’s the world, Kaz. That’s what we came for.”
And Kaz had nodded, trusting him.
They were stupid back then.
Two farm boys with borrowed coats and too much hope.
Jordie had always walked taller, head held high, he talked smoother, he had a confidence Kaz could never muster. He believed in things. In fairness. In second chances.
That was the worst part.
He wasn’t cruel, he was good to his core. He didn’t deserve what happened.
Pekka Rollins had smiled, shaken Jordie’s hand, and taken everything. Their money. Their shelter. Their future. Their lives.
And then the plague came.
Kaz could still feel it — the desperate heat of Jordie’s fever, the hunger that plagued them both, the stink of the bodies piling up. The way his brother’s hand had gone slack in his. The way it felt when the pulse stopped.
He left Jordie in a heap of the dead with the wet, bloated limbs of strangers pressed against his skin.
When Kaz washed ashore, he wasn’t a boy anymore. Not really. Just bones and anger.
•
Back on the roof, Kaz leaned forward slightly, his gloved hands folded over his cane.
“I found him,” he said to the wind. “I looked him in the eye. And I ruined him.”
He waited for the familiar jolt of satisfaction — the fire that had burned in him for so long.
It didn’t come.
“I thought… it would fix something. Like maybe I’d see your face again without that look.” His fingers tightened on the crow’s head. “That look you gave me when you realized you couldn’t save us.”
His throat ached.
“I hated you for that. For believing him. For bringing us here. For leaving me.”
He paused. Let the words sit. Let the shame fill the space that was left behind.
“But I think I hate myself more.”
He remembered stealing his first coin after Jordie died.
It wasn’t much — just a drunken sailor’s forgotten purse. Kaz had slipped in through the back of a dockside tavern and out again before anyone noticed. He should have felt victorious.
Instead, he cried, silently, crouched in the alley, Jordie’s coat too big on his shoulders.
He’d stopped crying eventually.
He’d learned that there was power in silence. In cruelty. In making people fear your name more than they questioned your heart.
Jordie would’ve hated what he’d become.
But Jordie wasn’t here.
A seagull cawed in the distance. Somewhere below, someone yelled, drunk and laughing. The Barrel was still alive. Still feeding on its own.
Kaz looked at his gloves. Slowly, deliberately, he took them off. His hands were pale, scarred, knuckles bent wrong in places.
He imagined reaching out — not to the Jordie he watched die but to his big brother. The boy he was on the farm. The one who still smiled, who thought the world was big and beautiful and worth walking through.
“Inej thinks I can change,” Kaz said softly. “She says there’s more than this. That I can be… something else, something better”
Kaz doesn't know if he believes it.
Would Jordie even recognize him now? The way he walked with a limp. The way he wore revenge as a second skin.
Would he be proud? Would he understand why he became like this?
Kaz looked out over the sea, the water black as tar and just as welcoming as it had been the first time he saw it.
“I’m not sorry for what I did to Pekka,” he said. “But I wish it had brought you back, i wish it felt like i did something good.”
He didn’t know how long he sat there staring at the people below.
Long enough for the sun to be seen through the fog.
He slid his gloves back on, stood slowly, and leaned on the cane. His leg throbbed. But the pain he felt in his heart was worse.
But he wasn’t drowning anymore. Something began to change.
He turned to the rooftop door, but paused, speaking once more into the cool morning air.
“I don’t know what will come next, Jordie,” he said. “But I’m still here. After everything, im still here.”
It was all he could offer.
Not forgiveness. Not peace. Just survival.
And maybe — just maybe — something more.