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In the beginning, everything was survival.
At the Menagerie, Inej had to force herself to eat the small amounts she was given, force herself to sip at water placed in crudely decorated jugs in her cage, force herself to breathe despite the overwhelming urge to throw up in the face of the disgusting things she had to do every night, every hour, every second. Part of it was Heleen looming over her, coming in for weekly check-ups when she started prodding at Inej's skin and sneering at her malnourished form as if it wasn't Heleen herself who had deprived Inej of proper food.
But the other part was the stubborn, fierce part of Inej. The part that was hidden deep within her, but existed nevertheless. The part that made her survive for a simple thing: hope. The hope she felt when, miraculously, Inej had no client for the night and could sleep. The hope she felt when Inej looked out of her barred windows and saw birds flying into a rare, clear Ketterdam sky. The hope she felt when Inej said, "I can help you," to a boy who helped her in return.
When she came to the Slat for the first time, it was that same hope that blossomed. For a while, Inej's gut instinct was still survival. When someone looked at her wrong or made an obscene comment about her when they thought Inej wouldn't notice, survival made her buy brass knuckles and slam her fist into their face.
But sooner or later, although she wasn't sure when it happened, Inej had managed to settle into a routine at the Slat. Wake up, do morning stretches in her cramped but blissfully empty room, cook and eat food in the scrappy Slat kitchen, and then start working on whatever job she had to do. And then there was Kaz.
Kaz somehow managed to fit into this daily schedule Inej had compiled for herself, whether it was reporting to him on her latest findings or watching him from afar on jobs that could go wrong.
So it is on a blissfully peaceful, sunny day in Ketterdam, that Inej was spending the part of her schedule that coincided with Kaz on his attic window. She had gotten birdseed and was feeding the crows that gathered in droves outside of the window, as if they recognized one of their own in Kaz, despite his consistent irritation at their presence outside his room.
Kaz himself was busying himself with some paperwork, tallying up the Crow Club's profits. His generally styled hair was slightly mussed up, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to avoid ink from dripping onto the pristine white cloth.
And Inej? Inej was enjoying the peace. The harbor wind was coming in from the docks she can distantly make out, and the smell of sea salt comforts her. It feels like freedom.
Directing her attention back to the birds, she smiles softly as she looked at the crows greedily gobbling the seeds she threw to them, some battling with each other for space and food. Just like Kaz, she thinks in amusement. Taking whatever they get whenever they can get it.
Inej clicks her tongue a few times, calling them closer, and throws the remaining seeds from the first packet onto the roof outside as she takes out a second packet and begins opening it.
The sound of paper tearing must alert Kaz, because he sighs and speaks for the first time since she perched on his window sill. "You shouldn't make friends with the crows."
His voice startles Inej, and her head snapped up to look at him, still scrawling in messy handwriting across the page. Her lips twitch, and she closes her eyes, basking in the sun as she asks, "Why not?" Some crows from the roof caw in a call for more birdseed, but she ignores them, intent on hearing Kaz's justification.
He doesn't reply, and Inej isn't sure he heard her. "Why not?" she repeats, needing to hear his answer for some reason, needing to know what he thought, how he felt.
"They don't have any manners," he finally replies, and Inej grins at his response.
"Neither do you, Kaz," she says as she laughs, tilting her head back, letting herself embrace the freedom, the simple joy of the moment.
Inej expects to hear a witty remark from Kaz, but he says nothing, so she opens her eyes once more, looking at him with a smile. Kaz is staring at her, almost in awe, his eyes fixated on Inej in a way that makes her body heat up uncomfortably.
And Inej is frozen too, staring straight back at him. The sun from the open window has lit up his face, highlighting the still-boyish features that got overlooked by his sharpness and merchant suits, while the wind from the harbor ruffles up his hair even more.
In that moment, Inej feels like a child again, running around in grassy Ravkan fields, laughing with her cousins on sunny afternoons, soaking in applause after one of her best performances on the tightrope. Inej feels, in simple terms, happy.
Happiness is not in the big things, meja, Inej's father had said once. It is the soft rush of a stream, the sound of birds chirping in the morning, the look on your mother's face when she sees a geranium. It is a collation of all the things that make life worth living. And right now, feeding crows birdseed, talking with Kaz, feeling free, Inej feels like life is not just worth surviving, but worth living.
And if she could freeze this moment and live in it for the rest of her life, she would. It terrifies her.
So Inej turns away her head, and focuses on the birds begging for more food on the roof, tucking away the joy to a safe corner in her heart, and saves the thought for a day when she wouldn't have to choose between surviving and living. For a day when she didn't feel free, but was free. For a day when, perhaps, she would be able to face the terror of wanting someone who could never want her back.