𝐈𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒- ᴋᴀᴢ ʙʀᴇᴋᴋᴇʀ

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄

Kaz Brekker was a lucid dream. Like falling asleep and waking up to find that everything that shouldn't be real was. The brush of his gloves against her skin couldn't be true, yet it was cold, smooth like silk, and undeniable. It was brief, but it was there. Being around him felt safe, unlike everything she had ever known growing up, but that was where it would trick you. All good things must come to an end, the bad was just slowly creeping up on you and waiting for the right moment to strike.

Because Dirtyhands was a nightmare. A facade that was always too good to be true. The height of potential before it was ripped from your palms. Whenever she thought that he might have taken off the mask, it turned out he had another layer underneath. One moment in time, she thought that it might be possible to crack him open and get a glance at what was on the inside. That way she could fix him.

But Shivanni had never been good at fixing things. Everything seemed to end with knives drawn and everything gone wrong, but maybe this once, if she could learn his secrets as he had learned hers, she could get it right.

Over time, that fantasy faded. His stolen glances were paired with cold shoulders. Fleeting touches and desperation were always followed by silence, and the comfort that at least there had been nothing to lose in the first place. For a while, she felt like a traitor giving up on the possibility that Kaz might become more than an emotionless void of revenge and greed, but months became years, and one day a revelation hit her like a wave of cold water.

As much as she could try and fix old wounds and break down his barriers, endlessly longing and waiting, what Kaz had couldn't be solved by her capabilities. It would be up to him and she wasn't quite sure if he was ready to step into that ring and face it for himself.

She longed to plead with him to understand that it was his battle to conquer, but she had never been a beggar, and being on her knees was below her self-respect.

She could live with the welcoming silence that he offered in the absence of everyone else, and how he would stand up for her when she was too weak to put up her own fight. The brief feather-like touches would suffice, but he would never be able to hold her at night when the terrors took over and she was drowning in her own tears.

Not once would he be able to tenderly brush his lips next to her wounds after a particularly ruthless fight. She wished that someday he might be able to give her more than just what she wanted because the thing was, she didn't want much. If the world was perfect, this would be enough.

But the world was far from that, and they were about to sneak into the most secure and heavily guarded building in Ravka. Plotting illegal endeavors that were likely to result in a painful death or public execution was not exactly the ideal time to be contemplating feelings that should have been washed away a long time ago.

The Crows had spent the last ten minutes analyzing every inch of the blueprints to the Little Palace. It shouldn't have been so hard to find a flaw in the design or stationing of the guards, but alas, here they were.

"What about...?" Jesper suggested, pointing to the servant quarters.

"No, look," Inej said. She placed her finger on the armory. Oprichniki would be in and out of there too frequently, especially with the fete. "How about this hallway?"

"No thanks, there's a guard tower," Shivanni pointed out. "I'd like to at least survive the first hour."

Truth was, none of this would mean anything if she died and that was the problem. She wouldn't be able to say that she ever accomplished anything meaningful, ever did anything worth remembering, anything for herself. If people remembered her, it would be for the lives she took. She did it to survive, but they didn't know that. That would be her legacy. Her life would stop here.