Author's Note:

Hello lovelies!

Quick note: While I really enjoy writing fanfiction, I am working on an original work (henceforth called OW). These characters, especially Kaz, are excellent practice for my multiple POV writing. As for my OW male lead: he's very conniving and definitely has a scheming face. He's also remarkably monstrous. If you don't find Kaz monstrous enough, please let me know (and how you think I can improve). Also, I'm working on fight scenes/dramatic escapes A LOT. Let me know if you think they're exciting! All other critiques are welcome too! I hope y'all enjoy this story!

Thanks!

INEJ

No matter how many times I run my hands over the ship's railing, descend to my cabin, or lash down the sails, it's still difficult to believe it's mine. Yet, here I am, almost a year since I set sail to stop the overseas slave trade. I've docked at more unknown ports than I care to count. I've seen many a happy reunion. I've watched with grim satisfaction as slaver ships sank. I've taken on crew. I've shot other crews down. I've heard their screams, said a prayer, and turned away as they died. My purpose burns strong in me. I've no desire to slow. Still, I can tell my crew is tired. While I've taken on an unlikely accumulation of people of a variety of ages, creeds, and nationalities, we all share the same goal. And despite their differences, I see the same look in their eyes now. An ache to be on land, to stay on steady ground, to rest. So we've turned to back to Ketterdam. We're only a couple hours away now. I can hear the crew chattering to each other about their plans. Family to meet, places to see, food to enjoy - all of it makes me smile. Yet, I wonder about my plans. I'll return to Wylan's house, of course. I wrote ahead almost a month ago that I'd be returning. It's nearly impossible to receive mail when you rarely dock in the same place twice so I have no reply. Regardless, I know his answer will be the same.

"You are always welcome here, Inej. Your room will always be ready," he said, all those many months ago. And while I'm sure much has changed, I doubt they've filled up all the rooms in that grand mercher house.

I try to focus on arrival. Docking, securing the ropes, disembarking, carrying my bag to their house, entering, having dinner, enjoying time with them - all the specifics to distract me from what I am really wondering.

How is Kaz? What has he been doing? What is he doing now? And, the question I try hardest to ignore, Does he miss me?

Does he miss me as I do him? A year apart has brought clarity, as space and time often does. My perspective has changed. My priorities have too. Too often, I find myself missing him. Laying in bed at night, wondering what he's doing right then and if I ever cross his mind. Then, the deeper thoughts, the ones I try to keep to myself, of his hands - barely brushing against me, of his eyes - bright and dialated as he stares into mine, and of his lips - hovering just above my skin. It's in these times that I imagine what it would be like if we were whole, unbroken.

But if all this time on the sea has taught me anything, it's that no one is whole. Everyone has brokenness inside them. It's what you do with those experiences, how you grow - or don't, that truly defines you. I've made choices during this time that have strengthened me. I've seen actions taken that strengthen others. I've seen women and children, bound for slavery, released and returned home, undeniably marked by the experiences. I wonder about them sometimes, how they function now. Do they shudder, like I do, when something reminds them too closely of their time as a slave? Do they jump at a surprise touch?

While I know I rescued them from the experiences that I suffered at the Menagerie, they are still scarred. They will be forever. I can only pray that somehow, they take those scars and make something beautiful.

I stare out at the sea, it's waves small and pleasantly rocking the boat toward home. The breeze is soft and intermittent, making our progress slower than normal. However, I relish the tranquility. I'd rather that than a storm with its high, rushing waves that threaten to tear the boat apart from every side. I enjoy the soft chatter to the frantic instructions bouncing between my crew as they hurry to secure and survive. I retreat to my quarters, lay down on my bed and am quickly rocked to sleep - my last thoughts drift toward home and him.

KAZ

Wylan came to me two weeks ago to inform me that Inej was returning. I had let go of hope months ago for with it comes weakness. I cannot afford the distraction, not when everyone is looking to grab a piece of me or my piece of Ketterdam.

In the last year, my territory has grown. While the Dime Lions didn't all defect to the Dregs, many did and with them came influence. Pekka Rollins hadn't returned and, in the midst of confusion of control, many had sought his place of power. None had achieved it. True, there were a few pockets of people who'd held onto a piece of his empire. A man named Ruffin has taken control of their Kaelish Prince, which I eagerly relinquished. Another had taken on his pleasure houses, which I wanted no part in. The other properties were still suffering from the pretend plague. While people had come to realize there was nothing to fear, their profits had taken a huge hit during the months of quarantine. I had little interest in taking on their debts. Still, it did me no good to allow someone to accumulate too much power. Thus, I took unseen steps to make sure his empire was equitably divided.

My leg is aching today. Sharp pain lances through it with each step. I lean heavily on my cane as I mount the stairs. While I do proper business from Per Haskell's old office, I still prefer the relative silence of my upstairs room. Of course, my preference has nothing to do with the window that still so starkly reminds me of my Wraith. The crows stopped coming about a month after she left; uninterested in a windowsill that offered only a place to sit. There were warmer areas with better access to the crumbs that littered Ketterdam's streets. Sometimes I find myself staring as the window, almost seeing her sitting there oh so still.

As I reach my room, I reach for my key. I check the failsafes I've placed around the door to ensure no one has entered during my time away. I'm not the only good lock pick in the city and, while it's rare and rather noticeable for someone to venture up here, I am nothing if not thorough.

When I open the door, I almost believe I'm hallucinating. Can want drive a person to see something they crave so desperately - despite having driven the want so deep down that it rarely has the strength to rise to the surface? Yet, there she is.

Is she there? I try not to believe it. I blink and look away but when I look back, she remains. The window open, a soft breeze gliding through. Her fingers curled around her shin, cheek resting on her knee, facing me with her eyes closed. My surprise lasts only a few seconds and then I am back, aiming for unfazed.

"I thought you'd be at Wylan's," I say, cursing myself for not finding something more welcoming to say. Hadn't I wanted her here? Hadn't I hoped she'd return?

"I was," is her only reply. She hasn't looked at me yet although her eyes flutter open. How did she enter Ketterdam and I not know? I have people watching the docks constantly. I should've been informed when she docked.

Except you've pushed away everything involving her. How were people to know you'd be interested in being informed?

I am at a loss. I haven't had time to plan; to form the words I long to say to her. There she sits, in the spot where I've missed her month upon month. Here she is, just as I dreamed she would be - ready to listen to my plans, my ideas, my half-cooked schemes.

And all I do is remind her of somewhere else she could be.

As though she's heard my thoughts, she shifts slightly and lifts her gaze out onto Ketterdam, looking like she wants to take flight over my city. I trace the line of her neck, her spine, down to her legs, with my eyes. In my dreams, I've crossed the room to her. In my deepest fantasy, I've taken her in my arms, kissed her, carried her to my bed.

Look at me, I plead silently. Kaz Brekker never pleads and doing so, even though no one could hear it, hardens me immediately. I turn to my desk, lean my cane against it, and sit down as gracefully as I can. It is no longer in my nature to show weakness, even to her. Still, the tension hangs thick between us and I can't stand it. After a year apart, after my unwanted dreams of what it would be like when she returns, I cannot stand the uncomfortable silence between us. So I break it the only way I know how - talking about work.

"So, how was your trip?"

"Eventful." Her short answers surprise me. Conversation between us has never been especially prolific, as I am admittedly rather terse. However, she is usually the one who draws it out of me. Has the time away changed us so much that we've lost the easiness that marked our relationship for so long? Her sigh carries such weight that I wish I could rise and take the heaviness from her. Finally, finally, she turns her eyes to mine.

I feel a sudden urge to confess that I've missed her. To tell her she's been in my heart and on my mind more than anyone should be. That even in her absence, she drives me to distraction.

"How have you been, Kaz?" And I hear it then, or I believe I do, hope I do, her unspoken admission of missing me too. I know I should answer her the same, let her know that I've missed her desperately.

"Can't complain. Pekka Rollins has stayed down and his holdings haven't been snapped up by too few people. Van Eck is still in prison. Apparently, his contemporaries didn't like being swindled." She nods, as though this is what she'd been expecting. Perhaps it was. Perhaps she knew, even before she spoke, that I'd remain tight-lipped about anything except work.

"Any new jobs?"

"No big jobs to speak of; just the regular running of the Dregs. Although..." I refuse to admit that I hadn't taken any big jobs on purpose; that the real reason I'd handed off the the action was because I wanted her with me - that jobs without her felt empty. She raises her eyebrow.

"Although?"

"The new boss of Rollins's pleasure houses has been encroaching on our territory. One of the dregs reported seeing him casing the warehouse down on 5th. It wouldn't surprise me if he tried to take it. Especially as word on the street is he's set to receive a new shipment soon." Her expression darkens. I aimed for her heart. I know this is where I can pull her in, the only way I know how to pull her in. I exploit her weakness and don't feel any shame in doing so.

"What's your plan?" Suddenly, everything is as it was before. I find the job, formulate the plan, we discuss logistics, just as we used to.

"Go see if there's anyone lurking around there now. If not, we'll make sure no one can enter it without injury. If there are," I give her a grim grin, "they'll wish they weren't." She nods and without a sound, she's out the window.

INEJ

I can't tell if Kaz was being purposefully closed off or if he truly didn't miss me. There was a look, at the beginning, that made me think perhaps he had been wondering about me, thinking about me, as I had about him. Then his face shuttered and the emotionless Kaz appeared.

I climb the roof, each step easier than the last as I fall into the rhythm I have missed. Climbing the masts of my ship could only do so much. They only reached so far. Here, on the roofs of my city, I feel at home. The sun is dipping below the horizon. Soon, it will be too dark to see anything but shadows. The sun plays a brilliant orange and red across the waves, painting them bloody until the last ray falls. My sea. My city. Up here, it feels as though all of it belongs to me. I slip down the next roof to the wall of the warehouse. Sitting silently on the sill, I pick the lock carefully. I try to pull the window open when it clicks but disuse has made it stick. The wood has swollen it shut. No amount of pulling will loosen it. With a sigh, I carefully wind my way down to the back door. Here, I notice a sign of entry.

They probably couldn't get in the windows either.

The door shows signs of a chain having recently been around its handle. It isn't there now. Although the door is locked, no one has bothered to wipe away the footprints that are clearly formed in the dust in front of the door. A few moments later and the lock clicks open. The door barely squeaks as I push it open. I run my fingers along the hinges.

Oil. Someone wants to keep their goings quiet. Kaz's expectation of unwarranted entries is correct, as usual. I close the door behind me, trusting my senses to lead me in the dark better than they will anyone else. I don't see any light, corpselight or otherwise, brightening any corners. No footsteps hurry away as I wander farther in. I stick close to the walls, more comfortable with my back protected. As I head toward the other end of the building, I hear a hissing. I sniff the air. I don't smell gas but there is definitely a noise coming from behind the door at the end of the hall. I approach cautiously, positioning myself to be behind the door should it open. The hissing continues. It isn't a rhythmic rising and falling I associate with snakes. It's more like-

A light flashes, blinding and painful, and I am thrown back. I feel myself slam back into a wall and all goes dark.