❝ HOW WOULD YOU like to go on a little excursion with me, Mr. Bjerke?" said Jayar Kade, shuffling and re-shuffling a deck of cards as Elias stuffed his face with the contents of all three plates he'd ordered at a small restaurant that was squashed between an opera house and a boat-themed betting hall in the Lid. It was never too late for second dinner (or early breakfast). Elias enjoyed this side of Ketterdam mostly because he found it funny, an area close to the harbors stacked with the nicest establishments to lure in travelers, deceitfully respectable in appearance only to lead unsuspecting tourists straight down to the Barrel.

Elias dug into a serving of warm hutspot, washing it down with fiery liquor⸻the only way he was managing to stay awake. He coughed, wincing a little. "What sorta excursion?"

"Rollins has some documents that I'd like to look at. You steal, don't you?" Jayar held up an engraved silver ring, and Elias frowned, wiggling his now-bare left pinky finger. Then he laughed.

"Break into his house? He's likely got guards on it, but sure, I can help. You're buying, though." He gestured to his food.

Jayar handed back the ring. "Done. What would you say to a massive heist for three million kruge per crew member?"

"Probably still not enough to pay off all my debts."

"No one said you had to. You could always run away and join the circus instead."

He didn't mind Jayar's company, but there were a lot of things that could be irksome about him, and probably the worst offense was that he was funnier than Elias was at times. It just felt unreasonable given how serious he seemed in general. "You know what? I might just do that," he replied cheerfully.

"I should disclose that the location of this heist is the Ice Court."

Elias snorted liquor from his nose, breaking into a hacking cough. It took almost a minute to get ahold of himself and swallow normally again. He cleared his throat painfully. "The what?"

"The Ice Court. We're going there and kidnapping a very important man before Kaz Brekker does. The reward is a shit-ton of kruge. You in?"

Elias didn't take a single second to consider it. "Absolutely."

Jayar stood, producing pale purple bills and depositing them on the table. "C'mon. We've got to get going." He lowered his voice. "Rollins keeps files on every member of the Dime Lions along with some financial documents in a flat a few streets down from the Emerald Palace, between the Zelver District and East Stave. Blaze is meeting us there."

Elias scrambled to scrape as much as he could off his plates before getting up. It took him a moment to register the information as he followed Jayar down the lamp-lit street.

"I think I know what you're talking about. Brekker's had intel on that building before."

"Let me guess," Jayar said dryly, "Inej Ghafa?"

"I'd bet on it, yeah."

"You'd bet on anything."

And there he went being funnier than him again. This was getting out of hand.

Blaze Torrance was waiting for them, hat pulled low and leaning against the side of an old red-bricked building. It seemed perfectly ordinary to Elias, and no one was doing patrols outside, but he'd been right; he did recognize it. A small flare ignited briefly and then cigarette smoke wafted through the dark. Blaze pushed off the wall as they arrived, shooting Jayar a look Elias didn't know either of them well enough to decipher.

"We'll be in and out," Jayar murmured to them both. "Blaze, Bjerke, I'm short on time and don't want any trouble from either of you. As a matter of fact, don't so much as talk to each other. There's a door around the back, correct?"

Blaze nodded, fire in his eyes as his gaze roamed the apartment building. Elias glanced upward. There were practically a hundred windows, and at least one had to provide a way in or out if they needed it. "The room won't be unguarded," Blaze pointed out, echoing Elias's similar observation earlier.

"I want you to distract any guards. Elias is going to help me search for the documents I need. There should be no trace we were ever here, and if all goes well, this will take less than ten minutes."

Elias pulled at his lower lip. "And this is related to the job, or...?"

Blaze gestured to him with his cigarette. "Wait a minute. I recognize you. Don't people call you Chaos? Jay, are you sure bringing him in is a good idea?"

"He's a good shot, and he's the only one I know who has any information on the Ice Court."

"Eh... the Ice Court... it's been a while. Like, six, seven years ago. I can definitely sketch the backbones of a map or somethin', but maybe consider finding someone with a little more knowledge," Elias admitted, wracking his brain for the memory of the last time he'd gone. He'd been a teenager still, and had maneuvered his way into the Hringkälla celebrations with some of the pleasure house delegations seeking information on the Jakten. He hadn't been all that focused on the layout of the place or how to break in and out or anything like that. He could still provide some help in that vein, but he wasn't sure how much exactly.

"I don't even know another Fjerdan." As he said it, Jayar's face changed, as if realizing that statement wasn't quite true. "Actually..."

Blaze checked his watch⸻a terribly cheap one, Elias noted with distaste. "The shift change is in two minutes. If we have any hope of causing a distraction, we gotta act now."

Jayar tapped his heel on the ground. "Right. Bjerke, can you move silently up a flight of stairs?"

He shrugged. "I can try."

"Then let's move."

They took a route even Jayar seemed unsure of, changing directions whenever he heard or saw someone. They finally came to a stop at a hallway, Jayar holding out a hand for Elias to wait. From here they could see the guards, just a rotation of rugged Dime Lions bruisers prowling the hall and a couple in front of the door of what must have been the right apartment. If they'd had weapons and properly utilized the element of surprise, they might have been able to plan a decent shootout despite being outnumbered, but his guess was that they weren't here to make a scene. Jayar didn't want Pekka Rollins to know they'd been here.

Elias and Jay ducked into the shadows, watching as the guards shifted movement, murmuring to each other. He wasn't sure of the precise moment when they were supposed to rotate out, so his whole body was tense, eager to do something but not quite prepared for when.

"What do you think Blaze'll do for a distraction?" he whispered.

Jayar's eyes moved from the door to the guards to the opposite hall and back. "Blaze only knows how to do one thing."

The men by the wall stepped forward as a new group of Lions emerged from the stairwell, and it was in that split second that the doors ceased to be watched when a fire, bright and sudden, flared to life in the other hall. In the commotion that ensued, a few guards argued with each other over who would stay and who would investigate while others insisted that they were clocked out and that meant this was the next shift's problem.

In the end, several of them did stay back, but by then, Jayar and Elias were already in through the door, sticking to the shadows. No, not the door to Rollins's storage apartment.

The one two doors over.

"How did you do that?" Elias asked breathlessly once they were in some poor chap's place and safely out of the sight of the guards. "You some kinda lockpick or som'n?"

Jayar huffed a laugh. "Of course not. I paid the guy who lives here to leave it unlocked. Never take the hard way when there's an easy way out. Now don't touch anything, he did us a favor."

Elias's mouth formed a little O as he followed him to the balcony outside, careful not to disturb any of the furniture. Jayar squinted up at the two windows to their right, neither of which had the luxury of a balcony attached to them. Ghetto as hell. Elias's own flat in the Zelver District was several rooms wide and it definitely had a balcony. On top of the fact that there was no convenient route to Rollins's place from this angle, it was still early morning, and they had only the moon and the stars, clouded by the city's pollution, to guide them.

"I figured we'd have to climb."

Elias blinked, admittedly somewhat incredulous that Jay had suggested the idea. This was the sort of thing he might've come up with while severely drunk. "Swinging several stories in the air to climb in through that window?"

"What, you scared, big guy?"

He laughed. "You wish! No, I'm worried about your little twig frame flying off like a streamer in the wind."

Jayar's eyes glinted with the challenge. He didn't retort, instead pushing Elias aside and going first without a word in his direction. He climbed onto the balcony railing, positioned himself in a foothold in the stone, and launched into the air, grabbing ahold of the first windowsill. He was dangling over nothing. Excitement ignited in Elias's chest. Now this was what he considered fun. Jayar made the stomach-churning leap to the second window, proving his astonishing agility. He was a slender, nimble opponent in a fight rather than a heavyweight brute. Elias had never seen him demonstrate his skills like this before.

Elias, too, jumped off the railing, following Jayar's steps exactly without even having to think about it. He, being much larger, had the disadvantage of his weight but the advantage of his raw upper body strength. His blood rushed in his ears. Death was always following him, and he could hear its whispers now⸻tick-tock, Elias Bjerke... run all you like.

He wasn't running. He was flying. Flying through the air so high that death couldn't catch him.

"Here's hoping this thing opens," he heard Jayar mutter.

Jay pulled a knife out of his pocket, flipped it open, and forced it between the window and the frame, first wiggling it side to side and then straining against it until the window slid left. Elias's heart was slamming against his ribcage like a caged bird attempting to escape from the walls around it, fingers tightening desperately on the sill, and the adrenaline rush was brilliant. They could die here. They could die here.

They didn't.

Jayar leveraged himself up and onto the windowsill, pulling himself through as silently as possible. Moments later, Elias followed his lead, and he grabbed his forearms to help drag him through.

His breathing returned to normal again once they'd made it inside, hair and eyes wild. He was grinning roguishly from ear to ear. Miraculously, they were in.

The place looked like someone had gotten the atrocious idea to turn a run-down flat into an oversized storage closet. There wasn't even decoration on the walls, and the only real furniture consisted of multi-tiered rolling carts and desks filled with compartments. Everything was neatly organized, so that was something in its favor.

"Okay," Jayar said, his voice low. He'd straightened and recovered already, like hanging onto a brick wall for dear life in pitch black was his idea of a regular Saturday morning. "We need to stay very, very quiet. I'm looking for anything you can find on the Black Veil Devil. There might be some other aliases floating around, like White Death, White Raven, stuff like that. I'm thinking Rollins will have it either with the rest of the Dime Lions recruits' information, or with the ultra-important stuff. This guy is his favorite pet."

"Ah. Got it. Maybe he's got a list of indentures?" Elias suggested. "He has to keep track of their contracts somewhere."

He snapped his fingers. "I like the way you think, Fjerdan. I'll go through this side, you check that side."

Elias and Jayar rifled through papers, eased open drawers, and combed stacks of file folders. It felt like the searching went on forever, especially because Elias was hyper-aware of every sound he made, knowing that someone outside could enter the room any minute. It made his insides buzz with nervousness and excitement. He felt like a Fjerdan spy infiltrating the Ravkan palace. Though, truth be told, he was mildly concerned that if anyone made noise outside, he would miss it with his one good ear. All the more reason to flip through all these documents quietly.

"Black Veil Devil, Black Veil Devil..." he muttered under his breath. Names were blurring in his vision. His fingertips halted midway through skipping a page. "White Raven." Sure enough, a spreadsheet displaying financial hogwash he didn't understand had a note scribbled next to a column in red pen: White Raven. Acquired from Annelise.

He tapped the name the note seemed to be directed at.

"Hey, Jay. Look for a Solovei Konstantin."

Jayar stood, backpedaling to the desk he'd already looked through. "Konstantin... K, K... K..." He skimmed the file tabs in a drawer, hovered over one, and snatched it up. "Got it. You're right, this is him."

"That what you were looking for?"

Jayar scanned the folder's contents, furrowing his brow and nodding. "Yeah." He paused, apparently seeing something significant already. "Oh. That's... interesting." He looked up after a few beats, seeming to remember Elias was in the room with him. "Some papers are totally blacked out, but yeah⸻this is all I need." His grin carnivorously bared his teeth. "Oh, this is too easy... This one'll be in my pocket by the time the rooster crows."

They made haste to put everything back as closely as they could to the way they'd found it, and then it was just a matter of making that death-defying climb back out, this time with the file tucked into Jayar's coat. It all blurred past like an intoxicating night at Makker's Wheel. Elias hadn't done anything this entertaining in a long while.

Nearly twenty minutes and a trip down the stairs later, Elias and Jay were joining Blaze again at the corner of the building where they'd met up initially.

"Figure everything out?" Blaze asked gruffly.

"One step closer to having a greaseman," Jayar said smoothly, fluffing his hair and brushing back his bangs. Elias's own white curls were likely a frazzled mess after all that swinging in midair. "Speaking of, I do think it wouldn't hurt to have some Ice Court backup. There's a girl who works cargo at Fifth Harbor, and she's Fjerdan. Dagny Drojher." Elias frowned, computing that.

"A girl?" He'd heard Dagny before in Fjerda, but he was sure it was a traditionally male name. He couldn't imagine walking around being named Linnea or something.

Jayar clearly didn't notice or care, but then again, he was Kerch. Or Ravkan. Or whatever. "Yep. With the Dregs, I think. She shoots, too. Might as well try bringing her on board, see if thirty million kruge drums up her appetite for a deadly heist. If she doesn't budge, we'll make it work, but she seems like the type with hidden depths."

Blaze rolled his shoulders back, folding his arms. "I can handle it."

He took a moment to glance Blaze up and down and shook his head. "Go get some sleep. You look half-dead. Drojher will be warmed up more easily to another Dreg than a Lion. Bjerke, you go talk to her. She should be at the docks on mid shift."

Elias gave him a thumbs-up. He had nothing better to do. Blaze looked poised to argue, but backed down. "Alright."

Once he'd left, Jayar turned to Elias, rubbing his forehead.

"Saints, I'm tired," he muttered. "You got tobacco or anythin' to chew?"

He patted his pockets. "I've got jurda if you want some."

"Ah, gross. No, I guess I'll hit the liquor shop on my way for cigs." He was already turned toward the other direction, heading to wherever his destination was. "Don't miss the meeting, Bjerke⸻and don't be late!"

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Dagny kept her head down and her heather gray cap low, blending in seamlessly with the rest of the Fifth Harbor dock workers like she did every day. Her hair was in a braided knot at her neck, stray hairs swaying just slightly with the breeze coming in from the sea. The scuffling of soles and clinking of little silver buckles on boots weaved a lulling rhythm with the continual thumping of crates and cargo containers as things were passed from one person to another: thump, clink, thump, clink, thud. It was one of those dreaded late shifts, working well into the wee hours of the morning with no chance of going home until the sun was up.

She shuffled with the others on and off ships, securing ropes with thoroughly callused fingers, carrying heavy loads back and forth, eyes having long adjusted to the dim lighting of swaying oil lamps. Usually she worked long hours during the day, but once every few Fridays the shifts got doubled. She didn't mind much since overtime meant extra pay. Still, when someone had passed around wads of jurda to keep everyone awake, she'd reluctantly taken it. She didn't want to risk stumbling over herself from the aching lack of sleep.

Amber eyes roamed the docked boats, searching as she always did for enslavement transactions. They tended to be more prevalent under the veil of night. Grisha would be tumbled from ships and dragged to slave markets, while ordinary foreigners wandered unknowingly into faulty contracts of indenture in a language they didn't understand. She'd freed so many during her life as a hull-hopper in Ketterdam, the only sense of justice she could glean from this wretched place.

There was a pair of young girls she'd only just recently met, staying temporarily on the docks like her until a warehouse job opened up. Pim, from the Dregs, had informed her a few days ago that there were open positions at the Crow Club if they wanted them after she'd gotten word to Kaz that they were unemployed. They'd seemed terrified to work so closely with a gang. Dagny had patiently explained to them that it was the easiest way to stay alive and safe, but she wouldn't pressure them. After all, she herself had never pledged loyalty to anyone for her own reasons. Too much killing. Senseless killing. And those girls were only twelve and fourteen, having narrowly escaped a doomed fate to a brothel auction with her help.

Unfortunately, the Dregs might have been their only sure way to avoid a life in the House of the Blue Iris or the Menagerie. She would visit them again today after she got a chance to visit the markets in order to both restock her own freezer and bring them something to eat. She could only hope they would see reason and take Pim's offer.

Someone bumped into her roughly, shaking her from her thoughts. She was tall at five-foot-seven and at least an inch taller in her boots, but some of the male dock workers still towered over her, beefy and broad enough to bend her in half. This one was much larger than she was and certainly larger than the thin, rodent-faced boy behind her named Chester.

"Watch it," Bastian's growly voice rumbled. She'd slowed down. She hefted up the crate she was carrying and glared at him as she passed by him, moving forward again. Even minor distractions could mean disrupting the lineup. Bastian was one of the many Dregs working here at Fifth Harbor, although there were also plenty of ordinary chums grinding the days away like Dagny.

"Saints, is it six chimes yet?" Chester huffed under his breath as they trudged down the ramp. "I'm starving. Please tell me that guy is telling the cap' that we're done."

She glanced curiously ahead. Someone was talking to the shift captain. She didn't recognize him, tall and stocky in a colorful waistcoat and dark trousers. He rolled up his sleeve and flashed an arm that looked in the lamplight to be completely sleeved in tattoos. Must be a Dreg proving his affiliation. For what business, she had no idea.

That was when the captain gestured to her line. "Can I get Dagny over here? Someone wants to talk to you." She paused momentarily, unsure if she misheard. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you. Dagny! Move it!"

With swift movements, she hurried to leave her crate at the proper drop spot before defecting from the lineup. She approached the captain, adjusting her cap.

"Yes, sir?"

He nodded to his companion, who up close was pale with snow-white hair and ghostly eyes. White Rose? She avoided the pleasure houses of West Stave whenever she could manage it, but she was at least vaguely aware that the White Rose tailored their employees to match the house's signature. So this was a Dreg, then. Maybe Kaz was following up on the subject of yesterday's visit and had sent a messenger to do it for him. She found disappointment curling in her chest at his absence before scolding herself for it.

"Congratulations, you're getting out early. This one's got a private message for you. Do what you need to do and you'd better be here on time Sunday."

Relief flooded her like a breath of fresh air. Whoever this was, he was getting her a reprieve from working her fingers to the bone. She silently thanked him.

The stranger waved her aside and the watch captain walked around them to go shout at someone in one of the ships for toppling a stack of boxes.

Dagny opened her mouth, but before she got the chance to ask what business, the Dreg was already talking. "Dagny Drojher, right? I'm Elias. Jay said you were Fjerdan, but you must be Hedjut. He's not big on dealin' information, that one⸻anyway⸻I'm here with a job, so I'll try to make this quick."

Dagny held up a hand, eyes steely. His Kerch wasn't that accented, but if he had any accent at all it registered immediately as Fjerdan. She herself had mastered her Kerch, tailoring it to perfection in spite of a lackluster talent with languages through agonizing practice in the measly handful of years she'd lived here. She'd had to; it was the only way to fit in with the crowd as effortlessly as she did. Elias spoke with the stilted, rough Kerch that little boys learned in the Barrel and young men picked up in prison cells. Between that and his appearance, there was no question regarding where he was from. Immediately this made him untrustworthy. "Who are you working for?"

He pursed his lips. "You know Jayar?"

Jayar, Jayar... "The Dime Lion?" Her voice did betray some of her apprehension. Yes, she knew him. The real issue was the implication that this stranger, clearly not a Dime Lion, worked with or for him. Who expected a Dreg to come with a job opportunity from another gang?

"Yeah! So, he's like, getting together a crew to break into the Ice Court⸻"

This baffled Dagny so profoundly that she all but forgot that there was a Fjerdan standing before her. As a matter of fact, she nearly forgot to keep her face neutral. "The... the Ice Court?" First a Dreg was working with a Lion, and now the most impenetrable fortress in the world was involved? She must be dreaming. That was it. This was all some very strange, nonsensical dream.

"I know, I thought it was ridiculous too," he blabbered on, hands moving flippantly in the air to emphasize his words. "But you will not believe the payout. Anyway, the only annoying thing is that we're on a time crunch, because apparently Kaz⸻you know who Kaz is, don't you? He's pretty important around here⸻is going on this same crazy mission."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"He⸻he is?"

Suddenly everything clicked.

This was why he wanted her to watch the docks. He was going on a heist, a massive one, and he wasn't the only Barrel blood seeking the reward. He suspected foul play from whatever other gangs were after it. Djel⸻Kaz was going to get himself killed.

"So weird how everyone's just jumping on the let's-go-die-for-kruge bandwagon, amirite?" Elias sighed, and she could practically smell the excitement radiating off him in waves as he bounced on his toes. At the idea of dying or the idea of kruge, she couldn't be sure. "But that's the Barrel for you..."

She kept her expression nonchalant, her posture ramrod straight as it always was. "Just how much money is in it for all of us bandwagon-jumping idiots, then?" she said dryly, sliding her hands into her trouser pockets.

His eyes rolled upward, thinking about it. "He said three million." Oh. That'll do it. No wonder every gangbanger and his brother wanted to get his grubby hands on this opportunity. Then Elias added, "Per person," and her jaw fell.

Three million all to herself? Why, with three million kruge she could go anywhere she wanted and do absolutely anything; start a whole new life if she so desired. But Dagny couldn't bring herself to care all that much about the money. She was still locked onto the knowledge that Kaz Brekker could die in a Fjerdan prison millions of miles away, and she would forever be indebted to him for all that he'd done for her.

"Long story short, Jayar is hoping you know anything about the Ice Court, so you and I can put our heads together to prepare for this thing," finished the Fjerdan who acted like no Fjerdan man she'd met, dusting off his hands as if having just completed a hard day's work. "You do have Ice Court knowledge⸻don't you?"

Nothing detailed. But enough. It had to be enough. It had to be enough or she might never see Kaz again. "Some," she conceded, dipping her head.

Elias grinned toothily. "So does that mean you'll do it, ulfleden?" He held out a meaty hand to shake.

Dagny's hand, clad in the fingerless leather gloves she wore to avoid ripping her palms open while working on the Harbor, grasped his with a ferocity she hadn't realized had ignited in her until now. She was moving without her careful mind's consent, her reflexes betraying what she refused to let herself acknowledge: perhaps the name Kaz Brekker had more power over her than she'd thought.

Although, she told herself, rationalizing the decision, this was a golden opportunity to infiltrate the Ice Court, and what self-respecting girl with a grudge against the drüskelle running deep through her veins would pass that up?

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Sunrise came with the promise of a new day on Black Veil Island, but every morning was quite the same: twisting white willow trees weaved throughout a bleak city of white marble mausoleums. Far removed from the rain-soaked bustle of Ketterdam and yet still within it, one residing upon the island could watch from afar as gangs ran amok and merchants went about their only slightly less scandalous business over the water.

However, only one person actually did reside on the island. His name was Solovei Konstantin.

Solovei began his usual morning routine by throwing open the curtains on every window in his eerie but homey little cottage, humming to himself. Well, he couldn't do much more than breathy sounds in his throat⸻damaged voicebox and all⸻but he could at least pretend. Belova, the white raven who awoke him every sunrise with incessant chirping, flitted freely in and out of the open kitchen window as she so desired, passing by him once or twice as he pulled his mid-back-length hair into a loose bun behind his head on his way to prepare breakfast. Deft fingers stained in colors ranging from yellow to black to fuschia, a testament to his constant experimentation with alchemy and botany, moved swiftly along the ingredients in the cupboard for plum cakes. He was feeling especially homesick today. It was difficult to pinpoint the reasoning for it, given that any semblance of home was far in the past and not a particularly pleasant sentiment⸻an orphanage where he'd been tormented for his suspected Grisha status until he was forced to flee wasn't exactly an ideal upbringing.

Kill him, kill him⸻kill the witch!

Solovei winced, rubbing his neck where phantom soreness had bloomed. Not this again, he thought bitterly.

The tug for anything that reminded him of Shu Han persisted. He did suppose that was the last time he'd seen his sister. What he would give to hear her voice again...

He swept aside cluttered rows of powder jars and piles of spilled herbs he hadn't yet gotten around to cleaning up, clearing a space to bake. The only peace he ever got was here, and he wasn't about to allow himself to ruin it with thoughts of the horrors of his childhood. Not that anything had ever gotten better. Only, he supposed it had, in a twisted sort of way. He was stronger now, smarter, and he knew everything about everything in Ketterdam. Every shady business deal that went down, every shootout, every slave import, every shift in gang ranks... he heard about it. He'd already been the shadow that haunted Ketterdam's wealthy under the enslavement of Madam Annelise, but when Pekka Rollins enlisted him for the role of assassin?

He'd been thrust into a whole new world.

Killing was killing, regardless of who demanded it⸻but the criminal underbelly of the crime capital of the world was vastly different from the dark market of the merchant class. He spent a great deal of time now in the slums, at the bottom of the grimy dung-heap that was the Barrel, getting a firsthand look at Kerch's poorest and worst-tempered.

Not that there weren't silver linings. He was still bound by the chains of contract, which seemed to rule supreme here in this festering country, but at the very least, he admitted as he glanced at Belova landing on the counter, he had somewhere blissfully isolated to live. He didn't have a bird's freedom, but it was the closest thing to freedom he'd ever get. After all, he was Pekka Rollins's most prized possession, and that did come with perks.

Solovei slid the tin lined with cakes into the oven and dusted off his hands, placing a bowl of birdseed in front of Belova. He placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head at her. What to do today, Belova, darling? It was an off day. How wonderful to have off days, he thought, savoring the concept. This, naturally, was his favorite part about working for Rollins. There had been no days off with Madam Annelise. If there was no information to collect and no heads to roll, the old woman would send him off to train or to help around the brothel. Work in the Black Dahlia was never anything good. The girls would talk to him on occasion, though, a grateful reprieve from the squirming darkness in his mind. They rambled to him about their problems they knew full well he couldn't and wouldn't solve. He had learned that sometimes it was enough just to have someone to listen. Even if that someone wasn't gentle. Even if that someone had oceans of blood on his hands.

It was enough for him to listen, too. Kept him sane.

He could stay here, today. Cook up some poisons or medicines or both. He cursed himself mentally upon scanning the counters⸻he was fresh out of belladonna, which meant the unfinished concoction taking up space in a large bowl in his kitchen would sit out longer. He hated not finishing things. The cottage was such a mess, really. He groaned looking around at all of it, eyes fluttering shut as if being unable to see the rampant clutter would make it disappear. Cleaning was always such a daunting task, but then again, what better use to make of a day off...

They flew open. Belova was croaking bloody murder.

Dammit, what is it? he thought in mild annoyance, absentmindedly signing swears to himself as he pushed off the counter he'd been leaning on to ruffle her feathers. It was a silly habit, but he talked to himself just about as often as anyone else who could actually talk aloud. He probably looked like an idiot, not that anyone else was around to see.

Except it felt as though there was.

Belova only acted like this when there was something outside. He checked the window and didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he knew something was off. A killer's senses, particularly one whose veins pulsated with the raw power of a drug that had long enhanced them, were never to be dismissed. Breaking into an assassin's house, he thought wryly, mentally addressing whoever was silently disturbing the peace, clever and original. You should use a gang leader's toilet next. Sounds like a good idea to me.

He signed something quickly to Belova⸻"Don't let the plum cakes burn"⸻before realizing that he was talking to a bird that neither was capable of operating an oven nor understood Shu sign language. He should probably stop making a fool of himself now. He shook his head and swept out of the kitchen to patrol the house.

Solovei loosened the knife hidden at his lower right thigh and handled it carefully as he scanned with a keen eye the rooms of the cottage. Everything in corners and behind doorways seemed to twitch and move with his building anticipation, but there was seemingly nothing to indicate anything was wrong.

Until he smelled it.

He'd had a... unique sense of smell since the whitecoats. Everything that reached his nasal receptors was tripled in intensity, for better or for worse. And every individual had a signature. This one was easy to recognize, for he had last come in contact with it just last night.

Solovei straightened and lowered his weapon, making his way slowly to the source of the scent. Now that he knew who it was, he wasn't particularly concerned.

The only question was, what could he possibly want?

Actually, scratch that. There was something much more pressing. How did he know where to find him?

Jayar Kade was sitting, unbothered, on one of the raggedy lounge chairs in the sitting room, legs crossed and boots propped on the table like an unmannered cow. He rolled his neck, closing his eyes and letting out a slightly shuddery exhale.

"That was quick," was all he said before opening them again. For a Ravkan, he could speak pretty much perfect Kerch with almost no detectable accent. Solovei narrowed his eyes at the observation. No⸻that's right. He was Kerch. Just under suspicious circumstances.

Solovei nimbly uncorked a few of the bottles hanging from his belt and tossed colorful powders in the air in a series of quick, smooth movements, the powder hovering and condensing seemingly of its own volition right before Kade's eyes to form into words. He didn't know Kerch handsay, but he could write the script well enough.

WHAT BUSINESS?

Laughter danced in Kade's eyes. "Resourceful communication. I like it." He shifted, and Solovei caught a glimpse of the thin file under his arm. "You were there in Rollins's office last night. You heard the job. In fact, you hear everything, don't you?"

Sure. But not of his own volition. All he offered in response was a twitch of the face.

"I could use your knowledge. Not to mention your skills elsewhere. And I'm sure you recall the reward."

This was a waste of his time. Solovei flicked a hand, the words in the air shifting. KINDLY EXIT MY HOUSE. With that, he vanished down the hall, his message exploding in a puff of multicolored smoke behind him. He could hear Kade coughing while he made his way back to the kitchen to check on the cakes. He frowned at them, prodding one with a fork. Not done. He spun⸻he's still here?

Jayar Kade had recovered from his brief bout of coughing and was standing ominously in the doorway. Perhaps he would be less afflicted with sore throat if he inhaled less tobacco on a daily basis. "You'll find, Mr. Konstantin, that I don't take no for an answer unless that's the answer I was looking for," he continued, as unbothered as if Solovei hadn't clearly expressed his wishes for him to leave. Maybe, Solovei decided, giving him the benefit of the doubt, he simply couldn't read. He tapped irritatedly on the knife he hadn't yet set down.

He wasn't going to kill him, obviously, though he was admittedly more than a little surprised Kade didn't have that impression. He'd waltzed into the house of someone he knew full well was Pekka Rollins's right-hand assassin⸻they'd made eye contact last night. Not everyone in Ketterdam knew who Solovei was, but they'd all heard the whispers, and Kade clearly wasn't an idiot. And yet he was here, acting like he owned the place when Solovei had the upper hand in every way imaginable.

There was only one explanation.

He was dealing with a right lunatic. Straight psychotic. There was no other way.

"Look. I'll put all my cards on the table." Kade's eyes flashed with building frustration. Solovei was testing his patience. Good. Maybe he would finally have the good sense to leave. "I need your skill set for this job and there's no equivalent out there. I could offer you a lot, you know. Name what you want. Everyone wants something. Freedom. A second chance." He shrugged. "Just money."

The knife Solovei had been turning over in his hand suddenly whizzed by Kade's head and lodged itself in the edge of the doorway. Barely an inch from nicking the side of his face. Alarmingly, Kade seemed to delight in the fact that he'd revealed his anger. A mistake. He laughed like a maniac.

"You are seriously not the least bit enticed by the idea of thirty million⸻"

Solovei was already out the other door to the back porch, not interested in hearing the word kruge again. He gripped the railing, knuckles quickly turning white. Obviously, he wasn't getting rid of him that easily, but it was worth a try until he figured out a way to get him off the premises without inducing violence. Footsteps echoed behind him and he counted down in his head. Five. Four. Three. Two... One.

"Alright," Kade muttered, boots thunking on wood as he followed him outside. "Now you've pissed me off, Konstantin. Oh, but that's not really your name, is it?"

Solovei turned to him, eyes ignited. Kade was unfazed by the violent red irises that terrified most of his victims. He flipped open that file folder he'd been carrying around.

"Solovei Sonje Konstantin. Formerly, Kir-linn. Ring a bell, Black Veil Devil?"

He straightened. So maybe it wasn't so hard to find him. The title Black Veil Devil danced on the mouths of a number of gossipers in Ketterdam, heightening everyone's beliefs that the island was haunted. Being its only resident, the name was fitting. He took comfort in it, even. It was reassuring in a city so dangerous that he could be considered one of the most terrifying things in it. It meant that he himself had nothing to fear.

Until now. Because his name had once been Solovei Kir-linn, and he had no idea how Kade had access to that sort of information. He was remembering things again, terrible things, in flashes. Ropes and a chair. Madam Annelise's voice. I'd like to know everything about you, my little raven. A cloth over his mouth; gasping for air. Starving for days. Eventually spilling every memory he could possibly recall, jurda parem and all. Where had all those secrets gone, now? And how much did Jayar Kade know?

Kade's jarringly grating voice snapped him out of it. "Oh, and look at this! This Kir-linn fellow has a sister. Vanya, correct?"

His heart hammered in his chest. Vanya. He hadn't heard that name in a very, very long time.

"I hope that, at least, rings a bell for you," Kade said, eyes blazing, "because it does for me. Found it fascinating when I saw it. See, I knew a Vanya Kir-linn. She looked a lot like you. Less scary, of course."

His expression did not change, but inwardly Solovei was dying and rising again. He reached for his powders and hesitated⸻something he never did in front of others. This could be some kind of trap. It probably was. But the chance, even the smallest chance imaginable, that Vanya was alive? Saints... what was he supposed to do? Ignore this revelation? Go on with his life never knowing for sure whether Kade's word was true? Go on tortured with the uncertainty of whether she was rotting on a boat somewhere?

Solovei breathed deeply, steeled himself. He cast another illusion into the air. His self-control was wearing thin. Not in terms of a desire to get rid of Kade; no, now he wanted to know everything.

YOU KNOW WHERE SHE IS?

"Yes." Solovei examined him desperately for any sign of a lie. He found none, and his whole body felt like it was trembling. He had to be lying. Had to be. But Solovei had long mastered the art of recognizing when someone was lying, and he wasn't.

Kade wrinkled his nose, looking out on the island. "Smells like the dead out here. Awful. Anyway," he added, turning back to him, "I have a proposition for you. You join me on this job. I help you find your sister."

Solovei tore a hand through his hair, leaning onto the porch railing again. Here he was again, being dragged from one master to another. Maybe this time it was different. Jayar Kade would have power over him only as long as he could hold his sister over his head⸻

Oh, who was he kidding? He was shackling his own chains. For the third time.

Solovei Konstantin, he told himself, you're a mess.

It was too late now. Kade already had him on strings. And he looked smug enough that Solovei could tell he'd figured that out.

I'LL DO IT.

The decision didn't come with closure. Only a wave of regret. And shame. Vanya would have scolded his naïveté. But he was no longer the little boy she'd known. And from where he was, he could only really sink lower.

"Wonderful," Kade said evenly, holding out a hand to shake. Solovei ignored it, staring at him dryly. Kade dropped his arm, not appearing to mind. "It's been a pleasure. I look forward to working with you." It was a miracle how subtly and effectively he had turned the situation on its head, Solovei realizing that his upper hand was gone too late. Even on his own property, Kade's claws had dug into him, and there was nowhere for him to go. "I trust you'll handle explaining your absence to Rollins. Whether he knows where you're going is up to you so long as he doesn't prevent you from leaving."

He produced a crisp playing card and handed it to him. King of spades. Solovei took it, careful to avoid brushing hands. The underside of it was scribbled with permanent marker.

"Time and place to meet today."

Solovei nodded slowly, both intrigued and perturbed by this unconventional character. Still, he reminded himself, he wasn't lying. Where trust could not truly exist, that would have to be good enough.

Jayar Kade vanished into the fog of the island, headed, likely, back to Ketterdam. His words echoed in Solovei's mind as he returned to his kitchen to rescue his overcooking plum cakes.

I trust you'll handle explaining your absence to Rollins.

What Kade didn't know was that he already knew.

The previous night, Jayar Kade had left Rollins's office, taking the smell of blood and cigarettes with him. Rollins had beckoned for Solovei to emerge from the shadows.

"I take it you heard?"

Solovei dipped his head emotionlessly. Rollins opened a drawer and slid a sealed envelope onto the desk.

"In a race with a prize, there can only be one winner," he'd said, waving his cigar lazily as if to make the point. Solovei had thought that he'd been around Pekka Rollins enough to read him by now, but he wasn't sure where this was going. He recognized the envelope, of course. It would be, undoubtedly, the fortnight's list of targets. Sometimes it was long. Other times it was short enough to count all the victims on one hand. Other times there was no list at all; dry season. Red ink for kills, black for intel. An easy enough pattern to get used to. "Only one party returns from that job. It would be beneficial if it was ours, no?"

Solovei had furrowed his brow, fingers resting uneasily on the crooked belt at his hips. Rollins had previously acted disinterested, like he wasn't particularly invested in the outcome of the Van Eck mission one way or the other. But clearly the greed in him couldn't resist a cut of that thirty million kruge. Money did a funny thing to corrupt men. It was an addiction, more potent than the opium on the streets of Ketterdam and deadlier than the people that walked them. There would be nothing standing against a greedy man and his money. Rollins gestured for him to approach the desk, and cautiously but with an air of the false, removed confidence he always wore around his boss, he did so. Gloved hands took the envelope with the same delicacy that the art of death required. Rollins's bottle-green stare bore into him as he broke the seal.

One name.

Just one.

It had never been just one before⸻not just one in angry red letters. There was always intel needed, and when there was death, it couldn't stop at one name. It had to be more. Death was like greed in that way.

But there was exactly one name on that paper, blurring before his eyes. An impossible one, too.

It was only now that Solovei understood, that he realized Rollins had known. He had known exactly what would be going on in Solovei's rebellious little head. What dastardly ideas would be cooked up by the seemingly insignificant Jayar Kade. He was one step ahead. Maybe he would always be one step ahead. Maybe there would be no chance of escape in Solovei's future for that reason.

Somehow he had anticipated that Kade would come knocking at Solovei's door. Expected it. And he had.

Solovei had taken shallow breaths, unconsciously crinkling the little slip of paper in his viselike grip. He said nothing. This was just another mark, promising only as much guilt as the last had brought. But oh, this name. This one was a challenge the likes of which he seldom encountered.

It was already burned to his retinas, and remained pounding in his head when he left. This name could topple empires and he was expected to slash it down before it got the chance.

His next target was Kaz Brekker.