BOMBS AWAY ➤ kaz brekker

the boy with a face of sharp angles

Whoever she thought Kaz Rietveld would be, it wasn't this. 

It wasn't a boy with bitter eyes, observing the world like he had something to prove, like he had something to take. It wasn't a boy with a face of sharp angles, a closet of tailored lines. It wasn't a boy who wore suits and ties at the age of seventeen, who held a crow's head cane in his hand like a weapon.

She'd come to Ketterdam seeking safety from the horrors of the seemingly innocent Janssen farm. But she'd also come to see if she could find the boys who had been her tether when she hadn't understood why her whole family hated her. She could have gone to anywhere else in the world. She could have gone to Ravka, to master her Inferni talents. There, she would have been given a home, a family, a way to protect herself from the horrors of the world. Or she could have gone to Shu Han, to try to find her mother. She had received a total of three letters from her mother, but she could have tried to trace them to a certain location. But she had chosen Ketterdam, of all places, even though it was dangerous, cruel, and altogether unfamiliar. She had come to Ketterdam to try to find a home she had once had.

So what had she expected? Deep down, she knew that Ketterdam might have changed the Rietveld boys. At the very least, she had expected them to become a little more cutthroat, a little less trusting. Maybe they were pickpockets. Maybe they were thugs. Or maybe, with a little luck, they had found themselves among the rich and powerful. Maybe they had found a way to make things a little more bearable in a city full of horrors.

But clearly, none of those things had come to pass. Esther's eyes trailed from Kaz's face down to his hands, which were visibly clenched on the crow handle of his strange cane, his tense fingers stretching the fabric of the black gloves he wore. She started making the connection between Kaz's cane, the Crow Club, and the tattoo on Jesper's arm.

"You work for Kaz," she said breathlessly. Her entire world felt like it was slipping. Everything she'd imagined, everything she'd planned, was crumbling to pieces. Destroying things had always been a satisfying practice, but now that the hope she'd had to find Kaz and Jordie and return to some form of normalcy was destroyed, she didn't know if she liked it so much.

You don't know that he's horrible. You don't know that he's mean. But Esther could see it so clearly in his eyes. They looked like they belonged to a monster. 

"You know Kaz?" Jesper's voice was a million miles away. She couldn't take her eyes off that crow cane.

Someone was shaking her shoulder. She thought it was Inej, but she wasn't sure. Maybe she shouldn't have had that drink. Her head was reeling. She thought she was going to throw up, but she had to ask.

"Where's Jordie?"

Kaz stiffened his jaw, and there was her answer. She knew as soon as she saw him that something terrible had happened. Otherwise, he'd never have looked so cold. 

"Who's Jordie?" Jesper asked. "Your boyfriend?" He nudged Esther's shoulder. Suddenly she didn't find his jokes so funny. Actually, she kind of wanted to rip his face off. He doesn't know. But it was so obvious that Kaz was suffering. Maybe they couldn't see it because they hadn't known how he was before. But she could. She could see that hard, angry look in his eyes and understand before he even opened his mouth.

"Come on," he said. Esther took note of the way his voice had deepened into a rocky rasp, like two stones grating against each other. She got up in a trance, meeting him at the stairs. She could feel Jesper and Inej's watching eyes, burning holes into her back as she followed Kaz up the stairs.

Blindly, she trailed Kaz through a thin, dark hallway, her feet moving of their own accord. She wearily took in the dark panelled walls, the dreary lighting, so different from the warm tones of downstairs. The heels of her boots clicked against the hardwood floor. Kaz took a key from his pocket and unlocked a door, opening it to show her a smaller version of the club downstairs. In her sluggish state, she registered that it was probably a private gambling parlor.