The Red Ribbon {Kaz Brekker X Reader}

Four Proper Thieves

~ Kaz pov ~

Pekka Rollins wants Y/N dead. I know that. But what I don't know is why. I wonder what she did to him. It's not like she has a rival gang effortlessly stealing his customers. But if Pekka wants her dead, then I'm going to keep her alive, no matter if she is a phenomenal fighter or not. I'll take Inej's word for it that she has the skills we need. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't like Y/N's presence in the Slat. There is something refreshing about her, like springtime. I'm almost drawn to her. And that terrifies me.

~ Y/N pov ~

I wake up this morning feeling a bit lighter. Like one of many weights has lifted off of my shoulders. Inej is going to teach me how to fight. I will prove to Kaz that I am a worthy investment.

Investment. I hate that I've reduced myself to that term. But what else am I to Kaz Brekker? He has decided to invest in the skills I am hopefully soon going to acquire. I hope he doesn't fully regret that decision just yet. I get the feeling that he wants to question me about what I can do, but he doesn't seem to be the type to believe unless he sees.

I get shaken out of my thoughts as Inej slips in through my window, landing silently next to my bed. Even though autumn is approaching and the air is getting colder, I kept the window open, knowing that Inej would enter that way. She can slip in and out of rooms like she is invisible. Like a phantom of some sort.

As if reading my thoughts, Inej closes the window and sits at the foot of my bed. Upon taking a good look at me, she stifles a laugh.

"What is so funny?" I ask in a sleepy voice. I only woke up but ten minutes ago.

"And here I was thinking that Jesper has bad bedhead," she replies, laughing and getting up to grab a brush from my dresser, "come sit."

I groggily get up from my warm covers and sit in front of my small, dirty mirror. As I look at my reflection, I can't help but laugh myself. My hair is tangled and flying in every direction possible. The rain probably didn't help last night. Inej starts to brush out the knots while humming a tune I don't recall.

"What song is that?" I ask.

"An old Suli folksong. My mother used to sing it when she braided my hair in the mornings. It's called Saints Guide Us Home. An old tune about how the Saints will always bring us back to the person we are meant to be with, no matter what. The Suli believe that home is a person rather than a place."

"Well it sounds lovely." I reply. I do believe that home is a person, but who will the Saints bring me back to? It isn't like I have many people still alive to see.

Inej begins to braid my hair into two beautiful braids and continues humming Saints Guide Us Home, while singing some lyrics in Suli here and there. I wonder who the Saints will bring Inej back to. Maybe her mother, if she is still alive. Who knows how an angel like Inej ended up getting caught in the sticky web of the Barrel.

When she finishes, Inej steps back proudly and lets me examine her handiwork. She has magic hands. The braids are flawless and sturdy. As I goggle at myself, Inej slips a flower from a pocket in her tunic and weaves it into one of the braids, then repeats the process with another flower. They are geraniums, and beautiful ones at that, though the oncoming autumn has started to make them wilt.

I stand from my dresser and get dressed while Inej goes and stands outside of my door. I hastily grab my knife from my nightstand, and head out of my room. Inej glances at my grip on the knife and immediately fixes it. I've got a lot to learn.