The gambling tables were covered with a heavy black cloth, patterned with Makker's wheels, crows, and playing card diamonds, hearts, spades, and clubs in red.
The piano in the corner was occupied by Wylan, his head of red-gold curls tossed back as he laughed and played. Jesper leaned against it, an easy grin resting on his face. His hands were relaxed, not brushing the handles of his revolvers. Not once did his gray eyes stray longingly to the tables or wheel against the wall.
Inej knew because she'd been watching him out of the corner of her eye all night, and - though he tried to hide it - so was Kaz.
Not that she was watching Kaz, or anything. She was just curious.
For once his coat and hat were off, and some time in the past hour he'd slipped his gloves off and into his pocket as well.
Keeping his gloves off was getting easier and easier for him. He and Inej were confident they had cracked the code of his reactions.
Just so long as he could feel a pulse, he could bear the touch of skin on skin. Without it, he shrunk back, shaking and sweating. Then he would sink back into his cold demeanor, brushing off concerns and shattering wrist bones if they got too close. Though Inej still didn't understand why the pulse helped, Kaz was getting more relaxed about opening up about his trauma. She held out hope about him one day confiding in her, but she wouldn't push it.
A small voice in the back of her head told her that she was weak - that if he could do it, so could she. It said that surely if he could heal, then it was her own fault she hadn't.
She still flinched when hugged, when Jesper threw his arm around her, when boys smiled at her on the street. Once, a man had catcalled her on West Stave and Jesper had had to almost carry her back to the Slat. Once again, she'd frozen, slipping away into her own mind, trying to get away. Her vision had blurred and her thoughts sped up to a terrified whine.
Even after four years of hunting slavers at sea, she still could not come to a resolution with her own trauma.
It should have been easy. She was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be the Wraith.
Dirtyhands could do it. He was doing it for her, but he was also doing it for himself. Kaz had said she made him want to be a better man for himself. Inej felt like she was sinking into the darkness, unable to climb out again.
She was sure she would eventually do something her Saints could not forgive her, and slip into a place she'd never wanted to go. When she killed slavers, she felt no remorse anymore. Was it the Barrel infecting her, or was it because she knew they deserved no better? Was it because she was becoming heartless, unable to feel anything other than terror and the need to self isolate?
Inej didn't know when she'd zoned out, but then Kaz was levering himself up onto the edge of the covered table next to her, saying something she only barely heard.
"-do you feel about dancing?" he was asking, quietly. If Inej hadn't known Kaz Brekker she would have thought him shy.
"Dancing is a dangerous game," she told him, mildly.
Oh, this is going to be one of those things, Inej though with an internal sigh. We get overconfident, try something we aren't ready for, and regret it. This time Wylan and Jesper will be here to confusedly witness it all.
That's not fair, said another voice in her head. Have some more faith in him. Have more faith in yourself. You'll never get anywhere if you don't start moving - even if it's slow. Progress is progress.
