Our Fractured Souls | Kaz Brekker

Prelude

Prelude

Kaz

The night was a canvas of secrets, painted with the colours of darkness and desperation. Ketterdam, the city of thieves, pulsed and breathed with the murky air, its alleys and streets edged with the whispers and promises of treacherous schemes.

And in the beating heart of this labyrinth, Kaz Brekker moved like a phantom, a shadow of death itself, fitted with a broad collared coat, and a hat tipped over his shark's eyes.

His steps were silent. His purpose was unyielding, though no one knew exactly what drove him.

The bright lights and chatter of the West Stave stretched out before him. The endless line of pleasure houses, gambling halls, parlours and taverns bursting at the seams with pigeons just ripe and waiting for the picking.

But Kaz Brekker only had one focus. One building stayed in his sights.

The three-story, narrowly faceted building crammed between every other pleasure house and brothel on the West Stave. But it had caught the keen eye of the young Brekker for reasons unknown to anyone else but him.

Soon enough, he was standing at the heavy mahogany coloured oaken doors, framed with two of the burliest bouncers he'd perhaps ever come across.

He couldn't help the slight curl of his lip laying eyes on the sickeningly sweet exterior of the wretched building. The pastel pink and purple hues of paint were a facade of innocence masking the rot within. Like all other good things in the Barrel, they were never as they seemed.

The Sweet Shop, just like all other places of like all up and down this stretch of the city were breeding grounds for all sorts of backwater deals. Places where unsuspecting children were bought and sold to the highest bidder, laughter silenced, dreams crushed, innocence forever ruined the moment they stepped inside.

But tonight, Kaz wasn't here for the candy or the sugary sweet temptation he knew lurked around every corner of this saint's forsaken place. He was here for something far more important.

He was here to make a deal.

Or force one.

He'd decide on whichever came first.

But above all else. He was here for her.

For that poor precious girl with red ribbons in her hair and sweet cinnamon on her skin. The girl with haunted eyes but a spirit that refused to be broken or bent.

He didn't know her real name. He'd never learned it.

All he knew her as was the part she'd been forced to play. A part he knew she hadn't chosen, and he never faulted her for. Not after what she'd done for him.

Kaz inhaled deeply. Sucking in a breath laced with the rich perfumes that wafted from the cracks beneath the Sweet Shop doors and ploughed inside.

The bouncers paid him a glance, the slightly shorter one moved to open his mouth and reach for him, but the larger one across the front sent him a signal.

Don't. All business is good business. Age or not.

And with that, Kaz was inside.

Almost immediately, he was faced with the maze of velvet-draped alcoves, each housing a different girl clothed in what most would deem less than scraps. But all were decorated as though they were some delicious treat just waiting to be sampled.