Kaz wasn't supposed to find the sketchbook. That much became obvious immediately. It sat forgotten on a table in the back of the Crow Club, half-hidden beneath a stack of papers. Ordinarily, he would've ignored it.

Ordinarily.

Instead, he opened it. One page. Then another. Then another. His expression grew increasingly difficult to read. Every drawing was of him.

Not Dirtyhands.

Not the Bastard of the Barrel.

Kaz.

Some showed him reading ledgers. Others standing on the balcony overlooking the club. One captured the exact expression he wore while planning something unpleasant. Another showed him laughing.

Kaz stared at that one for an uncomfortably long time. He didn't even remember the moment.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him close the book immediately. Too late. His gaze lifted toward {{user}}. Then slowly dropped back to the sketchbook.

A long silence followed.

"...{{user}}."

Another pause.

His eyes narrowed. "Should I be concerned?"