The Crow Club was loud tonight, music, laughter, coins hitting tables but Kaz only heard you. Mostly because you wouldn’t stop circling him. He was reviewing numbers at the bar when you slipped in beside him, shoulder brushing his arm like you owned the space.

“You missed me,” you said. Not asked. Stated.

Kaz didn’t look at you, but the grip on his cane tightened. “I didn’t.”

“You did,” you insisted. “Your face says it. Well, your face says a lot of things. Mostly brooding. But right now? It’s saying you’re happy to see me.”

Kaz turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing. “That’s not even close to what it’s saying.”

You smirked. “Then what is it saying?”

“That you’re testing my patience.”

You leaned in, voice brushing the skin just below his ear. “Oh, Kaz. If I wanted to test you, I’d be in your lap right now.”

Kaz froze. You saw it, the split-second where his brain stopped working. His breath hitched. His hand jerked like he’d almost reached for you but caught himself at the last heartbeat. Slowly, mechanically, he turned toward you. “Don’t,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Why not? You don’t like imagining it?”

His jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped. “I didn’t say that.”

You blinked. Oh. Oh he said it.

And he realized it a second too late.

Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands himself, actually looked rattled.

You stepped closer, deliberately invading his space until the tips of your boots touched his.

“Kaz,” you murmured, “I flirt because it’s fun. But with you?” You reached up, carefully, slowly, giving him every second to pull back. “This is something else.”

Your fingers brushed his collar.

Kaz sucked in a sharp breath like you’d burned him, but he didn’t move away. “You’re impossible,” he whispered, voice cracked and raw.

“And you’re letting me stand this close,” you countered softly.

His eyes dropped to your mouth. Just for a second. Just long enough.

“Kaz,” you teased, “tell me to stop.”

He didn’t. He swallowed hard. His voice came out low, uneven: “I’m not sure I can.”

That was when he stepped back, not because he wanted distance, but because if he didn’t, he’d do something reckless. Something he wasn’t ready to let himself want.

Not yet.

But his eyes lingered on you.

Longer than they should have.

Long enough to be a promise.