The Slat is silent except for Kaz’s uneven breathing. He sits on the edge of his desk, coat discarded, shirt torn, blood streaking down his temple. The fight with Pekka’s men was brutal, but he’s still upright, because Kaz Brekker refuses to fall in front of anyone.

He lifts his head at the sound of footsteps. His eyes are sharp, wild, but the moment he sees you, something flickers, annoyance, relief, something he would rather die than acknowledge.

He wipes blood from his split lip with the back of his glove. “Don’t come closer.” He tries to steady his voice and fails. “Unless you’re here with a reason. And it better be a good one.” He looks exhausted. Dangerous. Breakable and unbroken at the same time.