Ketterdam’s rooftops were cold at night, but not as cold as Kaz Brekker’s expression whenever anyone else approached him. Only with you did something soften, barely, subtly, dangerously.

He stood beside you now, the city lit like fractured glass beneath your feet. Wind tugged at your coat. Kaz didn’t look at the view. He looked at you. “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said.

You snorted. “Neither should you.”

“I’m not alone.” There was a slight hitch in his voice, quick enough that anyone else would’ve missed it. You didn’t.

You stepped closer. Kaz’s fingers flexed against his cane. Every muscle in his body went tense, like he was fighting himself. “Kaz,” you whispered, “what’s going on with you?”

He swallowed, sharp, visible. “People are liabilities,” he said. “Feelings even more so.”

“And yet you’re here.”

Kaz turned his head toward you, rain, dark hair falling slightly over his eyes. “You’re the only variable I can’t solve,” he admitted softly. The words looked like they hurt to say.

His gloved hand hovered near yours, never quite touching. Close enough that you felt the intention. “Stay tonight,” he murmured. His voice was a rasp, like gravel dragged across stone. “Not for safety. Not for strategy.” His jaw tightened. “For me.”

You touched the back of his glove, barely, just a brush.

Kaz sucked in a breath so sharp it felt like lightning between you. But he didn’t pull away. He never pulled away from you.