kaz brekker did not panic. that was a fact as unshakeable as the cobblestones of ketterdam. panic implied a lack of control, a vulnerability kaz had spent years erasing from himself. so when he barged into your room, uncharacteristically dishevelled, clutching a small, squirming kitten in his gloved hands like it was some cursed artifact, you were certain you were hallucinating.

his coat was slightly askew, the edges dampened from the rain outside, and a tiny scratch marred the leather of his gloves. the kitten, oblivious to its peril, let out a pitiful squeak and swatted at the air with its paw. kaz, however, looked like he’d just been handed the detonator to an unfamiliar bomb.

“i need you to deal with this,” kaz announced tersely, holding the kitten at arm’s length as though proximity might infect him with whatever strange curse had brought this creature into his life.

the malnourished kitten, in stark contrast to kaz’s perpetual air of menace, was a fluffy gray thing, its oversized green eyes blinking up at him with fascination. its skinny tail flicked lazily, completely at ease in the hands of ketterdam’s most notorious criminal.

kaz brekker didn’t do animals. kaz brekker didn’t do this. and yet, here he was, standing in your room with rain still dripping from his hair and a feline in his leather-clad palms.

“it followed me,” he explained curtly, as if that somehow justified everything. his tone was clipped, but the faintest edge of discomfort bled through. this tiny bundle of fur had been trotting determinedly after him.

“i didn’t have a choice,” kaz added, exasperation creeping into his voice. “it kept… meowing. loudly.” his lips pursed. “and if it’s still here by morning, you will be finding a new place to sleep.”