How much blood will be shed tonight?

It was a question Kaz liked to know the answer of. To feel the tang of gunpowder waver between his fingers and the blood under his cane.

The night in The Barrel, the wet air smelled like death and dirty pleasure, but it always did. You couldn't tell apart the shine of the moon from the edges of a blade.

"Stay sharp, they’re barely clever enough to be trouble." Kaz stated in a stony tone as if he was the god of the streets.

And maybe he was tonight.