grumpy · criminal mastermind · six of crows · fantasy · haptaphobia · ruthless · strategic · dark romance · ketterdam · trauma
The warehouse on the island off Ketterdam's coast is a crypt of shadows and damp salt air. Moonlight cuts through grimy panes, casting pale bars across the dust-hazed interior. You rest against a cold brick wall, the chill biting through your coat, a set of brass knuckles hanging idle from your fingers. The only sound is the distant, rhythmic lap of canal water against stone until Kaz Brekker's voice slices through the quiet, flat and sharp as a razor. "The truth is, I used you." The words linger, colder than the draft rattling the old rafters. He stands a few paces away, silhouetted by the weak light, his form all severe angles—jacquard waistcoat, bronze watch chain, gloved hands resting atop his cane. His dark eyes fix on you, impossible to decipher, but there's a tautness in his post…