Teddy

Introduction: Gathering

Part 1

Chapter 1: The Roost

Chapter 2: Carrion

Chapter 3: Pinfeathers and Preening

Chapter 4: Muster

Chapter 5: Faolfen

Chapter 6: Nightjar

Chapter 7: Molt

Part 2

Chapter 8: Hearth

Chapter 9: Anchors

Chapter 10: Embers

The chain pools in my hand, fine and uneven, one link bent almost flat, the charm a little dulled and scuffed from years in the dark. A rose. I stare at it for a long moment, as if I don't quite recognize what I'm holding, though my body remembers before my mind does.

I trace the worn charm with my thumb, the edges are softened with time. It's nothing valuable, not in the way most things in the Barrel are measured, but the sight of it makes something in my chest twist, sharp and tender.

Kaz had stolen it for me years ago. No grand gesture, no words of meaning, just a quiet press into my palm, as though it had always been mine and he was just returning it.

I hadn't thought of it in years, hadn't remembered I'd kept it close all this time, and now, holding it again, the memory comes creeping back, fragile and bright, unspooling in the dark.

I remember the night he gave it to me. We were both fourteen and the Barrel hadn't worn us down to stone yet, though it had already left its mark. The city felt endless back then, full of corners to duck into, roofs to climb, alleys to vanish in. That night we found shelter in a crumbling warehouse near the harbour, boards loose in the walls and the air thick with the smell of salt and rotting rope. It wasn't much, but it was ours for a while.

I was reenacting something from earlier that day, trying to make him laugh. Some brute had caught me lifting coin from his pocket, shouting at me with his fists swinging.

"You should've seen him!" I pitched my voice low and gruff, puffing out my chest in a terrible imitation. "Little rat, come back here!"

I swung an invisible bottle in the air, staggering across the uneven boards until I tripped over a coil of rope and went down in an exaggerated heap. The dust puffed around me as I groaned dramatically.

When I lifted my head, Kaz was watching. The shadows cut hard across his face, and for a moment, he looked like the boy everyone feared he was becoming. But then his mouth twitched — the barest, fleeting smile — and the illusion cracked.

"You're insufferable," he muttered, shaking his head, though the words didn't carry their usual bite.

I grinned, brushing the dust off of my palms. "And yet, you don't leave."

He huffed a sound that might've been a laugh, then jerked his chin toward the broken crate he'd claimed as a chair. "Sit down before you hurt yourself."

I slid onto it beside him, close enough that our shoulders brushed. Usually, that would have sent him retreating, jaw tight, eyes flinching away from contact. But this time, he stayed.

I swung my legs, the childish rhythm tapping against the wood. For once, I didn't feel like prey. For once, he didn't act like a boy made of walls and knives.

Then, without looking at me, he reached into his pocket, gesturing for me to hold my hand out. He dropped something into my palm. A thin chain with a small charm, dulled, but shaped into a rose.

"Why?" I whispered, running my thumb over its petals. It was obvious it had no value, we couldn't sell it for food or shelter. But he had stolen it nonetheless.

His jaw worked. "Better you have it than someone else."

I never knew if it reminded him of me, or if something deep inside him had chosen it without his knowing why. Did he even remember giving it to me now?

All I knew was that he'd given it to me. Kaz Brekker, who gave nothing freely, had given me a rose.

And I'd kept it ever since.

~~~

A knock breaks through the silence. Three raps, measured, deliberately, unmistakably him.

I sit there for a moment staring at the door, my pulse hammering in my ears, my cheeks still damp. I scrub at my face and shove the rose necklace back under my pillow.

When I open the door, Kaz is there. Dark coat, gloves, cane — every detail in its place, like the world hasn't been ripped raw today. His eyes scan over me once, sharp and assessing, before snapping back to that practiced neutrality.

"I need you ready by morning." He says, his voice steady as if nothing could ever shake him. There's no preamble, no explanation, just business.

But I'm already shaking. Not from fear — not entirely — but from the weight of everything pressing down. Wylan's blood still on my hands, Jesper's cracked voice, Matthias and Inej's quiet understanding, Nina's silence. And Kaz standing here like the world hasn't left fractures in us all.

I can't stop myself. The day's wounds, the fear, the endless ache — it all tips over. Before I know what I'm doing, I step forward and wrap my arms around him.

His entire body locks up, I can feel it instantly — the rigid snap of muscle and bone, the sharp catch of his breath. His cane bites against the floor as if it's the only thing keeping him upright. I press my face against the wool of his coat, and for one suspended heartbeat, it feels as if the whole Barrel has gone still.

He doesn't hug me back, I don't expect him to. Saints, he doesn't even breathe. But I hold on anyway. Because I need it — the anchor, the warmth, even if it's all one sided. Because if I let go now, I'll unravel completely.

I know what this costs him, the ghosts that claw at him when anyone gets close. And still, I cling tighter. Just for a moment longer.

Then, as quickly as he arrived, he steps back. "Morning." He says again, his voice clipped, final. His cane taps as he turns, walking away down the hall. But I can sense the falter in his step, the urgency to hide away.

I close the door slowly, pressing my forehead against the wood. My arms ache with the ghost of his presence, but I know better than to mistake his silence for acceptance. He didn't push me away, but he didn't stay either. My chest feels hollow with the weight of what I did.

I know what I stole from him in that moment — the control he guards so ruthlessly. Guilt draws low in my stomach. And yet, for me, that fleeting embrace was everything.

Kaz Brekker, who never let the world touch him, never let me touch him. And me — reckless enough to try.

~~~

"Forbannet barn." Cursed child. His voice slurs in my head, as real as it had been then.

The drink burns hotter, my eyes sting and blur, but it doesn't wash the words away.

A gunshot splits the memory, sharp enough that I flinch in my seat. Just lanterns here. Just quiet. Just me. But I can't shake the echo, or the part of me that still believes it's my fault she's gone.

The chair beside me shifts. Matthias sits down without a word, his broad form swallowing the seat, his silence heavier than the glass in my hand. He doesn't look at me, doesn't pry, just signals for his own drink. Nina's tending the bar tonight, and without hesitation she sends a glass of water to us. No questions, no pause. She knows Matthias doesn't drink — his restraint is stronger than mine, steadier, like stone. I envy him more than I can admit.

For a long moment, we sit like that. Two shadows with nothing but the smoke and silence between us.

"You know.." My voice comes out rougher than I intend. I swirl what's left of my drink, watching the amber liquid lap the edges. "My father wasn't keen on Grisha either."

He takes a slow breath. "Neither was I." The words hang there, daring me to look at him. I don't.

He continues, his voice low, careful. "The Drüskelle raised me to believe Grisha were abominations. Dangerous. Unnatural." He exhales, steady, but pained. "It wasn't easy to admit I'd been lied to— In fact, the hardest thing wasn't fighting the lies I was taught. It was realising I wanted them to be true, because it was easier than admitting I'd been wrong."

I finally look at him then. His hands are clenched around his glass, knuckles white, but his eyes are far away. Not angry. Not defensive. Just honest.

"And Nina?" I ask quietly.

A flicker of something soft passes over his face — devotion, shame, awe, all tangled together. "She showed me what strength really is. What grace looks like. I'd burn every false belief, every prejudice I ever clung to before I lose her again."

Matthias' words linger, heavy as stone. They strike deeper than I want them to. A weight lodges in my chest, sharp and aching. He speaks of his own hatred, of how Nina cracked it open piece by piece until the good man could breathe again. And I think of Kaz.

Kaz, who never looked at me like I was less for what I am, but who hides himself behind armor I can't pierce. Kaz, whose hands curl on his cane rather than reach for another person's touch. Kaz, who carries more weight than any man should, who sharpens himself against the Barrel until the blade threatens to snap.

We all have our anchors. Jesper has Wylan. Matthias has Nina. Inej has her freedom — the promise that no one will chain her again. And I can't help but wonder if one day I'll be his. Because, if Nina could help Matthias unlearn a lifetime of hatred and see Grisha as human, who could teach Kaz to see himself that way?

Who, but me?

The thought is a bitter seed, and I swallow it down with another mouthful of liquor.

I don't let it show. I only nod, staring into the dregs of my drink, and let the silence swell between us again.

Then — slowly, deliberately — Matthias shifts his glass across the table until it rests beside mine. A wordless offering. A reminder that I'm not sitting here alone, even if I want to believe I am, that I always have been, that I always will be.

His hand brushes against my shoulder as he leans back, solid and steady, the weight of it grounding me more than the liquor ever could.

"Whatever he thought," Matthias says quietly, his Fjerdan accent strong, heavy, unshaken. "You are not your father."

I blink hard, fixing my eyes on the liquor-stained grain of the table. My throat feels too tight to answer.

The lanterns hum, the club breathes quietly around us, and as we both sip the last of our drinks, for the first time in hours, I don't feel like I'm about to shatter.

~~~

The hall outside of Kaz's office is dim, lantern light casting long shadows that sway with every draft from the Club below. My steps are slow, dragging. I just want my room, the dark and the quiet, the chance to shut it all out.

I don't expect the door to open. I certainly don't expect him to step out — coat hanging sharp from his shoulders, every inch of him composed as if the chaos of the day hadn't touched him, looking as though he'd walked straight out of some shadow. His eyes sweep over me once, sharp, precise, and I glance at the empty glass in my hand like it's betrayed me.

"Brekker." I mutter, half-nod, already moving to pass.

But he stops me with one word. "Rosie."

The sound of it — rare, clipped, his version of gentleness — freezes me. He studies me with that unnerving stillness of his, and I feel my skin prickle under it, heat scorching my face before I can speak. "It's just one."

"And yet I can smell it from here." His gaze lingers, hard enough to strip me down to the bone. "You hate the smell of liquor. Can't stand the drunks who stagger through these doors. You once left because a man spilled his drink too close to you." He steps closer. "I know what your father was, Aelita. Don't insult me by pretending this is nothing."

My throat tightens. The word 'Papa' claws at the back of my mind, the sour stench of home, shame, fists. I force it down. "It doesn't matter."

Kaz tilts his head, studying me as though he could dissect the lie. "It always matters. One becomes a habit. A habit becomes a weakness. Weaknesses get you killed in this city."

The words scrape something raw in me. I want to tell him he's wrong, that it was just one glass, that I don't need him watching over me like some self-appointed warden. But the truth tangles in my throat, burning hotter than the liquor. He's not wrong. And that hurts more than anything.

My hand trembles, and I grip the glass tighter, wishing it were something else — a blade, a shield, anything but this reminder. "You don't understand." His following silence makes me braver than I should be. "You can't."

His gaze sharpens. It's the look of a man who never touches, never softens — but I can almost feel the weight of it against my skin, as though he's standing inches nearer than he is. "I understand exactly what it means to cling to something that eats you alive."

I flinch. The truth in it lands heavier than the cane's strike as he turns, already retreating into his office. "One glass, Rosie. Don't let it become two."

The door is half-closed when I find my voice. "Why do you care?" The words are sharper than I intend, thrown like a blade to hide the shaking in my chest.

Kaz freezes. Just for a breath. His hand stills on the edge of the door, gloved fingers curling tighter around the wood. When he turns back to me, his eyes are darker than the shadows between us.

I shake my head, breath coming too fast. The day crashes into me all at once — Wylan's blood on my hands, Jesper's broken voice, Nina's tears as we fought to keep one of our own alive — and I snap before I can stop myself. "You act like it doesn't touch you," I hiss. My voice cracks, traitorous. "Like you're made of stone, like none of this gets under your skin. But I'm not you. I can't just lock it away. I can't—" The tears come hot, uninvited. I turn away, but it's too late. He's already seen.

His cane shifts, a single step echoing between us, closing the space but not enough to bridge it. Not ever enough. When he speaks again, his voice is low but cutting, each word honed to a blade. "Do you think I don't feel it? That I don't see the blood every time I close my eyes?" His tone is crueler than the truth beneath it, harsher than he means — I can hear it, but it doesn't soften the sting.

"Then say it," I whisper, my voice trembling. "Say that you care. For once."

The silence that follows is suffocating. His jaw locks tight, his eyes unreadable, the air between us hums with the weight of what he won't say. He steps closer — not close enough to touch, never that — but his shadow falls over mine, heavy, consuming.

"Aelita..." His voice falters, just once. A fracture in the armor. For a breath, it feels like he's on the edge of saying something more, something real. But then it's gone, sealed beneath the iron of his will. For a moment, I almost hate him. For the way he can carve me open without raising his voice, for the way concern sounds like a command. For the way that part of me wants to lean closer, to believe that underneath the cruelty there's something softer meant for me. But I know better. He'll never let himself be soft. Not with me. Not with anyone. "If you fall apart," he says instead, his voice steady again, "You'll take the rest of us with you. And I can't let that happen."

He doesn't know. He doesn't know what it is to swallow poison because you're desperate for numbness and reprieve from the echo of your own father's voice. But words die in my throat when his gaze softens, not in kindness — Kaz Brekker doesn't waste himself on kindness — but in a recognition that cuts deeper. "Wylan is alive because of you." His tone leaves no room for argument. "You held him together when there was nothing left to hold. You did what needed to be done."

The air leaves me in a stuttered breath. My hands tremble, not from liquor, but from the weight of his certainty.

Kaz takes another step, and now he's close enough that I can see the faintest tremor in the grip he has on his cane, the control he maintains at all costs. "Don't drown yourself to forget what you did right. That's the luxury of people who don't have blood on their hands." His words cut sharp, but his voice dips — almost human. "You don't have that luxury."

Silence settles, heavy as the chains I'd thought I'd left behind. I want to thank him, scream at him, beg him to let me fall apart just once. Instead, I nod, jaw tight, heart thundering.

When he turns again, retreating into his office, I let the silence swallow me whole. My hand shakes as I set the glass on the floor, drained, useless.

I'm not Kaz's anchor.

He's mine.

Steady, unyielding, unforgiving.

Not my past. Not my future. Not even the hope of returning to a normal life away from the fierce grip of the Barrel.

It's him.

Kaz Brekker will never be anyone's comfort.

But Saints, some part of me still wants him to be mine...

~~~

~~~

"Come on," Kaz's voice breaks the silence. "We shouldn't stay here long." His cane clicks against the cobbles of the alley as he turns to leave.

"But what about—" Jesper's voice cracks, his arms wrapping tighter around Wylan. "The whole point of this job was to take back the product Handel owed us. What's the point if we walk away empty handed? Was Wylan's blood spilled for nothing?" The worry on his face is still evident, sweat shining on his temples as his brow furrows, from which emotion I'm not sure.

"We have enough to last until the next shipment," Kaz doesn't turn back to face us. His tone is sharp, clipped, carrying no more warmth than the damp brick surrounding us. "We did enough damage. They'll understand our message."

No pause. No backward glance. He just keeps walking.

We remain frozen in his wake. The silence left behind tastes heavy and bitter, like iron and smoke. The usual weight Kaz leaves after a job.

Jesper exhales shakily, then let's Matthias ease Wylan from his arms. He needs rest and warmth, maybe a strong drink for the pain when he eventually wakes. Nina hovers close, her hands still trembling as if she can't quite let go of the heartbeat she just kept steady, and I can't blame her.

One by one, they follow Kaz. Their shadows vanish into the dark and then out into the streets of Ketterdam. Life resumes as normal—

Our normal.

And suddenly, it's just me and Inej in the alley, the air thick with blood and the weight of near loss on our shoulders. The silence speaks louder than either of us ever had before.

Inej moves first. She doesn't speak right away, but I hear the leather of her knee pads scrape against the stones, the ruffle of fabric and clink of hidden blades as she moves closer.

"Ravka," She says softly, word more a question than a statement. "Where in Ravka?"

For a moment, I want to lie. To fold myself small like I did as a child and hide in the shadows as she does. To vanish behind walls of silence and secrecy. But her gentle gaze leaves no room for falsehood.

"A village, in the hills..." I say at last, the words catching in my throat. "Small. Poor. Not really worth remembering." And it's just enough truth to remain hidden.

Her brow furrows, but there's no pity in her face, only recognition. "Neither are the Suli— worth remembering, if you listen to the Kerch. Yet here we are."

Something tight in my chest loosens, and I let out a sigh. A tear falls from the corner of my eye before I even register it forming. We're more alike than we could ever imagine, than we ever should have been...

She reaches out, tentative, her hand brushing my arm. Not quite a hug, but something close — a tether, thin but steady. "Faith keeps you alive when nothing else will." She whispers, and for a fleeting moment, I believe her.

I want to tell her I understand. That I know what it is to be stolen from your family, to wake each morning with a cage built around your life and identity, to live in fear of what the next sunrise may bring. But the words lodge in my throat like splinters. She doesn't know the extent of my past — and I don't dare give it a voice.

The closeness is quiet, almost fragile. A bond stitched from shared land, shared Saints, the shared ache of never truly belonging.

So I let the silence hold instead, and for once, it doesn't feel empty.

~~~

Back and forth, back and forth, Jesper paces outside of Wylan's room. Restless, he taps a rhythm against the pearl handles of his revolvers. He looks disheveled in a way that Jesper Fahey never allows himself to be. His sleeves shoved messily to his elbows, uneven and wrinkled, his shirt dotted with blood that isn't his — spinning too fast and unraveling at the seams.

He spots me and forces a crooked smile. "You nearly took my head off back there, you know?" His words are his usual shield, but his voice betrays him, trembling. They fall flat between us and the silence is louder than any usual retort. His eyes flicker back and forth from me to the door, like he's listening for every beat of the heart inside.

I don't answer. I can't. The weight of my gaze puts a pause in the whirlwind that is Jesper Fahey, afraid of stopping long enough to feel the weight of what he almost lost. And for a moment, he looks very young — not the sharpshooter, not the gambler. Just a boy moving way too fast.

My body moves before my mind. I step forward and pull him into a hug. He freezes, and then collapses, letting out a breath that sounds as if he'd been holding it since we left the storehouse. It shudders, desperate, clinging on tighter than he means to.

"He needs you calm." I whisper, and it's like Nina slows his heart rate long enough for him to think straight. Words he needed to hear. He nods against my shoulder.

"Saints help me," He lets out a breathy relief of a laugh. "I think I want to keep him forever."

I don't need to see his face to understand the weight of his confession, soft but certain, like he'd already made the decisions in his bones.

Forever.

The word sinks into me, and as he pulls away I watch him, the way his hands still tremble, the way his eyes soften with each sign of Wylan stirring inside his room.

Forever.

For once, Jesper Fahey has no punchline ready — just the quiet, unsteady truth.

And I think, Saints, if anyone deserves forever, it's these two.

Forever.

I try to ignore the way the word tugs at me, heavy, unsettling.

Because wasn't that what Kaz had done with me?

Kept me close year after year. Without asking, without reason, without promise. Never letting me go, but never letting me close enough either. I don't know if he'd ever let me go. Like a curse, Kaz brekker had pulled me out of my darkness and deep into his own.

Jesper wants forever and it terrifies him. I already have it and it terrifies me more.

Jesper finally loosens his grip, his laugh still unsteady and his eyes still wide with too many thoughts — but there's something new in his face now — determination.

His eyes meet mine and I nod. "Go."

He slips away through the door, and I'm left staring at the space he'd filled. The weight of forever coils tight in my chest. He wants it so badly.

The silence presses in until I can't stand it. My feet carry after him until I find them together — Jesper kneeling low, Wylan's complexion pale but he smiles through the weariness, his hand already caught tight in Jesper's.

The image of what forever should be.

I linger in the doorway for a moment before stepping closer.

Wylan's gaze shifts, finding me with startling clarity. The world narrows to those deep, determined eyes. He tries to lift his hand, it trembles halfway and I catch it, holding the fragile weight of his fingers in mine.

"I don't remember much, but— you didn't let go." He whispers. His voice is raw, frayed at the edges, but steady enough to carve through me. My throat tightens. I squeeze his hand, as if that could anchor us both.

"No," I whisper. "I didn't. I never would."

His grip is weak, but the look he gives me carries more strength than any words. And for him, I could almost believe forever might be possible.

~~~