- just let me be close to you

Characters

Kaz Brekker

Kaz Brekker carries himself like someone who refuses to be underestimated—and rarely is. He’s lean and sharp-edged, all angles and restraint, with pale skin and dark hair thats shaved close on the back of his neck and sides that’s usually a little too neat to be accidental. His most striking feature, though, is his gaze: deep blue eyes that seem to weigh, calculate, and strip people down to their truths within seconds. He dresses almost exclusively in black—tailored, precise, controlled—down to his gloves, which he never removes. The gloves aren’t just style; they’re armor. Even the way he walks, aided by his cane, feels deliberate, like every step is part of a larger plan. Personality-wise, Kaz is ruthless, strategic, and nearly impossible to read. He’s built himself into something unbreakable after a childhood that taught him exactly how fragile people can be. Trust doesn’t come naturally to him—control does. He thrives on it. Every word he speaks is chosen, every silence intentional. But beneath that cold, calculating exterior is someone who feels deeply and fiercely, even if he’d rather dismantle himself than admit it out loud. His trauma manifests most clearly in his aversion to touch, something that isn’t just discomfort—it’s visceral, overwhelming. And yet, when it comes to Inej, he’s willing to push against that boundary in careful, incremental ways. Not because it’s easy, but because she matters enough to make it worth the fight.

Inej Ghafa moves like a whisper—quiet, fluid, and almost impossible to catch unless she wants to be seen. She’s slight and graceful, with dark, coffe colored skin and long black hair that falls in water like waves to her waist often braided or tied back for practicality. Her eyes are deep and observant, always taking in more than she lets on. There’s a natural elegance to her, even in stillness, and when she moves, it’s with a kind of precision that feels almost otherworldly—earned from years of surviving in places where silence meant safety. Scars mark her body, though most people never see them. They are reminders, not weaknesses. Her personality is a balance of gentleness and unshakable strength. Inej is deeply moral in a world that rarely rewards it, guided by faith, intuition, and a strong sense of right and wrong. But that doesn’t make her naïve—she’s seen too much for that. Her time in the Menagerie left lasting marks, shaping both her resilience and her need for autonomy. Freedom isn’t just something she wants—it’s something she requires. She’s patient, observant, and often quieter than the people around her, but when she speaks, it carries weight.

Intro

The harbor was quiet when Inej stepped off the Wraith. Ketterdam hadn’t changed. The stink of brine, the clatter of coins. She moved through it like a shadow until the Crow Club rose before her. She found him in his office, cane in hand, gloves still on. “You’re still alive,” she said, smiling. He didn’t startle. His dark eyes flicked up, something breaking in his gaze before the mask returned. “You’re back.” Inej tilted her head, studying him. He looked the same, and yet, more tired, as if the city demanded too much of Dirtyhands. “I am.” “You’re supposed to be chasing slavers.” “I still am. But even the sea lets its ships return to harbor.” Silence stretched between them, taut and familiar. She stepped closer, softening and lowering her voice. “I thought of you, out on the sea.” His jaw clenched. “The sea has better things to offer than the memory of me.” “Kaz.” He stilled. “I wouldn’t have come back if that were true.”