STRANGER, jesper fahey

CHAPTER TWO

"Guess it really is my lucky day."

The Stranger was good at what she did, there was no need to sugar coat it, to be modest, to make it sound sweeter or gentler because they'd be absolutely no point. She was the perfect merchant for death with a killer smile hidden by a ominous mask that commanded terror, and while many found it somewhat cowardly to hide behind a name given to yourself by fearful people, she knew that it was one of the smarter decisions one could make of they wanted to continue living in a place that did everything in its power to make such a thing impossible.

Ketterdam would swallow you up and spit out out, taking you for everything you have and leave you with an empty chest and glassy eyes. She'd seen it happen to those less fortunate, less brutal, less willing to do absolutely anything to survive through morals or inexperience. And perhaps, once upon a time, such people would warrant her pity or her sorrow, after all she'd been such a kind child once, the type that had given flowers to lonely looking widows just to make them smile their sad smiles.

But now all she felt was a numbness, a numbness for everything...only truly focusing on getting through the days with no real purpose in mind and wondering if she'd ever truly get one...but mainly wondering if she'd ever truly feel whole again or least even bring it in herself to care....Perhaps she was too harsh on Ketterdams desperate fools, because it honestly wasn't that long ago that she was one herself all those years ago, listening to stupid promises with that stupid feeling of hope of a better life.

So yes, she was good at her job, she was good at killing, murdering, being an assassin, a monster, a myth whatever you'd want to call it. And she'd long since lost the luxury to feel any sort of guilt over it, mainly because the only creature that was close enough to her to even try to make her feel any sort of emotion was her feral stray turned spoiled house cat, Scruffy, and those emotions usually were annoyance and begrudging affection to the nuisance who ate all her foot and used her home as it's own personal litter-box, as if she purposely didn't leave her window open constantly so her pampered pet could come and go as he pleased.

But the name she'd been given a week ago was causing...well, not trouble exactly, more like contentment? Frustration? Inconsolable rage? Because Kaz Brekker was someone she could almost respect, even if his first name brought a pang of something that felt like grief to her chest that she pushed down and away at every thought...after all...sentiment was such a cruel mistress, and she would be damned if she allowed such things to control her life, or whatever was left of that shambled image.

The main problem was the fact that she couldn't just kill him and be done with it like she did with all of her other marks, no, the order had been to make him hurt and considering the Stranger despised getting her hands dirty with a burning passion, she decided she was going to have to bring that pain some other way, by finding out what he loved...or whatever emotion the Bastard of the Barrel felt that came close to it, and destroy it before taking his breath from his lungs with a cruel twirl of her gloved hands.

However, the Wraith was presenting quite an obstacle to overcome, otherwise known as Captain Ghafa who'd seemed to have temporarily abandoned her sea legs for a break to stalk along the roofs at night like a haunted phantom, only stopping to sit at a window still where the assassin would catch a glimpse of the Brekker boy as he'd talk to her. And between her and the heartrender who's loud giggles seemed to fill the Slat with warmth who she most definitely didn't want recognising her heartbeat, she found that her work was quite cut out for her.