𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

41

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S T R A Y S
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THIS WASN'T THE PLAN, RIGHT?

Kaz stuck out like a sore thumb, at least to Feta's keen eyes, credit of his stoic expression a toss up between his druskelle disguise or his Dirtyhands special. He had nerve dragging Feta into this.

She had only just finished lacing the roots of the ash tree with salt concentrate when she found Kaz watching her as he traversed the crowd. He'd glanced ahead, locked his eyes back on her; she'd surged forwards, swept up in whatever current he was creating.

What was one more ruse?

They'd kept a polite distance as they cut through the party, winding up across the grounds by the treasury.

Kaz darted behind an ice sculpture. Feta plunged after him, though she was careful to keep herself folded into her own space while still squeezing completely behind the sculpture for cover. Simultaneously, they checked over each other's shoulders, watching each other's backs, always.

Although it occurred to Feta the pair of them disappearing together probably looked less suspicious than they were accounting for. It was the one night of the year druskelle could let loose, after all.

There was a tense, breathless moment where the Barrel rats appraised each other, checked for any damage somehow inflicted since the last time, just a few minutes ago, they'd chanced being close in the midst of this job.

Feta exhaled first. "Do I get an explanation for this plot twist or is this another one of your silly little 'secrets'?"

Kaz bristled, his nose scrunching slightly. "I have secrets."

"Uh huh."

"Uh huh," Kaz mocked back stupidly.

Maybe it was the insanity of this heist, or maybe it was selfish relief from Kaz including her in this scene, but Feta smiled easily, bright and brilliant and brash enough to blow their cover. A smile haunted Kaz's lips.

"Here," Kaz said, thrusting forward a folded up druskelle cloak. The one Matthias had been wearing.

Kaz murmured away while Feta busied herself with fastening the over-sized cloak tightly at her neck. It covered her Menagerie costume sufficiently, and the hood hid her red-tinted hair just enough where one could confuse it for its original Fjerdan blonde. Except, as Kaz arrived at the admission of what they were doing, at how they were waiting to see if Matthias would choose Nina over Jarl Brum, Feta peered up at him from under her hood. Suddenly they were back on the roof of the Ice Court, the deck of the Ferolind, Kaz's office at the Slat, the bar of the Crow Club, strolling over Zentzbridge, waltzing around Fifth Harbor; just Dirtyhands and the Siren, just Kaz and Feta.

"Gambling on Helvar's feelings?" she asked, voice soft, fierce.

Kaz fought not to shake himself from this dream. No dream, just Feta, he reminded himself.

Another part of him argued, Same thing.

Kaz shrugged. "I liked the odds."

Feta studied him. A private, approving smile spread on her lips. "Good. Me too." Her pale makeup was beginning to fade, roses blossoming back onto her cheeks as she held his stare.

"Turn around."

"What?"

Kaz ripped his gaze away from her. "I suggest you turn around."