Chapter Two  ♰
Devil I Know.

7 months later!

𝕮oins tumbled onto the tables, the clicking sound of their gold rousing the onlookers as women leaned closer to the men at the table. Pressing their bodies against the male's arms whose eyes immediately light up, chests puffed with pride as he pushed his stack of coins into the centre.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Cards were shuffled in mid air, thrown from one hand to another. The dealer's hands worked in a blink of an eye. Somewhere close a machine let out a victory chime as the women in front of it squealed in delight, crouching as they held the hem of their skirts up like one would a basket. Coins spitting out of its mouth and into the curve of their skirts.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ The Crows Club was a black building filled with swirling colours of wild costumes and dream-like masks. Lit dimly by the warm over lights hung in each corner. Only few wore the rags and tattered clothes of the Barrel, walking in with their backs hunched, eyes wide and rolling in desperate hope for a miracle.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Dimitrix, the man's name was. A dealer who'd thought he could sneak under Kaz's piercing gaze. He'd been caught shuffling in the favour of a disguised merchant, bribed by their wealth and in a span of minutes caught by Kaz as he walked through the door.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Should've run him out." A glass of rum clinked onto the counter as Vera leaned forward. She scrunched her face at the dealer. "Sly bastards like that will never learn to be right and honest."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Why are you behind the counter?"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Haven't you heard?" She innocently batted her lashes, pushing the glass towards him with one finger, "bartender Zane is my new best friend, and I'm helping him out— after all, you're running quite a busy and successful business."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Kaz rolled his eyes at her sarcasm and ineffable ability to make friends with everyone. Bartender Zane was a blonde man with feminine features but a tall built body who in no way was qualified for the job because he was scared of everything in sight.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "You're right, these people never learn to be honest," Kaz agrees, circling back to the initial conversation and picking up the glass as he took a sip, "but they do learn how to fear."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "You are quite scary," she nodded to herself, turning her head away sharply when Kaz's gaze flickered down onto her own, "Not in the sense that you're a thug. But like, the foreboding fear of a dad you really want the approval of. You know? I know you're only like a year older than I am and you hardly have the right equipment to be a dad—"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Her rambling continued but Kaz drowned it like it was white noise.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Out of nowhere, a sharp voice echoes through the Club, "Connor, come here, right this second!" Strangely, a little boy was running around the crowd, laughing loudly as he was being chased by his reddening father. The kid was in bright yellow, displayed proudly in a sea of blues and black garments. The boy pretends not to hear his father, busy extracting a bottle of wine from the bar.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Connor," Vera calls, and Kaz whips his head towards her in astonishment because she sounds so much softer than he'd ever heard her.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ The boy looks up and comes towards them.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Nice outfit," she smiles, running her fingers through his hair, messing it up. He grins, looking no more than eleven-years-old.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Thank you," there's almost a mad glint in the kid's eyes as he looks at Kaz.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "And what are you?" he bluntly asked.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Kaz almost gaped, almost expressed his shock visibly but hid his offended reaction very well. "I'm Kaz. I own this circus."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Connor squints his eyes, "so you're rich," he gathered that well before, there's no mistaking that oozing superiority from Kaz Brekker. "And you have a weird name, are you friends with my friend Vera? Is black your favourite colour, since you're wearing so much of it—"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Even without the drinks, you sound more drunk than anyone else around here." Kaz rudely pointed.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Don't be crude, Connor is a sweetheart," she snaps, ruffling the boy's hair, "isn't that right, Connor?"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "I'm not offended, I actually am drunk, sort of," he replied, jumping on his feet a little as Kaz and Vera exchanged a shocked look.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Well," she coughs a little, and Kaz actually grins at her hesitancy, "don't get drunk again, go, your father's spotted you."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Connor swears loudly and scampers off, looking over his shoulder at his father, coming after him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "You didn't tell me you're a mother."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Ha ha, hilarious," Vera rolls her eyes, watching the boy vanish into the sea of people. "He's a riot."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "And I assume you're friends with Connor the kid as well," he drawls, clearly not impressed.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Vera Bardot attracts attention. Extravagant gowns decorated with rhinestones as expensive as one of the Grand Palace. Hair as black as the shadows of Ketterdam's streets, eyes glinting like moonlight. The jewels made her seem like a spoiled little brat. So when they would gun for the necklaces against her throat, she would seize the opportunity to steal their wallet and leave them bleeding instead. People tend to sympathise with poor young ladies acting in self defence. Nobody ever saw through any of her callous tricks, all actions a direct consequence of weaving her Ravkan teachings and Kerch lifestyle together — it was hard to unmask the layer she put on her face.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Kaz Brekker, of course, saw through that act.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ But she doesn't want to. She looked at him with no fear, and somehow he had grown to appreciate that as well. He doesn't want to delve into her mind and soil this perception. It would taint her, if he managed to decode even a tiny errant thought she has about him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Do you know what you are doing tonight?" He asks suddenly. If he sees she does fear him, he doesn't think he can handle it.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "I always know what I'm doing," said Vera, though she works with instincts a lot more than he does. Her rage is intact, fuelled by youth, her power excruciating. She summons the blue fire with no issues but she can hardly do that in the streets of Ketterdam, and is still incredibly fresh to the knives-aimed, pistols-drawn lifestyle, so Kaz does not allow her to go on missions with anyone else, just solitary ones, or he takes her along.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ He stays by Vera, allows her to whisper in his ear bits of trivia about all the guests that enter her field of vision. She talks a lot, always, like she's starved for it. He's amused by her antics and her views on the world surrounding her. She sees things very differently from anyone else he knows.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ She's observant and intelligent, yet there's a dose of instability, of fury, that colours her perceptions.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Moustache man by table six, he looks like he's undressing you with his eyes." Kaz takes another sip of his drink. He feels her tensing at his side, before her mind consciously catches up to it; her casual elegance, that she maintains even in duels, even up to her neck in filth, dissolves. "I can take care of it, if you want."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "It's fine, let the man dream," she mutters. It is not fear, though he could confuse it for it. It is hated in its purest form.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ He always thought the only way to have men on their knees was through fear. That was until Vera Bardot strutted into his life like a crescent moon, brightening every valley of his mind that he wanted to keep drowned in shadows. Her honeyed voice echoed when he slept. She was everywhere and everything; the coy grin audible in her tone burning everywhere whenever she wasn't even near. Then there she was, with her charm and fire, men on their knees.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Meet me behind the bar at six, no fashionably late nonsense," Kaz orders, and the expression on her face tells him that she must have been cut off. It doesn't matter, though, he wasn't listening to her rambling. "Exactly ten past six, the guards all go into the bar for a treat so they're early enough to avoid the crowd. We will take the opportunity to sneak in and take everything we want."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "As you say, Mr Brekker," she says, and after a hesitant pause, Kaz grows wry.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Just ask, Vera, I don't bite."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Like Eve was convinced she would steer away from temptations but she bit into the forbidden fruit anyway, she slowly says, "have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "No, but I once got very close." His expression sours. Vera fears someday she might let her recklessness tip Kaz over the edge too, make him bite because poking the bear is what she does best.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Out of everything, Vera is most intrigued about what Kaz Brekker wants. She cannot seem to figure it out. Money and gold cannot possibly be all he wants. One-way curiosity is harmless. It only becomes an issue when that feeling is returned and Vera never understood that curious emotion was mutual. They were both fascinated by each other— viscera and something ineffable beyond partners in notorious crimes sewing together two wayward spiders, witlessly making a web full of other flies and gnats and commoners of the Barrell.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Vera exited the bar by opening the double door into the cool of night. There was no breeze, Ketterdam's air was always still, lying in wait for whatever beasts hiding in the canal to lunge out at those passing by. The still air was usually filled with busy bodies, making up for its lack of movement but tonight, in the back alley all was silent. The sound of parties far and muffled.

𝖁era is a ball of adrenaline. The mission was simple. Get rid of the guards, scare off the family, and grab about everything you can. Yet she managed to get herself almost killed thrice. she cannot stand still for a second, pacing up and down his living room, wringing her hands.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Will you sit?" he asks her, for the second time.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ She does, but before he can take out his healing paste, she stands again, distracted.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Sorry," she says, when he sighs, slightly exasperated. "It's just that—" she trails off and her grin widens. It was meant to be a simple mission but it seemed like the head of the manor had dodgy guests over and they all knew how to put up a fight. And they were terrible people so she felt no remorse about hurting them.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Blood drips down her face, from a cut to her temple. He'd seen her get it, the exact moment when she dodged the knife, but a touch too late to completely miss it. Irrational anger ignites in him as he remembers it. It is nothing to how it affected him when it had happened. He'd been so close to finishing the man off, but her sharp cry had made him turn around and blast her assailant in a hundred little pieces.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ His shoulders stings in pain, the price he pays for turning his back. He'd forgotten how sharp pain can be, how hard to ignore. It's been many years since he's received an injury.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ All because of this girl.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ She keeps wiping her face with the back of her hand, to keep the blood out of her eyes. It serves to paint her entire face red.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "I did well, no?" she asks.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ He ponders on his words. She's a remarkably gifted woman, but she's a Kresnika, all hot temper and brash decisions.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Yes." He settles on half a lie.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "I loved it!" she says, eyes gleaming. "When will we do it again?"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Telling Vera to be patient, to take it easy, is always a waste of breath so he doesn't bother. Besides, he remembers being young once, being eager to prove his skills, craving battle since it was the only place he could be himself.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Sit."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ She does, wiping her face once more.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Did you see I figured out where they hid their secret stash?" she asks, twisting on the chair as he passes her the jar of medicine.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "I did."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ He could hardly look at anything else. She was quite the distraction.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Vera," he warns when she tries to stand, the endearment spilling from his mouth without his permission.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "It's hard to stay still," she complains.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "You have gone rouge, again," he states matter-of-factly, no place for defence.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Don't pretend you don't adore it, Kaz, dear," a coy grin on her face as he side-eyes her. Vera has worked with Brekker long enough to maintain her distance, physically of course, out of mere respect for her boss. Well, he is only her boss by name, she takes pride and satisfaction into the knowledge that she never truly listens to him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ The trust built between them was one of colleagues, nothing more or less, which made him feel free enough to take off his leather gloves to wash his hands.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Verbally, however, she is a living, breathing pain in Kaz's charcoal heart. With her flirty comments and taunting steps around him, the way she batted her eyelashes and allowed those red lips to tug into an infuriating smile, Kaz could break his cane in two at the sight of her incredibly irritating figure.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Grab us some drinks."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Really?" She looked more excited than before. She's been begging him to have a drunk with her for months now but he is far too brooding to have fun. Vera, however, loves to enjoy life.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Silently, she reached for a bottle of liquor from his shelf and poured herself a glass, "Wine? Mead? Whiskey?" Long fingers caressing the bottles.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Whatever you choose," said Kaz. She smiles, excited, so youthful and beautiful it stirs something inside him. She returns with a bottle of wine. "By the way, Inej says she has a good lead for our next mission."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "We'll think about tomorrow tomorrow, Kaz," she rolls her eyes, grabbing two glasses, "live in the moment, to victory!" She raised her glass.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "To you," he says before thinking.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ It was hard to believe at the end of the day, they were merely delicate youths trying to survive the day. Unlike most, they were hardly carefree and hardy... maddening under the influence—the dark delight of embracing a sin.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ The Little Palace was her home. Vera reminds herself this is the freedom she has been chasing since the day she ran from her orphanage through the woods. The only thing standing in between was Kirigan. The devil she knew all too well. However, sometimes, Vera found it hard to breathe so far away from the place. Like someone had shaken up her chamber in Os Alta in a fever dream, chewed her life up and spat out as a tasteless sort of mush; the ichor had been drained from her veins, leaving her a pathetic mortal. All his fault, of course, for inventing the game. All her fault for playing.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "You know, you're here a lot." He points out, merely because he underestimates her curiosity with him and confuses it for some crude ulterior motive. Kaz is not a trusting creature. "And not much with the others."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Maybe I just enjoy your company," she shrugs, and he lightly scoffs.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Inej thinks you do not like her because you're always avoiding her," Kaz reveals, and an astonished Vera whipped to turn to look at him, "she was rather upset about it, I fear."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Inej?" Vera inquires, just to be sure, "I like her."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Kaz—dutiful to his sins as he is wicked at reading faces—shot her a damning grin, it was that tiny tilt at the corner of his lips that drew Vera in to be truthful to herself, moreover, honest to him. The truth? Vera was never close with anybody in her adolescence, and what bothered her more than being an outsider was being cast aside by girls. Delicate pretty girls with jewels stuck to their throat and gowns they would flicker about as they flaunted like ballerinas. There was a pageant every year and every year, like clockwork, one of those sorority girls always won

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Inej Ghafa was far from those cruel girls. The opposite, really, which is why the trouble arose. Vera was a Kresnika, and yet her power was nothing in comparison because Inej had more kindness in her little finger than Vera did in her entire body. And yes, it was envy. Spending the last two years in the Little Palace, showered in compliments, she had forgotten the insecurity that would always engulf her heart like General Kirigan's shadow did his enemies. Perhaps if she had not traded her youth for the bigger cause, she would have faced jealousy and all those immature traits beforehand.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "I don't spend so much time with you because I like your brooding presence," she admits truthfully this time, "it is rather tiring being around someone who is practically heaven-born, like bathed in holy water, or whatever."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "You are suggesting I'm not virtuous enough for you." Kaz rhetorically stated, not expecting a predictable reaction but rather to mock her, to mess with her beliefs. Heaven-born, like that exists. There has not been a person with no evil bone in their body,—not even Inej—reasoning underlies beneath the unproven fact that everybody has faced enough loss to grow resentment.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "I'm not talking about virtues and morals, I'm sure we all, even as criminals and thieves, possess that; there are plenty of good people but Inej..." she trails off just for a second—there is no description for it, is there?—finding the words at the tip of her tongue before they melt like sea-forth, "Inej is saintly."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "I would argue you are saintly," not that he did not believe in that but he was edging towards tipping non-heaven-born Vera straight to hell, a pit of her lies and iniquitous secrets, "Two-faced sinister and saintly woman."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "I'm sorry?" her heart thumped, and she whirled around to find Kaz closer than she had anticipated which made her take a step back.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Oh, don't apologise," he was playing a wicked game of solitaire with her, like he knew her current life was dependent on his faith in her, "you think you can keep secrets from me and that was your primary mistake, that is what you should apologise for."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "I'm not keeping secrets."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Do not lie to me, Vera," he meant those words to escape him stronger but it almost sounded like pleading, "you may not consider yourself virtuous but I hold you above that— above lies and secrecy, I do not want you to lie to me."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Vera exhales, "And what do you know, Kaz?"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "That you are a descendant of Saint Maria, of the lost princess of Kerch and a supposed enemy of quite literally the entire world to a point they want to burn you at stake," his tone got crueller, well, much to an average Kaz-voice, "that ring you are wearing is a jewel thieves have been chasing for decades now... and you have lied to me like a coward since the day I met you, you...—"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Me," She whispers, "if you truly think you may make an enemy out of me because I'm so terrible, I might as well spend more time with Inej," she is mocking him, he can feel it and he hates it, "she may nurse me back to a holy woman."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Do not turn this into something it's not."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Her secrets were not for his to find, to detect, to make her feel terrible about and it offended Vera greatly, even if it should not. Yes, she lied to him, she hid the truth about her mythical past, a folklore the Kerch citizens believe in thoroughly, but it still hurt her ego. It managed to coil around her chest because she is an immature insecure girl who has yet to grow up. "You know what? You should join; the lovely Inej would be glad to school us every evening, make a saint out of both of us."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "Do I look like I care about being saintly?" Kaz asks, eyes boring into her blue—well, they never really were blue, it was silly to use that word for the otherworldly colour—eyes, they were too pretty. She was too pretty and sometimes Kaz wanted to kill her and hang her portrait that he would allow to haunt him forever, "look me in the eye and tell me if I care when everybody suggests I'm a monster."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ "You should."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Then she leaves. Leaves in stranded in the dim-lit room and strangely, incredibly strangely, Kaz's heart leaps when he realises he had come to miss her presence whenever she disappeared. Though even at the brink of death, Kaz would never admit if there existed a woman close enough to be heaven-born despite their suffering— it would be Vera.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝕮ara speaks.

hi everyone im back with which witch updates, and im just so in love with vera's dynamic and the grishaverse in general, let me know if i leave any plotholes! as we can see, vera is still not a part of the crows that deeply yet but she's on her way and has a lot of work to do!! and yes, i still need more comments and interactions without which i'll not be updating the next chapter =)