Work Text:
Nina
Something was very wrong. The Slat felt like it was holding its breath.
It wasn't the usual dangers lurking in every corner of her life. It wasn't the unfamiliar, novel calm of not worrying about possible threats towards herself and her friends. No, the Slat itself seemed to shiver with unease, steeped in the kind of quiet that only came when Kaz Brekker vanished from sight.
She’d been back in Ketterdam three days and hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of him. That wasn’t like Kaz. His absences were deliberate, sharpened, timed for effect, and with reason. This felt… uncalculated, like a sulk. And Saints, Nina Zenik did not like it when Kaz sulked without her around to prod at him.
The first thing she’d done after stepping off the boat was march into the Slat, half expecting Jesper sprawled across the card tables. Jesper’s (and Wylan's in Jesper’s handwriting) letters had been their usual disaster of ink blots and half-finished thoughts. Somehow, Inej's letter arrived in better condition, the paper smelling faintly of salt and lamp oil, noting she will still be at sea for another week if the weather behaved.
Until then, she’d been bleeding kruge on stroopwafels sweet and syrupy enough to glue her fingers together, and convincing Matthias that buying a coat in Ketterdam wasn’t an insult to his Fjerdan heritage. Most of their clothes were from Ravka. On these streets, they stood out like pigeons wrapped in fancy silk. Ones that screamed wealth and painted a target on their backs for every scammer and pickpocket in the Barrel. This trip was purely to see the faces she missed. She planned to finally catch up with her friends, to reassure herself that Matthias was alive and well. And, of course, to confirm she hadn’t run off to marry the Ravkan prince. She was perfectly happy with her unmarried status, thank you very much, especially with Hanne still finding their sea legs in the churning waters of politics.
Against her better judgment, she was prowling the Crow Club, intent on dragging Kaz out of whatever hole he’d buried himself in. That was the suspicious part. When Kaz didn’t want to be found, you could tear Ketterdam apart brick by brick and still come up empty, and that was assuming he was even in the city. But she heard Anika's words that Kaz went to the Crow Club just hours ago. He wasn't hiding, just managing to avoid her like she carried the plague. And the mood of every dreg she passed sagged under more than the usual Brekker-brand gloom. She could chalk it up to him sulking without Inej, but even that didn’t quite fit. Saints, shouldn’t he be happier knowing the Wraith was due back after a week?
The club had grown since her last visit. Richer, more ornate. She’d heard about the expansions and the flood of profits after the fake plague, but seeing it was another thing entirely. Velvet curtains in the private rooms, the shine of black lacquer catching the lamplight, and the faint perfume of expensive tobacco curling in the air. Tourists with deep pockets and deeper arrogance lounged at the tables, laughing too loudly, drinking too much. Still, more space meant more corners to search. She started with the private parlours.
The first parlour she checked was empty, and so was the second. But the third, a single man, was in the corner. At first glance, her heart gave a little stutter, thinking she didn't search long as she expected. Same dark hair, the same stillness Kaz carried when he was plotting the ruin of someone’s week. But the longer she looked, the more the likeness frayed from this man.
His coat was plain and a little too big, the sort of thing bought second-hand and worn until the seams gave out. No cards on the table. No drink in front of him. Not even the distracted look of someone waiting for a game to start. He was just… sitting.
Nina drifted closer, curiosity pricking. The light from the wall sconces caught on the pale stretch of his gloves — white, and long enough to disappear beneath his sleeves. Latex? In Ketterdam? His face was lean, almost hollowed, the skin marked with the faint constellation of old pox scars.
“What’s a man like you doing in a place like this?” she asked, tilting her head. “No cards, no kruge, not even a glass of cheap whiskey to keep you company.”
The man looked up then, and if he was startled, he hid it behind a polite, almost courtly nod. “Ah.” His voice was quiet, but sure.
“I’m waiting for Mr. Brekker.”
Nina arched her brow. Of all the things she’d expected, that wasn’t it.
Up close, the man’s health read to her like a page left out in the rain. Damaged, blurred edges, parts missing. Bones too light beneath skin that had gone papery-thin. Lungs are working harder than they ought to. By rights, he should have been flat on his back in some sickroom. Instead, he sat here, upright and breathing, as if stubbornness alone was keeping him tethered.
For a heartbeat, she wondered if this was why Kaz had been slipping out of sight. Some shadow deals, some private business with clients who didn’t belong in the Barrel. But nothing about this man said merchant, or smuggler, or anyone who knew how to bargain in Ketterdam’s dark. No rings on his fingers. No guarded tension in his shoulders. Not even a gambler’s twitch in his hands.
Just waiting.
“And how long have you been waiting?” she asked, letting her weight fall against the edge of the table. “Because our Mr. Brekker isn’t exactly known for social calls.”
“Only for a moment. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring my watch here,” he responded politely, and Nina couldn’t help the little curl of a smile. Kaz Brekker did not keep people waiting. Not if he wanted to see them.
She slid into the chair opposite, resting an elbow on the table as if they were old acquaintances. “And he’s kept you this long?”
The man’s eyes narrowed just enough to notice. “What’s your connection to him?”
“Old coworker,” Nina said smoothly, plucking at a nonexistent thread on her sleeve. “We share a fondness for money and a distaste for being lied to. You?”
“I’m a medik.” The way he said it was matter-of-fact, but something in his posture shifted, maybe pride. “Here for… a possible position.”
Her brows went up. “Field work? Or more the patch-them-up-before-they-bleed-on-the-rugs variety?”
He gave a half-shrug. “Both, if needed.”
Nina studied him. The gloves, the pox scars, the faint rasp to his breathing. He looked like he’d spent years breathing other people’s sickness. She half-expected him to cough up disinfectant or embalming fluids if she was being honest. There were no hints to reveal this man as a grisha. Not that she could read liars’ heartbeats anymore. That telltale shift in breath, the little betrayals of the body, were lost to her now. But if her guess was right, he’d heal with needle and bone-saw, not with grisha powers.
Was Kaz recruiting mediks now? Because she wasn’t here? Then why a normal medik and not a replacement Healer or Heartender?
“Excuse me.” The stranger's words broke her out of her reverie. The man glanced toward the door. “Do you know the time?”
“Not exactly. But why?”
“We were meant to meet at two bells.”
Nina leaned back. Two bells. She’d left the Slat well after that. Kaz Brekker late, on purpose. And to a meeting in his club. She didn’t like that at all.
“No. Unfortunately, I don't. I do make excellent company, though.” She replied with smooth grace. Technically, it was true. There were no windows placed on the Crow Club, nor any clocks visible to the patrons. Nothing to remind patrons how much of their lives and kruge they were bleeding away at the tables. If this man was kept late by Brekker himself, he was either not worth the trouble, or purposely being tested out. Depended on whether Kaz arrives or not.
The stranger’s gaze flicked past her shoulder, and she didn’t have to turn to know why. Hmm, so Kaz did show up.
“Well, speak of the Demjin,” Nina murmured, lips curving. “And he shall appear.”
Kaz Brekker stood in the doorway, all black coat and sharper shadows, his gaze moving from her to the man across the table and back again.
"Zenik," Kaz gave a curt nod like he hadn't been hiding under the shadows outside, even from her and Matthias.
“I'm busy,” he stated flatly, the words as final as a slammed door. “We’ll talk later,” he continued, as if that explained everything.
Nina leaned back in her seat, feigning thoughtfulness. “You know, I’m practically qualified to assess a medik. I could save you the trouble.” Her smile flicked toward the stranger, easy and sharp. She didn’t bother to mention her Heartrender training. Not in front of the stranger. It wasn’t for him to know. Power or no power, she’d been raised a soldier. She could still spot steady hands. The kind that didn’t shake when the blood started flowing.
“No.” The word cracked out like the snap of his cane on the floor. “This is private.”
Well, that was expected. Brekker had a gift for slotting people neatly into their uses, but she’d thought he might at least let her help roast a pleb.
“Private,” she echoed, drawing the syllables out. “Saints, Kaz, you make it sound illicit.”
He didn’t so much as blink.
She stood, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt. “Fine. I’ll leave you to your… appointment.” Her eyes slid to the man, still sitting, still polite in his gloves. “But you know I’m going to ask Matthias about this, and Jesper, and Wylan. And anyone else who might enjoy a good mystery.”
Kaz’s jaw didn’t move, but she could feel the weight of his glare to the door.
Nina debated lingering behind to eavesdrop on what made this interview so discreet. But she knew there was no escaping Kaz’s perception. The whole thing was odd. She didn’t have a velvet-chair interview when he recruited her from the White Rose. But a non-Grisha, a plain medik, summoned so formally except he was kept waiting? That was deliberate.
Speculation gnawed at her, and Nina Zenik already knew she’d solve this mystery, whether Kaz liked it or not.