𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

47

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A L L  I N
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WHY DID YOU STAY, FETA?

Feta had been up since sunrise, and now the next one was just hours away, with plenty of work still to be done. But it felt good. Better than sitting on a cushy seat watching the ocean, waiting for her ass to go numb.

Instead she could work a midnight shift closing up the Crow Club, dealing with the soggiest of the old sods that were leftover while she took stock, all the while knowing her night wasn't even done after that. There was still her conference with Kaz to look forward to, a debrief on the merchant she'd been tasked to watch and chat up in between sets at the fundraiser Owen Marshall booked her for. Or had Kaz pulled the strings for this one?

At first it was luck, and then luck was nothing more than one of the many disguises of Kaz Brekker. Kaz saw opportunity like other people saw color, and ever since Jesper had introduced Dirtyhands to the Siren, a suspicious amount of Feta's bookings were located in high-end areas or were promised audiences that overlapped with places and people Kaz wanted to know about. The boy had a way of slipping papers onto both the desks of prospective clients and Marshall without any interference even needed from Feta.

The stages Kaz picked were more fun anyway.

Feta was pleased to see Rotty on door-duty tonight. She cranked her smile up a couple degrees.

Rotty began with a gruff smile of his own but it quickly morphed into a puzzled frown. "'Ello, Miss Feta. You didn't walk here all—?"

"By my poor, unsuspecting lonesome?" Feta finished, smile still in tact. "Just a midnight stroll, Rotty, no harm in that."

Inherently, that was a lie. But Feta kept to the well-illuminated Staves, and when she had to make the inland trek from the theaters along the Lid to the Crow Club, she either let herself get swept up with the flowing crowds or kept close to the canals that cut through the city. She made a game out of dancing around the pitiful scams of those who mistook her for a pigeon. And her association with the Dregs was distant enough at this point where neighboring gangs only knew her as a bartender with big dreams. She was a distraction, certainly, and a little odd even for the Barrel, but there was no proof she had any hand in the petty crimes that afflicted her audience.

People simply liked Feta. Few wanted to harm her, but those who did all had one thing in common: they underestimated her.

Low expectations made it so much easier for Feta to sink them in the canal.

The Siren was no one to be worried about. Really, she was just a girl in over her head.

Rotty shook his head. "Say the word and I'll talk to Kaz about sending you an escort."

Feta thought fondly to her latest blade lesson with Kaz, to the small knife strapped comfortably to a sheath on her thigh. Her first kill had been a drowning, but it wasn't wise to always rely on your secrets. "Seriously, Rotty, I'm good. I appreciate the concern though."

• • •

Perhaps an hour out from sunrise, Kaz made an appearance, stalking through the hall's thinning crowds looking like night incarnate. In turn, Feta's smile was the dawn, brightening the room and the faces of those around her.

Although Feta had been lucky enough to enjoy the company of those she'd been scheduled with, the last bartender was on their way out. Of course Feta could charm whoever she was with and adjust accordingly, but things were always easier with Jesper around, and on nights like tonight when Jesper was out on some odd job or blowing his meager earnings at another gambling hall, Kaz would do. He would never call them friends but Feta found it amusing nonetheless.