A Searing Burst of Light

Kribirsk, East Ravka

A WALL OF DARKNESS SPLIT RAVKA IN TWO. A tear in reality, full of monsters. Children were raised on stories of those monsters. Like the boogeyman — be careful and behave or the volcra will get you. Except the volcra were real.

Once Vasya Krupin feared these monsters. When he was little he'd run to his mother as soon as night fell. Where she'd assure nothing really lurked out here.  They were in the Royal Palace. Nothing could hurt them there. It was the same thing Vasya would tell Ivan, Aleksi, Victoriya, and Petyr when the time came. There were monsters in the Fold, but it was only in the Fold, and if they're lucky they will never face it.

That wasn't what ended Vasya's fear. Instead it was when he learned that volcra weren't the worst monsters Ravka faced. They weren't the enemies they were constantly throwing their children to in an unending war. They weren't the king watching over his shoulder, ready to punish Vasya and his mother for the man's own repulsive behavior. Volcra were mindless monsters under the control of hunger and the need to survive. The countries closing in at Ravka's boarder, ready to crush them at any second, and the royalty that used their people as shields against them had no such excuse. At least the volcra had a reason for trying to eat him.

It didn't make Vasya comfortable around the Fold, however.

He stared out at the sea of people between him and the darkness. Workers were preparing the dry docks. Fires flashed as grisha from the Second Army practiced in their sprawling training areas. The inferni were the most flashy from a distance, but Vasya was certain tidemakers and squallers were with them, along with the healers and heartrenders in their red keftas. Their bright clothes made them stand out in the browns and blacks of the First Army's ragged uniforms. Nice and crisp in comparison. The difference was sharp.

Sitting on a nearby hill, above it all, Vasya almost didn't find them intimidating. Little points in a cloud of points. Nothing scary when he wasn't part of it. Almost...interesting.

Vasya's attention went back to the letters in his lap. Almost at once his hair fell in his face. He grumbled and pushed it back, cursing himself for not tying it back before he left. But the tent had been particularly crushing. He just wanted out.

The letter was not from his mother, but his step-father. Nothing special had happened so far. His siblings missed him. Victoriya in particular was upset, now only having her 'immature brothers' to play with. Vasya laughed when he read that. Immature. Ivan and Aleksi were older than her, nine and seven respectively, and even that wouldn't change the fact she was only six herself. But, yes, she was a grown woman. Practically. According to herself. Meanwhile, Aleksi wanted a new scarf and Petyr had finally started sleeping by himself. Good.

"Vasiliy!" Someone shouted from down the kill. Vasya startled. Dubrov, with Mikhael close behind. Mal's friends. "Vasiliy! I need need your to loan me money."

"Don't you dare, Vasya!" Mikhael interrupted. The two came to a stop in front of him. "See, I called him Vasya. So he likes me more, so he won't give you any...right?"

Dubrov groaned. Vasya pulled a face as he tried to smother his laughter. There was no personal dislike for his full name. Only the fact he suspected the king might be offended at a bastard sharing the name of his eldest, proper, son. Yet Vasya was Vasya for so long it was how he introduced himself, and now Dubrov and Mikhael seemed convinced he had a personal reason for preferring it. And, more importantly, that his favor depending on which they used.

"What happened this time?" Vasya asked.

"Nothing happened," Dubrov protested.

"He only wasted all his money betting on fights," Mikhael said. In a conspiratorial stage whisper, he added, "And losing."

"Ah." Vasya nodded.

"Don't ah," Dubrov slapped Mikhael's shoulder. "See what you've done? Now he won't believe me!"

"About?"

"Mal's fighting. And I thought, you know, it'd sort of be a good friend thing to do to bet on him..." Dubrov shrugged.

"A good friend thing," Vasya raised an eyebrow. "Which also involves the one friend that always wins?"

Mikhael motioned vaguely in front of him, an I said that gesture, and snorted. It earned him another slap to the shoulder. Dubrov sulked about how he was a very supportive friend who did not only bet on his friends when he thought they would get him big winnings, thank you very much. The conversation ended when they spotted Mal in the distance, an arm around a girl's shoulder. At once the two ran off to meet him. Vasya sighed, tucked the letter into his coat's pocket, and wondered after them.

As always, the three spoke with enthusiasm. It was why Vasya liked them. Normally they might be too energetic, but they also weren't the sort to force Vasya into conversation. He never had to talk when with them. They did enough for a hundred extra men, let alone one.

Mal spotted Vasya a moment before he met them. He grinned.

"There you are! I was just about to find you," Mal motioned towards Vasya. "Alina, this Vasya Krupin. I told you about him."

"He's the smart one," Dubrov added.

"Hey!" Mikhael protested. "I'm plenty smart, too."

"You really are," Mal agreed. Then gave Vasya and Dubrov an eye roll. He proceed to motioned to them as he said, "Dubrov, Mikhael, this is Alina."

Alina was a Shu girl, black hair in a bun and dressed in a First Army uniform. She smiled at them. An awkward smile Vasya knew well — the I'm uncomfortable but don't want to be rude smile. Which was why he kept himself to a small wave. As if he'd ever do more in the first place.

They'd heard about Alina Starkov. Of course they did. An orphan like Mal, also from Keramzin, she was pretty much the closest thing he had to family. Where Vasya communicated almost constantly with a rather large family, and Dubrov and Mikhael occasionally got letter from home, Mal just had...Alina. It was a surprise they hadn't met before. Probably because she was a cartographer and...well...Vasya avoided meeting new people. It was scary.

Already he was worrying she might not like him. What would happen then?

"Your little friend from Keramzin," Mikhael leaned over, pointing towards Alina. "This is her?"

"'Little Friend?'" Alina turned to Mal, clearly offended.

"How is that wrong?" Mal laughed.

"It's probably just because you're shorter than us," Vasya offered. Then mentally slapped himself. Definitely sounded rude. He quickly added, "Though Mikhael's about your height, and I've been told I'm rather tall, so that doesn't really mean your short."

Alina squinted at him. Vasya quickly turned to Mal for cover. The most Mal managed to do was force his wince into a grin, mouth 'good job', and give a quick thumbs up. Fantastic. Maybe nature would take pity on him and smite him where he stood. Until then, Vasya did his best to smile through the embarrassment.

"Hey, wait a second. You said you told her about Vasya. But not us?" Dubrov gave Mal a look of mock offense.

"Yeah what's that about? Picking favorites, are we? What's he say?" Mikhael cupped a hand over his ear and motioned for Alina to move closer. "You can tell me, I'm good with secrets."

"Is that why you told everyone —"

"Shhh!"

A horn blared in the distance. Instantly Mal took the chance to run off. Vasya let out a sigh of relief when it was enough of a distraction to change the subject. He turned to Alina. The girl had huddled into her shoulder. Now she she left them.

"Sorry about them. They're...enthusiastic," Vasya offered.

"I can tell," Alina said.

"But they're nice."

Having been left behind, it was up to Vasya to lead Alina to the meeting tent. It had been moved to give the grisha more space for training. They talked a little as they walked. As it was, Vasya wasn't one for talking. Alina didn't seem to be either. Instead they both stared at the ground in front of them. The silence was awkward at first. Then Vasya realized Alina wasn't waiting for him to talk and relaxed. Alina did the same. They arrived, unfortunately, to a rowdy crowd. Both winced.

But Alina's gaze wasn't on the crowd, Vasya realized. It was behind the general. A large banner hung at the opposite wall. A back square, with a white boarder and a stylized Shu face in the corner. A big bloody red hand print marked the center. Vasya looked between the girl and the anti-Shu propaganda.

The general was talking as they arrived. Vasya shouldered his way through the crowd, careful to keep them from closing before Alina could follow. He meant to find the others. Instead, Mal found him.

"Are you alright?" Mal asked.

"Oh, of course, why wouldn't I be?" Vasya said, quickly. His voice broke. Actually he felt like he was being crushed, but did that really matter? He turned to Alina. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Definitely alright." Alina nodded. Her expression was exactly what Vasya felt.

"I know it's crowded. You could probably stand by the edge if you want," Mal said with a shrug. "Just assignments."

The general's topic came to the trip across the Fold. They only succeed to raise tension. Some were please by what the possibilities meant. New supplies, of course, very fun, but it also means some had to go with the grisha. They couldn't make the trip on their own. Not enough to spare. Vasya held his breath. He prayed silently to whatever Saint that would listen for no one he knew to get set.

"'Nothing to fear,'" Mal whispered to them. His tone was teasing. Vasya didn't know how he could be so cheerful. "'I will not being selecting name for what I call the nightmare lottery.'"

Alina snickered. Vasya found little humor in the comment, but Mal turned to him with an expectant look, so he managed at least a smile.

"Sergeant Yure Teplov," the general started. "Tracker Malyen Oretsev. Corporal Masyelentov."

And it continued on as such. Vasya missed everyone who came after. Mal turned again, his expression going from light-hearted to stricken.

"It has to be an error. It has to be," Mal insisted.

"How—how would they make that error?" Vasya said.

"I don't know."

"Didn't sound like an error, Mal," Alina interrupted.

They were dismissed. There was no mistake. Mal was crossing the Fold. Alone.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Ketterdam, Island of Kerch

KETTERDAM WAS A PLACE OF EXTREMES. A place that could make or destroy you. Some came to its shores and clawed their way to the top. Others were hauled in to be soled like cattle (though technically slavery was illegal in Kerch.) Pigeons flooded Ketterdam, the Barrel in particularly, intent on pleasure. Some left with exactly what they wanted. Some stumbled away with wounded pride and a heavy debt. Some...well, some never left at all. Willingly or not.

Borge Larsen was lucky. His extended stay had been of his own accord.

When Borge had joined the Dregs, they'd been a sad little lot. Barely a player on the grand stage that was the Barrel, running small scams and surviving off of pick-pocketing. Per Haskell liked to think they were good back then, back when he was fully in charge, but but there was a reason they'd been desperate enough to pick up Borge at the time. Almost all street brats, they were happy to have a trained fighter, even if it meant teaching him Kerch and the laws of the land.

Of course, wording it like that make it sound like Borge had anything to do with the Dregs's sudden rise to prominence. Which wasn't true. And unlike some people, Borge wasn't enough of an arrogant heel to claim it was. Their success all came down to one man (kid, really) — Kaz Brekker.

Though Borge was happy to point out that he was one of Kaz's first recruits, and trust with important jobs. When he wasn't just...watching the doors at the Crow Club.

It had to be the worst job possible. Sure, Fifth Harbor meant sitting around on freezing cold docks and hoping some naive pigeon came your way. Pretty miserable. But at least you where surrounded by other miserable people and, well, misery loves company. You froze your ass off but you did it together. Meanwhile Borge got to sit around and watch everyone else have fun. Sure he probably wouldn't spend money on any other than drinks. Such thing really lost their spark when you knew exactly how they were meant to play you, but it wasn't about actually doing it. It was about having the option do. It was about having fun.

Not sitting around like a glorified door stopper.

But, alas, here Borge was. He'd been given the typical Fjerdan looks — tall, blonde, well built — which was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, good looks, dimples, and a cheerful demeanor had won him many admirers. On the other...well, it meant the rotten luck of getting stuck playing the role of Scary Fjerdan all the time. Kaz Brekker didn't care that Borge could charm anyone to hell and back, he just wanted him to stand by the door and look angry.

Ugh. Whatever.

Sometimes it for interesting. Like the time Borge got to kick a man's teeth in for annoying too many of their female guests. Or when he confiscated a rather interesting book-spyglass combo someone had been using to cheat it. Or the multitude of grisha that had put up a fight when he'd had to kick them out (they were allowed in, of course, but often ended up removed due to using their powers to rig games.) Most of the time, thought, it was as it was at the moment. Just people coming and going with nothing suspicious at all.

Meanwhile, Jesper had ditched his part of the job to go play cards. Typical. Jesper. Not that Borge was too mad. He'd get his comeuppance when Kaz realized he'd left his post, which as always could be promptly rubbed in his face.

There was a bang. Gunfire. Borge startled and prepared for a fight. It would certainly liven up his day.

Instead he just found Jesper, smoking gun in hand. Borge picked his way over to the table. A man stared red faced at a coin on the table. It smoked, a hole blown right through it.

"Busted," Jesper twirled the gun in his hand before reholstering it.

"What does that prove?" The man said.

He mean to sound casual. Borge could see sweat on his brown. He tilted his head at Jesper, who nodded. Silent agreement achieve, Borge hooked his arms under one of rhe man's.

"Sorry, buddy," Borge beamed at the man as he hauled him to his feet. The man screamed and flailed to no avail. "Real shame. Maybe try bringing real money next time, ja?"

"I didn't do anything! My money is good!" The man cried. He continued to struggled. Seemed annoyed an eighteen year old could hold himself.

They always were. But age and size had nothing on training. The man probably never fought in his life, Borge trained for six years to seize and capture. Plus, he was drunk. He reeked of it. Almost laughed. He actually did when he glanced over his shoulder to see Kaz, as expected, chewing Jesper out and sending him back to the door. Not even a single game. Shame.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Kirbirsk, East Ravka

THE HOUR UNTIL DINNER SEEMED TO DISAPPEAR. Vasya couldn't focus. How could he? Mal was supposed to cross the Fold. He knew it wasn't a death sentence. Plenty of soldiers had crossed multiple times. They kept track with marks across their arms, and some had more than Vasya could comprehend. But for every one that lived, three died. For every successful crossing even more disappeared and was never recovered. Everyone had horror stories to share.

Mal tried to keep everyone happy. He joked about visiting Ketterdam and how he'd get them gifts when he returned. Yet not even Mal could pretend he wasn't concerned. People liked to say he was scared of nothing. Mal certainly played into that idea, and to some extent that was true, but this wasn't the situation to prove it.

The line for food stretched well into the camp. And that was only for the First Army, as the Second had their own set up. Vasya had come late. He'd hoped that would put him at the back. Yet he still ended up with a line behind him, much to his discomfort. Lines were the worst. No one ever seemed to understand how they worked. Vasya would have preferred at least an arms length away, yet as soon as someone showed up they pressed as close to him as possible. Meanwhile, the person in front of him made no attempts to step forwards — mainly because they couldn't. No space for them either.

It was like they were attempting to squeeze him out of the line.

The approached the counter at a painful crawl. Steam filled the tent from the cooking, leaving a humid and sticky air. And still Vasya was hungry enough that the slop being dumped on their plate almost looked satisfying. Even as it plopped onto his plate in a sad little blob.

"What's a Shu girl doing here?"

The line halted. Vasya had just stepped out and now found himself turning to see what had happened. Alina had taken his place. Except her plate was still empty. People whispered further down the line. Tension spread through the crowd.

"I'm Ravkan. On the cartography team," Alina said.

The cook only stared.

"She's half-Shu," said the boy next in line. "An orphan."

"That's not an answer," the cook glared at Alina. "Back of the line. Your friends, too."

A panicked look was shared among the cartography team. Alina quickly denied knowing them, so at least they would get their dinner. Before she could throw down her plate, Vasya stepped forwards. He didn't know why he did it. Just that one second he was watching and the next he'd dumped his dinner onto Alina's plate. The girl's eyes widened.

"You can have it," Vasya said. He could feel his face burn as people stared. Idiot. "I'm not really hungry, anyway. More tired. Have a nice dinner."

Alina opened her mouth. Maybe to thank him. Maybe to denying the help for any variety of reasons. Vasya didn't hear because he'd already left. Turned and hurried through the crowd, head down. Everyone went back to normal. No one even noticed him leave — or so it seemed — yet somehow it seemed like everyone was staring at him.

The sleeping tent was thankfully less busy. A few people, asleep. Vasya picked through the bodies and came to his own cot. He tucked his letter under his pillow. His fingers brushed what was already under there. Enough letters he could feel them through the thin pillow. It was almost like his family was there with him. Vasya squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to the rumble of the Fold in the distance. At least, he thought, he wasn't the one who had to enter it.

That was just Mal.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Ketterdam, Island of Kerch

"THE FOLD? If I knew safe passage through that, I'd wealthier than the whole Merchant Council."

"Nah, there's no trick to it. Except, how it makes people disappear from time to time."

"Just go around."

"Either you take your time or you take your chance."

The message was always the same. There was no safe way through the Fold and no fast way around it. Of course, Kaz never said why they needed across the Fold. Just that it was for a job. It was exactly the kind of vagueness Borge had come to expect from Kaz. By now he was use to it. A part of him was a little annoyed. Another part, a bigger one, was buzzing with excitement. The plot would unfold as it unfolded. All Borge had to do was wait.

They sat in the Crow Club, in a spot as close to private as one could get. Borge leaned on the table between them, head propped up on his palm. The others collected in the booth. Kaz had sent out a messenger (to find someone called X, of all thing. Silly name in Borge's opinion.) Until a response arrived, they would plot.

"Here's what I don't get," Jesper started.

"We're going to be here all night," Inej muttered. She twirled knife he had valence against the table.

"Rude."

"Unfortunately, Jesper, we can't all be attractive and smart," Borge said. "Kaz and Inej are smart, while you and I are attractive. It's why we're such a good team."

Kaz moved his attention from the head of his cane to glare at Borge. Borge just grinned and batted his eyes. It was true, wasn't it? He wasn't one to brag, but...well, he meant to say but he and Jesper were carrying the looks department. Except he corrected himself halfway through. Inej was pretty in her own, very severe way. It was just Kaz dragging the collective looks down. They'd have to talk about that. Maybe get him a hair cut. At this point it might do to just shave the whole thing off and start over.

"I choose to be flattered. Back to the point," Jesper interrupted. "Why haven't they tried under it? Just dig a tunnel."

"Tried that. More than a century ago. Something..." Kaz paused. "Heard them digging."

Borge hissed. Yeah. He didn't need to think hard to figure how that one went, did he?

"It was made hundreds of years ago by that crazy Grisha..." Jesper continued.

"The Black Heretic," Inej said.

"Yeah, the one who controls shadow," Jesper agreed. "They've got one in their army now, don't they? General Kirigan?"

Two now, actually. Not big news, since the second could barely be considered more than a child, but something that had been passed about. Borge scowled. He didn't mean to. Living in Ketterdam, knowing a few grisha personally and meeting even more every day, did a good job of kicking any anti-grisha sentiment out of him awhile back. But the Black Heretic and his lot could unnerve even the grisha themselves. Unlike their small sciences, whatever had created the Fold truly earned the name of witchcraft. They were the monsters Fjerdan parents warned about. The poster children of what they were supposed to exterminate.

Where all grisha evil? No. Far from it. But the Heretic was. His lineage was likely the same.

"If one of his kind made it, can't he unmake it?" Jesper said.

"Yeah!" Borge perked up. "You know, like, take the shadows and...move it somewhere else."

It sounded a lot more reasonable in his head.

"Have you ever put out fire by adding more fire?" Inej asked.

Well...no. Borge shrugged. He wasn't the idea guy, okay? He was the look good and kick ass guy.

"Then what's the opposite?" Jesper asked.

"A sun summoner."

"Right, then, one of those."

"Doesn't exist," Kaz interrupted.

The group turned to look at him. Borge thought he caught a flicker of something across Inej's face. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't joy. The Ravkan saints were all she had left of her former life in Ravka, and she cared for them deeply. Even named her knives after them. The sun summoner, a mythical grisha that would one day tear down the Fold, was part of that. Borge doubted Kaz's hardline refusal to believe make Inej particularly happy. Which he got. He'd personally be pissed if, for example, Kaz started calling Djel Magic Tree Man or something.

"Doesn't exist yet," Inej corrected.

"It could be possible," Borge added. Inej gave him a grateful look. "I mean, I'm sure awhile back they'd be saying the same thing about shadow summoners."

Kaz ignored both of them.

"Dreesen comes into town, doesn't waste a minute. Sends out for a crew to steal something but doesn't specify what," Kaz said. He leaned forwards. "What, is it heavy, is it large, is it worth more than a million on the black market? Maybe he doesn't know."

"We can let this one go, Kaz," Inej said.

"Sounds like a trap, anyway," Jesper said. He picked up his glass for a drink.

"A trap would sound easy," Kaz corrected. Foot steps approached and Kaz's gaze drifted over his shoulder. Borge turned to see a messenger approaching. "It's something else."

"We intercepted a note from Dreesen," the man said.

"Did you now?"

"It's for the owner of the Orchid. Says they require the services of a heartrender. Tonight."

"A heartrender?" Kaz glanced at the rest of the group. They were all thinking the same thing. "Why?"

"Doesn't say. Just they need it before midnight," the man said.

There was a long pause as Kaz thought.

"You don't bring in a heartrender unless you need answer out of someone who isn't willing to talk," Kaz stood. "That's how we get this job before anyone else. Bring Dreesen a heartrender."

"Boss, just one problem," the man interrupted when Kaz started to leave. "Pekka Rollins knows."

A shadow fell across Kaz's face. He stormed off at once. Sounded like they had some competition.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Kirbirsk, East Ravka

THE PEOPLE WERE SILENT WHEN THE CARRIAGE ARRIVED. An ornate black lacquered box, drawn by shadowed horses. Men on horseback road ahead and behind. People had many names for the man inside. The Darkling. The Black General. General Kirigan. Shadow Summoner. 

Esfir, she called him Father.

In secret, of course, in her mind. General Kirigan was the leader of the Second Army before he was her father. He was her general first. Family second. Esfir didn't look at him as their carriage rattled along the muddied path. Instead she leaned on the window and stared out into the crowd. Kirigan did the same, eyes kept straight forward. They never talked when they traveled. This was business. More important than small talk. Nothing to be said anyway. Neither were particularly talkative people.

No one seemed happy to see them. They never were. Grisha were disposed. Unique among them, shadow summoners were even more so.

It was the first time Esfir had come along to the front. Most of her time was spent with Baghra in the Little Palace, or in her father's war room. Too dangerous for both to leave safety. Fjerda might get ideas and try to take out all the shadow summoners at once. Except, apparently, this was different. This launch was important enough that Esfir had to be there to witness it.

Why? Who knew. Only General Kirigan. Esfir pretended she understood, because if she asked General Kirigan might get the idea she wasn't ready after all.

They climbed out of the carriage. Esfir missed the first step and nearly fell down it. She winced and righted herself. By her luck, the general was more busy getting entail to notice. Everyone was. Esfir tugged on her kefta to straighten it and started forwards.

Like all shadow summoners — all one of them — Esfir dressed in all black. Even the embroidery, usually colored to signify where in their order the grisha stood, was dark. It was never her favorite choice. It stood out compared to the other etherealki. General Kirigan always said to be proud that they were different from even other grisha, but Esfir found it a little hard to believe at time. It didn't help that the paleness of her complexion only made the dark clothes stand out more. White skin, white hair, pitch black clothes.

The sand skiff was being prepared as they arrived. Grisha funneled onto the deck. First Army soldiers joined them. This new skiff, made to extra light and as such faster, had earned them extra help from the military's other half.

Esfir stared into the Fold. There was something wrong with the shadows that made up the creation. When surrounded by normal shadows, she felt right at home. Safe and welcoming. That wasn't the case with the Fold. It's darkness seemed...hostile. It rebelled against Esfir's powers, raging against the idea of being controlled. Not just that, it seemed mad directly at her.

"Esfir," General Kirigan called. Esfir turned to face him. "We're needed in position for the skiff's launch."

Of course. Esfir followed her father further up the hill, where they would have a better vantage point. A strong wind whipped past. The squallers had begun summoning to move the skiff. It creaked as it lurched forwards. Then, in what felt like mere seconds, it disappeared into the wall of darkness. Everything seemed to be going as planned.

That was until a light grew. A blinding, golden light...from in the depths of the Fold.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Ketterdam, Kerch

THEY TOOK THE ORCID'S HEARTRENDER. Just to knock Pekka Rollins' let's out from under him. If he wanted to try the same trick, he'd have to find a new one, while they got the easily available one.

Her name was Milana. She was Ravkan, like most grisha. She had been a little weary when Borge showed up. After a bit of a chat he'd won her over. As it turned out she quite liked complaining about her job. All the rude customers and people who didn't respect her talent. Borge nodded sympathetically. He imagined it was a hard job. Sure grisha weren't weakened but using powers, the opposite in fact, but he'd seen how workers were treated in the Barrel. Especially in places like the Orchid. Far too much disrespect and entitlement.

As they walked, Milana began to grow unnerved. They were reaching the limit of her time. More importantly, they were beginning to seem...suspicious. Borge's friendly talk and nice smile could only cover so much.

"I really appreciate new business, but you've only paid for an hour of my time, and I have to be back at the Orchid," Milana said. She hurried behind Kaz, who kept ahead of all of them even with a bad leg.

"We know, we know," Borge assured in the kindest, least condescending tone. "If your boss get's mad at you being late, we'll tell him it's all our fault."

"Because it is."

"Because it is," Borge agreed. What? The woman wasn't wrong.

"The Orchid isn't safe tonight," Kaz interrupted. "Your life's in danger with this job. Make yourself scarce for a few days afterwards."

"Mr.Brekker, are you threatening me? Really?" Milana asked, her tone indignant. "Even if I am nice, my boss will call the stadwatch on you."

That Borge had to snort at. The stadwatch. Catching Kaz Brekker. He'd like to see them try. They couldn't even catch normal criminals.

"It's not me you're in danger with. It's Pekka Rollins," Kaz corrected.

They came to a stop. Through the darkness, on the other side of an iron gate, Borge could make out a large building. A merchant's house for certain.

"My boss would call the stadwatch on him as well."

"Which is why your boss is already dead."

The woman paled as Kaz approached the gate. Borge held out an arm. She leaned on it heavily. Someone, clearly, had not been in the Barrel long. Milana had his sympathies. As one who naturally tried to help others, Borge had learned the hard way that people in Ketterdam did not function as people in the rest of the world did. For example: normal old ladies thanked you for helping them across the road. Ketterdam old ladies shanked you and stole your valuables — and probably weren't real old ladies to begin with.

Kaz tossed a over the gate. The guard let them pass.

"Hey, where did you get that coin?" Jesper asked as they caught up.

The answer came in the form of the man shouting about a hole in his money. Kaz smirked as Borge and Jesper shared a knowing look. Wonder how that one happened. They laughed as they were hurried inside.

A man was sitting at a desk when they entered. Dreesden, Borge suspected. He certainly looked very merchant-like. Whatever that meant. Also Borge was pretty sure he'd pick pocketed the guy once. Silent prayers he was either wrong or Dreesen had a very, very bad memory. He took one look at the group and instantly looked very unimpressed.

"One look and I can tell. Criminals," Dreesden said. He pointed at them accusingly.

"Rude," Borge muttered. "I mean, you're right, but you don't have to say it like that."

"I'm not meeting anyone 'til midnight."

"We heard you needed a heartrender," Kaz said.

Dreesen got to his feet. He squinted at Milana over Kaz's shoulders. It was a testament to the pressure she was under that the woman stepped behind Borge when he did. Not that he complained. They got her into the mess, might as well protect her.

"All right, she stays, the rest of you, out," Dreesden decided.

Milana started forwards. In a second Kaz threw out his cane, stopping her in her tracks. She froze. And swallowed nervously.

"She stays," Kaz said. "And we have an exclusive of this job."

"Mr.Brekker. No business man worth his salt hires his first applicant," Dreesden scolded.

He does, Borge thought, when it's the best one he'll get. He kept his mouth shut, though, even as Dreesden came around his table to face them. Best not the scare off their ticket to a million kruge.

"No. No, I understand," Kaz said. He paused for effect. "Of course, I will have to report you to the guild for kidnapping and harboring a prisoner without chain of title."

Jesper reached for his gun. Following his line of sight, Borge spotted the man who lead them in doing the same. He braced himself. Not that he expected Jesper to be out shot. Just that being prepared for a fight is always good.

"You wouldn't," Dreesden said. Didn't sound too confident.

"No businessman worth his salt," Kaz echoed, "Bargins for what he can take."

Dreesden stepped forwards, hands rolled behind his back. He stared Kaz in the eye. Kaz stared back. It seemed, for the first time, he was really seeing them.

Milana slowly raised her hand.

"I have to be back in a hour," she said weakly. Inej glanced at her. Or, more specifically, the tattoo on her exposed wrist.

Dreesden relented. He went past them, and they followed him into another room. It was down the stairs and built like a bunker. In the center was a figure on a chair. They were slumped over, a bag pulled over their head. Borge inhaled sharply. He knew there was someone. Why else the heartrender? It didn't quite prepare him for the wave of pity that hit when Dreesden pulled off the bag to reveal a battered face, about their age.

"This is Alexei Stepanov," Dreesden said. Alexei gasped for air as he watched them. "Two weeks ago, young Alexei here crossed through the Fold on foot. Alone."

"How?" Inej asked.

"They're keeping it quiet," Dreesden pour himself somethinf to drink. Alexei watched him closely. "But allegedly he was one of a few witnesses to...an event."

Alexei groaned for water. On instinct Borge moved to get it for him, but Inej was closer. She collected a cup for him, ignored Dreesden's sour look, and went to Alexei. She bent so he could drink. Inej kept a hand cupped under his chin to avoid dripping.

"What kind of event?" Kaz asked.

"I know an expedition was swarmed by volcra. Should've been a total loss, but something happened," Dreesden took a drink of his own glass. "Some device detonated. Obliterated the volcra, lit up the dark like a forest fire. I know it wasn't a fire, or else no one would have survived. This was some invention no one had seen before."

Dreesden put down his glass.

"He knows. But he doesn't seem to be able to articulate his account of events. Some form of traumatic lapse. So..."

Milana approached. She took Inej's spot and lifted Alexei's hand into her own. She pressed her fingers against his palm and ran it towards his wrist. At once his expression softened and the tension left his body. Heartrending.

"Now you can just speak," Milana coaxed. "And I will just listen."

"All right," Alexei croaked.

"Tell me what happened in the Fold. What saved you?"

"You won't believe me, but...it was a sun summoner."

Inej let out a soft gasp, and Borge caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. What was the luck? They talk about a sun summoner only moments before, and suddenly one appears? And it's what they're meant to steal? If Borge didn't know the heartrending would have left Alexei too relaxed to even consider lying, he'd have thought it was too good to be true. But it wasn't. Either Alexei saw a sun summoner, or something that looked enough like one to make him believe. To make him stake his life on it.

Dreesden looked just as stunned. He approached and crouched in front of Alexei.

"Who was it?" Dreesden asked.

Alexei stared for a moment. "If I tell you, you'll set me free?"

"You have my word. I'll set you free," Dreesden said. There was something in his tone Borge didn't like. Something slimy. "You're in Ketterdam now, Alexei. You can go anywhere in the world from here. Just imagine. Come on."

As Dreesden spoke, Milana continued to coax him further. Borge could see Alexei struggle against the effect. Not just the heartrending. He'd clearly been beat, dehydrated, and likely starved. With freedom so close...he could only hold out so long.

"Her name is...Alina Starkov," Alexei finally said.

"Alina Starkov?" Dreesden said. "Good boy."

Dreesden turned to find the skiff's manifest. They found the name. Alina Starkov. Alexei asked to be freed. Instead, Dreesden put a bullet through his head. The force sent the chair over and Milana collapsed with a scream. Jesper barely caught Borge in time to keep him from lunging at the merchant.

"Hm," Dreesden stared down at the corpse with vague disinterest. "We are now the only people west of the Fold with this information. My ship sails for West Ravka at dawn. If you can prove that you have a way through the Fold and back, I'll put you on that ship with an advance. If you don't, I'm giving this job to Pekka Rollins."

Normally, Borge would have scoffed. Like Pekka Rollins would know anything they wouldn't. Yet, at the moment, he was busy staring at a corpse and wondering why they'd let Dreesden walk out of there alive.

I apologize to those whose characters didn't show up. I'm trying out a chapter per episode thing, which mean some characters won't appear until reasonable in the story. The missing ones should show up next chapter, though. :)