CHAPTER ONE
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HER RING ONLY FIT ONLY fit on her pinky finger by now.

And after years of practice Kira had become a master at dancing around the truth, waltzing with deception and misdirection and doing the minute with allure—but at no point did lying step into the dance floor (sometimes lying managed to get a foot onto the dancefloor before she could stop some sort of sarcasm to leave her lips); but purposely she did not lie. Not in words anyway

Every time she talked her way out of trouble or charmed secrets out of people who were more than keen to confide in the golden-haired girl that smiled sweetly at them, Kira felt pride swell up inside her. She was proud because she knew her brother would be proud. He had always been the one with the talent to charm his way out of trouble and now Kira was using the talent she found within herself to keep in touch with the only part of her past she still missed.

It was safe to say that anything else had been burned to ashes in her memories.

With the years, Kira was also proud to say her skills of controlling metals (ones she did not call by their true name) were far better. To the point she could fly. Literally. It took her years to perfect that skill, but after welding metal onto the soles of her boots, she was able to hover above the ground, walk safely through the slippery roofs of Ketterdam and with a bonus of being able to hurt anyone with a kick.

Something she was glad to put to test as she felt a shiver down her spine, as a cold blade was pressed against her throat and her head was pulled back harshly, causing her to gasp.

"You better not do anything rash, my hand might slip," a voice warned her, and Kira grimaced.

"Did Rollins send you?" Kira asked, her jaw clenched, preparing herself to throw the man off her at any moment.

"He did," the man said, mocking her, and that was enough.

Kira willed the knife pressed against her throat to be thrown away, making it hit the wall and stay there, just as she threw her head backwards, a cracking noise echoing through the abandoned house she had claimed as hers as his nose was broken.

Yanking the knife off the wall, Kira kicked the man in the groin as he tried to lunge at her, making him double over with a groan and fall on the rotting wooden floors of her living room. She used her foot to kick him back so he lay on the floor and put one foot atop his chest, tilting her head as he groaned when she put pressure on it.

The man looked scared. Good. He was wearing a three piece suit, and his mustache was neatly groomed which told her, Pekka Rollins was getting desperate. He was sending his best men to get her and they still managed to lose—all because they underestimated her.

"I figured that three dead bodies were enough of a warning," Kira said lightly, spinning the blade on her hand as she applied weight to her foot and grinned at the sound of his ribs cracking. The man screamed. "I guess one more can't hurt."

"He just wants to have you on his crew," the man croaked. Kira rolled her eyes.

"How did you find where I live anyway?" she asked. When he didn't answer she leaned her foot forward, making the tip of her boots dig into skin.

"They saw you!" he gasped out. "The Ravkan Diamond job. They know you're the Whisperer. I just had to follow you."

Kira's jaw clenched, and she clicked her tongue. She stepped off the man and crouched down next to his body with a sympathetic smile. "You did a good job. But he shouldn't have sent you alone. And now that you know where I live and... that I can will a blade to do my bidding. It really doesn't leave me with much of a choice."

"Please," he pleaded. "He knows who you are now. He'll find you."

"Let him try then," Kira replied and shoved the knife in the man's heart.

She disregarded him as he bled out on her floors, and instead rushed up the stairs on the corner of the room, bursting through the door to her bedroom and kneeling down on the floor before she hovered her hand over a wooden plank. She felt the metal latches on the inside and willed them to open. Sighing at the clicking sound it made she moved he board to the side.

Grabbing a leather satchel she had stashed inside, he began shoving everything she might need into it. Until finally, she grabbed the velvet lined box. She opened it with a small smile as a diamond the size of Zemeni coin sparkled up at her. She put it inside the satchel and looked around the room that she had been staying in since she arrived in Ketterdam. It was never home, but it was comfortable, and she would miss that feeling.

Kira waltzed over to a little closet next to her bed and gathered five bottles of whiskey into her hands before dumping them on the bed. She opened oner and spilled its contents onto the fabric of her sheets, pouring another one in a path to the stairs before letting another one break down the steps. Then she walked down the steps, and made use of the last two bottles as she drenched the corpse on her living room. Taking a matchbox from the pocket of her dress, she took a deep breath and lit one.

She dropped it on the man and flames engulfed everything around her.

Kira slipped away from the shabby house, putting the hood of her cloak over her head as she disappeared in the crowds of Ketterdam, not on look back at the burning house. She reached over to the ring on her finger and made a quick prayer to the saints above her, for she knew there was nothing else she could do. It was either pray or cry. The latter was out of question.

Losing herself was something Kira had to deal with when she arrived in Ketterdam, and instead of seeking out the person she used to be—the one that people underestimated, the one that was betrayed by her family—Kira decided to reinvent herself.

In the streets of Ketterdam they called her the Whisperer, or Whisper. No one knew who she was, or when she appeared, but when she did she willed herself to every secret buried in every nook of the Barrel. She made it a game of besting the gang bosses; and that asked for their attention.

Pekka Rollins had been trying to get to her since she took the Ravkan Diamond right from under his nose. Every man that cornered her in an alley, sure she was the Whisperer, tried to kill her and then plead their case—he just wants you on his crew. Kira hated lies and that was the biggest of them. If Rollins wanted her on his crew he wouldn't send his assassins. Men who could kill her, if it wasn't for their weapons being their weakness against her.

The one burning along with her house had gotten too close to her. If he found out where she lived than others would too. Ashes would be the only thing they would find.

•••

Kira's hazel eyes swept through the dark streets of Ketterdam as she perched herself on the rooftop of a slightly crooked building. The sky above her was ashen, always the impending threat of rain. The corner of her lips twitched as she saw him walking through the street, his cane clanking through the ground, the crowd parting for Dirtyhands without even knowing they were. Kaz Brekker had made fear his best friend.

One thing was clear: The boy from the docks was gone. Dirtyhands had taken his place.

Letting her fingers dance in the air, Kira closed her eyes and searched the crowd in the streets, through gold and bronze until she felt the silver of the buttons of the overcoat of the Bastard of Barrel.

Taking in a deep breathe, she closed her hands into a fist, yanking off the buttons from their place, and making them trail their way through the ground and up the building until they fell on the palm of her hand.

When she opened her eyes she let out a silent laugh when she saw Kaz Brekker frozen in the middle of the street—overcoat ajar, leaving his vest and shirt on display.

His eyes swept through the crowd in a fell swoop. He did not look up. And Kira grinned when she saw the twitch of his jaw and the glare he sent to the ground as he started walking again.

It had become a ritual by now. Once a week, Kira would sit down on the exact building just as Kaz passed through the street on his way to the Crow Club and she would steal the buttons off his overcoat. She figured he kept returning through the same path in hopes of catching the thief but he never looked up to spot Kira shamelessly sitting on the roof, her golden hair partially hidden by her hood, and always the same amused smile on her face.

Kira was about to stand up and make her way back to the street when she felt goosebumps on her neck, and she could feel the metal of the Wraith's daggers behind her. Looking up at the beautiful Suli girl, she smiled brightly. "Inej, fancy seeing you here."

Inej rolled her eyes and sat down next to Kira. "You know he'll catch you eventually."

"Only if you tell," Kira said with a grin and shoved the buttons in her pocket. "And, my darling Inej, my bestest of friends, the light of my life, the saint of my saints—"

"Kira," Inej interrupted and Kira winked at her. "I won't tell."

"I know."

Kira had met Inej a couple of years after she had been taken to the Menagerie. She had been trying to sneak into the place for months. Trying to steal the pearl's right off Tante Heleen's wrinkly neck—a little revenge after the woman had sent two man off to grab Kira on the streets and claiming she owed her money. She had stumbled into a changing room on her first try and had seen her soul leave her body when Inej appeared in front of her like a ghost.

They had been friends since that day and Inej was the only person in Ketterdam who knew about her skills (the ones she refused to call by their name). The only person who knew why a house on the edge of the city had burned and left the sky in ashes.

"I saw the fire."

"Hard to miss a fire that big," Kira said with an amused smile though it didn't reach her eyes. Inej gave her look. "Rollins knows my face. He'll have people following me. I covered my tracks."

"Did you..." Kill?  Kira heard the question Inej didn't want to ask.

Kira tore her gaze away from the Suli girl. "I did."

Inej didn't answer. She was quiet for a few moments, letting the rumble of the crowd below them fill the silence. Inej refused to kill just like Kira refused to lie. It was the ways they found to appease their Saints. Saints who were now more of a safeguard for Kira than actual faith. Inej argued killing was worse then lying. Kira argued killing was at least honest—it was straightforward it didn't even leave room for breathing.

She wasn't proud of it, though. But she did not regret a single death. She was surviving; doing for herself what others didn't. She was fighting for her life and the Saints be damned if they had a problem with it.

"You should go to Kaz," said Inej.

Kira stiffened.

"You can't keep hiding away from everything forever. You can't keep running away from Pekka. He'll find you—"

"I've been doing just fine."

"You're not even letting yourself live, Kira," said Inej. "You hardly ever relax, and I'm the only friend you have. You're not doing fine. You're just surviving."

"It's working, isn't it? I'm not dead."

"You're not exactly alive either," Inej argued. "Go talk to Kaz. If you're with the Crows, Rollins will back off."

"I don't think Kaz would like that."

"You don't know Kaz, Kira. He hates most things but he's always in use for someone with special skills."

"So you're saying I wouldn't get my head bashed in by his cane if I got anywhere near the Crow Club?"

"No. You'd probably stop the cane."

"I'll think about it."

"You always say that."

"And I always do."

"But you never answer."

"That's because I'm still thinking," Kira said promptly and stood up bringing Inej along with her as they began walking through the roofs, Kira with the metal soles that she controlled not to fall and Inej with her unnatural grace.

"Does it hurt to just talk to him?"

"No." Kira tilted her head, pursing her lips before adding, "Unless he bashes my head in."

She could hear Inej roll her eyes at her. "He knows you exist, Kira."

"I know."

"He gets cross every time you steal from him."

"I know." A grin grew on her face.

"He hates not knowing who it is. But he knows you're someone. So just ask him for help."

"Ask for the Bastard of the Barrel to help me?" asked Kira as she jumped over the ledge of a building and landed terrace of an inn that was located near the Fifth Harbor. "You must be joking, Wraith."

"Hardly, Whisperer."

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