Then tailor him," Kaz said coldly. The challenge in Kaz's eyes was clear. So he knew she'd been struggling. Of course he did. Dirtyhands never missed a trick.

Haskell whisked the pistol from his pocket and flipped open the barrel. It was empty. "You little--" Then Haskell barked a laugh and plucked the bullets from Kaz's hand, shaking his head. "You've got the devil's own blood in you, boy. Go get my money.

Wylan didn't think he imagined the tension in the rasp of Kaz's voice. Kaz never yelled the way Wylan's father did, but Wylan had learned to listen for that low note, that bit of black harmony that crept into Kaz's tone when things were about to get dangerous.

That boy had betrayed his weakness in a single glance, had ceded the war for the sake of a single battle, and put Inej--all of them--in danger.

In the space of a breath, Kaz had shoved Wylan against the tomb wall with his forearm, the crow head of his cane wedged beneath Wylan's jaw. "Tell me my business again." Wylan swallowed, parted his lips. "Do it," said Kaz. "And I'll cut the tongue from your head and feed it to the first stray cat I can find.

The silence between them was dark water. He could not cross it. He couldn’t walk the line between the decency she deserved and the violence this path demanded. If he tried, it might get them both killed. He could only be who he truly was—a boy who had no comfort to offer. So he would give her what he could

One of his hands balanced on his cane. The other rested at his side next to her. She’d need only move the smallest amount and they would be touching. He was that close. He was that far from reach.

Pick up the pace,” Kaz said, eyeing his watch.“If I spill a single drop of this, it will burn straight through the floor onto my father’s dinner guests.”“Take your time.

He needed a gang, and not just any gang, but one that needed him.

He stood leaning on his cane, hair neatly pushed back from his pale brow, a black glass boy of deadly edges.