He sits as he's told and really, she'll never be over the strange pride she feels. It's more than the rush of power he's placing in her hands—though that certainly cannot be overstated—it's also the amount of time and trust they've both put into this. Here he is, Dirtyhands, bastard of the Barrel, following what she asks (demands) of him.
And here she is, the Wraith, the ghost of Ketterdam's streets, putting herself in a man's bed willingly. Here she is, with soft words that have all the might of a knife in the safe world they've made for themselves.
"And you as well, Kaz Brekker." There's a weight to her words, not just the warm gladness she has at being here again. It's also the awe of privilege, how he's letting her see what's beneath the armor, just like he said he would. A word kept. As if spurred on by this, she moves closer, purposely leans forward to let his shirt gape open, and carefully places a hand to his cheek. If he doesn't stiffen, she'll continue to touch a path downwards, palm laying flat on his chest.
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And here she is, the Wraith, the ghost of Ketterdam's streets, putting herself in a man's bed willingly. Here she is, with soft words that have all the might of a knife in the safe world they've made for themselves.
"And you as well, Kaz Brekker." There's a weight to her words, not just the warm gladness she has at being here again. It's also the awe of privilege, how he's letting her see what's beneath the armor, just like he said he would. A word kept. As if spurred on by this, she moves closer, purposely leans forward to let his shirt gape open, and carefully places a hand to his cheek. If he doesn't stiffen, she'll continue to touch a path downwards, palm laying flat on his chest.