She’s patient, always has been. Here, that’s amplified despite how much thrums under her skin. On the sea, she feels alive with motion, like she’s the push and pull of the tide itself. With Kaz, it’s a different kind of hum, like a warmth spreading out, a fire lit in her ribs.

Still, she stays where she is, waits for him to get his bearings, to take the slow inhale he does when he’s mentally gearing up.

As always, the waiting pays off. His touch is gentle, something that surprised and delighted her when they’d first down this. He’s nothing like what he portrays, not with her, the mask of Dirtyhands falling away. When his lips brush hers, she tips her chin into it, just a bit, sighing out contentedly.

“I missed you, Kaz Brekker.” She carefully slides her hands up to his shoulders, palms settling on the familiar span.