A/N: This takes place after the events of Crooked Kingdom, set in Kaz's POV.


Kaz Brekker hadn't returned to the Black Veil since Inej left.

The Wraith was still whispered about in the Barrel, but new stories of Captain Ghafa had begun to circulate, as well. Little realized that they were one and the same.

Without her, Kaz had to collect information on his own; it wasn't so much of a problem as it was a minor re-adjustment. Still, sometimes he thought he saw her on the windowsill, silhouetted by the setting sun or sitting amongst the flock of crows outside his window.

Alone - not really, not with Wylan and Jesper's relentless invitations for dinner - Kaz found himself inspecting what lay beneath his armor.

The memories dredged up more than one name.

It'd taken less than a week to track down her location. Maybe Inej's unending optimism had rubbed off on him - what a thought - for he was almost surprised by the news.

Almost.

Now, Kaz Brekker stood in the wreckage of the Black Veil, gloves stuffed into one pocket, cane in hand.

Clearly, no one had dared to visit the island; evidence of the Dime Lion's ambush and Wylan's explosives lay scattered around Kaz, large chunks of blistered stone and potted holes of missing dirt.

Instead of inspecting the old tomb, Kaz went to the opposite end of the island.

It was relatively intact, gravestones only partially scorched from the fire, remaining upright in the blackened ground. A fitting image for the place of the dead, the forgotten.

Except for one.

Kneeling - his leg didn't bother him as much anymore, but something in the fog made Kaz's joints ache - he brushed aside a pile of dead grass, leaves, and dampened dirt to expose a stone tablet.

It was a known fact that most people in Ketterdam didn't leave behind anything more than a body, or unpaid debt.

And yet, faint as it was, the name on the tablet was unmistakable.

Ilse. He hadn't known her as anything more than that, sharp green eyes and a tired wryness to her smile that he only learned to recognize with time.

Someone had cared enough to leave her this, a memory.

A grave.

It was more than he expected.

Leaning on his cane, his bare fingers traced the intricate feathers carved into the head, the smooth curve of the metallic beak.

It looks like we have a deal, Mr. Brekker.

At the time, it was strange to hear someone refer to him with the name he'd newly given himself.

The Fabrikator had accepted it without question, without hesitation. Mr. Brekker.

In the stillness of the Veil, with no one but the drifting haze and rotting corpses for company, Kaz let himself wonder.

Was she killed in the invasion, in the ensuing chaos following the auction for Kuweii? Maybe in a deal gone wrong, or murdered fighting off slavers.

Or maybe she had pissed the wrong person off and faked her death.

Kaz didn't know the woman, not really, but for some reason, he wouldn't put it past her to try.

But, of course, it was just that; a fleeting thought, a ridiculous notion fueled by the contagious emotions of his old crew, which lingered in his head like ghosts. Perhaps if he listened, he would hear Inej and Nina's laughter coming from the tomb, Jesper's shouts and Wylan's splutter, the heavy footsteps of Mattias.

After some time, he stood, knee twinging.

Kaz Brekker - Dirtyhands, Bastard of the Barrel, and once Kaz Rietveld - left without a word spoken, not a single tear to gleam in his black eyes. The only sound was the thump of his cane against the dirt and the quiet clink of coin exchanged with the waiting boat captain.

Once again, the isle of the Black Veil was left abandoned and empty, save for a lone pair of black leather gloves resting atop a stone tablet.

Ilse had been right about one thing; he had grown out of them, eventually.