Kaz brekker 🪶

The kidnapping of Pekka Rollins's eldest daughter was proving more difficult than anticipated, a fact Kaz Brekker would have preferred to swallow rather than utter aloud. But facts were facts, and influence didn't materialize on its own. He needed it not for reasons of pain or bloodshed; he wanted to see Pekka Rollins on his knees and make him suffer as he had once made him suffer as a child .

For weeks, Inej had tracked the girl's movements, her routes, her routines, her shadows. Still, no opportunity. No slip-up, no stumble. The girl had been trained, was instinctively cautious, or had simply been incredibly lucky, and Kaz was losing patience every day .

She had begun to imagine simpler solutions. Cleaner ones. Jesper's gun, the back of his skull, a message delivered in blood. But Kaz didn't want her dead. He wanted her useful. He wanted her scared. He wanted Pekka to feel the same fear that had once been etched into the bones of a desperate child .

And tonight, at last, she could give him the means to do it. A party at the Rollins estate, wealth on display, masks both literal and not. Kaz, Jesper, and Inej had slipped through the crowd like knives through silk, their costumes tailored, their roles rehearsed .

Kaz strode purposefully down the corridor, tapping his crow-handled cane against the polished marble. Suddenly, he heard voices. Low, tense, muffled. He stopped before a half-open door .

Inside, enveloped in the silence of a dimly lit room, were Pekka Rollins and his daughter. A conversation that wasn't for company. Not for other ears .

Kaz tilted his head, narrowing his eyes, the corner of his mouth curling into a cold, sharp expression. Opportunity had just opened the door. And it never knocked .