Though Inej had left, she had not left Kaz’s sight: He knew the news from every harbor, of course, his and rival gangs’ harbors alike, learning whispers of the news from the sea—and when two men dipped in tar and crow feathers had graced the Stadhall’s entrance, he’d not even needed his informants—but he had gone further than that, too: He’d paid off crew members from merchant ships to bring him the news directly from the sea, so that he could follow all of her exploits.

Inej could handle herself—she’d earned quite the name for herself, actually; the name Captain Ghafa slipped along the docks of the harbor in fearful whispers, and the corner of Kaz’s mouth tipped up each time he heard—but it made him feel safer to know what she was up to; it was like a net, though she’d surely refuse this net, too, if she knew.

He leaned on his cane as he stood on one of the docks and watched the sun emerge from the horizon—and somewhere on that distant horizon, Inej scoured the sea of slavers, as he kept watch from afar.