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Kaz leans his back against the dirty brick wall. They've stopped next to a light fixture and it's brighter than he's comfortable with. He turns his head so the brim of his hat will shade his face.
Inej's hood shields her features from the eyes of the few passerbys as she notes the crags in the alley walls. She confirms she'll be able to climb them for a job later this week.
When Inej turns back to him, the light clearly illuminates her face as it emerges from the cave of her hood. Her eyes are gleaming. Two glossy shards of amber that twinkle in the light of the streetlamp's flame.
Kaz knows that look. She wants to try.
A tilt of his head is all the permission she needs, and her lips meet his.
It's both a small thing and it's not. They've worked up to this point for months. These days they can manage a kiss in the street as if it's never left them shaking on opposite ends of a room. It feels like nothing short of a miracle, though Kaz acknowledges he has no business being involved with anything of the sort.
Inej leans into it, and Kaz squeezes the crow head of his cane to keep from touching her waist.
It's not smart to do this in public. Two people canoodling against a wall at this hour hardly earns the batting of an eyelash, but if they're recognized, it's too much risk. The night is about as deep as it gets and people are starting to get sloppy, but he doesn't need anyone spotting the two of them in what is technically Razorgull territory. Even as his lips part for her, he tracks a reveler as he stumbles over the cobblestones.
Inej pulls back. "Distracted?" she says, though there's still mirth in her eyes.
"This streetlamp is bright. I'd hate for any familiar faces to find us in this neighborhood," he says as he peers around the corner behind him. The light cuts a shadow, obscuring the alleyway to their side in a wedge of blackness. He can't make out any movement there, and it's completely silent. Probably fine.
"You'd prefer somewhere less visible?" She asks.
"I'd prefer somewhere where only your Saints can see us."
"I could request a shady corner for us," she says, fitting her hips against his. "Should be easy enough in a place like Ketterdam for my Saints to arrange."
His gloved hand flutters instinctively to the curve of her back. He still isn't sure why she lets him to touch her like this. In dreams he leaves a black, tar-like substance on her skin, marring her shine. He wonders when she'll finally come to her senses and put an end to the way he stains her. On the days when the guilt gets strong enough, he hopes it's before his black heart swallows her whole.
"I suspect they wouldn't approve of Dirtyhands smothering their most treasured beacon of righteousness in the dark," he says.
A smirk tugs her pretty mouth. She side-eyes him, like he's missing something he should really know better by now.
"I'm the Wraith, remember?" she says. "The dark is my home. It belongs to me." And then she presses her lips to his again. Tugging on his waistcoat, she pulls him into the alley, over the shadowy threshold and into the dark.