ANASTASIA REALIZED, ONLY AS she'd begun to get ready for bed, that all of her nightclothes were still in their room at the tavern.

There were two options before her—either sleep in her clothes, corset included, or sleep in her chemise. It was far too cold in the Slat to sleep in just her undergarments, even with the scratchy woolen blanket that had been so kindly placed on the bed. But the corset wasn't comfortable at all, let alone enough to sleep in, so it seemed that she'd be sleeping in the chemise.

She'd settled into the small bed, harsh blanket pulled up over her waist as she stared up the wood-paneled ceiling. She hadn't expected to sleep that night, but judging by the way her thoughts were persistent and endless, she knew for a fact that she would be awake until dawn.

"Saints," a voice said from outside the tiny room, and something—or someone—hit the door. "Can you—Saints—can you open the door? Door's locked and I've got my hands full with all your shit."

Jesper.

The doorknob jiggled again, and Anastasia jumped.

She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, took a deep breath, and climbed off of the bed, walking on tip-toed feet towards the door. She could hear him breathing, panting, really, on the other side.

Anastasia opened it before he could knock again, and he simply stared at her for a moment.

Her hair had been up in a delicate twist when she had arrived, but in the time between when Inej had deposited her in front of Clara's door to now, she had taken it down, and it hung in an ivory blonde curtain down to her waist.

She looked younger, Jesper thought. She looked to be in her early twenties when they'd first met, but with her hair down and any trace of makeup gone, she looked to be around his age. Her face was softer, and although she still wore a guarded expression, she seemed to be a bit more open.

"Here's your things." He said, dropping two bags at her feet. "Nearly got mugged on my way back, so, thanks."

The gentle, surprised look on her face hardened into a glare. "Unfortunate that they didn't take your clothes." She snapped.

Anastasia had meant it as an insult—if he'd been robbed of his clothes, he'd have to walk home naked, which would be highly embarrassing for him.

But it seemed that he took it as a flirtatious compliment, for his eyebrows shot up and his mouth tilted into a smile. "If you wanted to see me without clothes, all you have to do is ask. Never been with a Grisha before, though, so you'll have to take it easy on me."

"I've never been with an absolute idiot before, either." She grinned cruelly. "I don't think there's a first time for that, though."

Her chemise and the blanket had slipped off of her shoulder as she spoke, and his eyes immediately lurched to the exposed bit of skin; he took in the scar from his bullet, what should have been a fresh, bleeding wound. But it was healed, he realized, when it should not have been.

"Your little Heartrender fix that for you?" He asked, one hand coming up as if to run a finger over the puckered scar.

She flinched away, taking two steps backward. "Touch me, and you lose the hand." She said, mostly an empty threat that had a slight bit of real danger behind it. "I wouldn't want you to lose your only lover."

Jesper barely registered her filthy words, for her shadows darkened the room behind her to the point that the only thing he could see was her, and he wondered briefly if he was about to be suffocated by her darkness.

And then she moved her hand, not much more of a twitch, and a thin tendril of shadow slithered its way up to his shoulder, giving it an almost gentle caress. His eyebrow quirked up, a silent question, but he suddenly gasped as the shadow wrapped around his neck and squeezed.

"If you so much as speak to me without my permission, I will dump your decapitated head into the river. The same goes for any of your friends. Do you understand?"

His eyes narrowed, and when he nodded, the darkness retreated back into her. "Fine. But if you touch me with your magic again, I'll shoot you between the eyes next time, princess." He said in response.

Anastasia smiled coldly. "Please do. I'd like to see Clara stop your heart, or maybe even rip it out, if you did." She whispered, her voice sweet but tretcherous.

She took a single step forward, used her bare foot to kick her bags back into the room, and then returned to her previous place. She tilted her head, studying him and looking as if she was about to speak again.

She gave him one last sickly sweet smile before slamming the door in his face.

⚜︎

The idea of breakfast was not something that Anastasia was awake for very often. She'd always preferred to be awake as little as possible when the sun was out, for her shadows were strongest after dark.

But Inej, apparently, thrived in the morning; she was standing at the foot of Anastasia's bed when she woke up at half-past eight, arms crossed expectantly.

"Well?" She said. "Get dressed. Clara made food, and Kaz is expecting you."

Anastasia's nose wrinkled. "I just spoke to him yesterday. What does he want with me now?"

She rose from the creaky bed, not caring about modesty since it was just Inej in the room, and began pulling on a fresh day dress. If it had been Jesper or Kaz to come fetch her, she would have screamed at them until they left, even if it meant that they would make her life a living hell after.

Inej sighed and crossed the room to help button the back of the dress, nimble fingers working quickly. "He wants you to start training."

"Training?"

"Yes. He has a heist coming up that he thinks you'll be useful for." Inej answered quietly. "But don't ask me what you're meant to be stealing—he hasn't told me, and I doubt that he will."

Anastasia frowned bitterly, twisting the ring on her finger. "He knows that I'm far older than him, right? I've had a fair bit of practice doing what I do. He's been stealing and, I don't know, galavanting around Ketterdam for, what, a few years? I've had centuries. I could wipe out an entire country if I tried." She muttered, sounding bothered that the boy who practically held her hostage was doubting her.

Inej hummed in an agreement. "Like the Black Heretic in Ravka." She said.

It seemed that Inej could sense the way Anastasia's shoulders stiffened, because she set a gentle hand on her arm. "You knew him, didn't you? I mean, two shadow singers, around the same age and from the same time?"

"I knew him. Remarkably well, ages ago." Anastasia laughed mirthlessly, no humor in her tone. "But he's not your so-called shadow singer. And neither am I."

Something in Inej's face shifted. "You said he's. Present tense." She said, realization dawning on her.

Anastasia wished she had kept her mouth shut. "He's dead to me. Dead to the world. It was a slip of the tongue, nothing more."

He's my brother, you idiot.

"Oh. Alright, then." Inej said, and Anastasia was thanful for the change of subject. "Come on, Clara's been waiting for you to get up. She's currently wooing Jesper with her travel stories."

Anastasia forced a smile. "I'd better save her, then."

When the two girls arrived in what looked like a dining room, Jesper, Clara, and Kaz were already waiting, a spread of various breakfast foods and a pitcher of juice set around the table.

"Stas!" Clara said excitedly in greeting, She didn't stand, but gestured to the empty seat next to her. "Come on, sit down."

Anastasia did as she was told, cringing when the rickety wooden chair squeaked under her weight. "So I heard you want me to train?" She asked tentatively, looking at Kaz.

He nodded, face stony and blank. "In a month, a merch in the Financial District is having a gala to celebrate his daughter's birthday. He received a shipment of gems to make a set of custom jewelry for her to wear.

"On the night of the party, you, Jesper, and Inej will attend. By the end of the night, I expect you to be back here with every piece of jewelry that the merch's daughter owns." He said, staring her down as if inviting her to object.

She didn't, though. "Who am I supposed to be training with? It's not like anyone else in Ketterdam has the same abilities as I do." She said. She kept eye contact as she poured herself a glass of water.

Inej furrowed her eyebrows. "None of us have had any practice against a Shadow Summoner. I think we'd be training more than you would." She said quietly.

"Exactly." Kaz interjected. "You'll train with them until they can see in total darkness."

Stifling an eye roll, Anastasia shook her head. "That is, quite literally, impossible. Not even Shadow Summoners can see through our own shadows." That was something her mother had taught her, something she'd come to know as untrue as she got older and more practiced. She could see in perfect clarity through every shadow she summoned.

Kaz shot her a murderous look. "Then they'll train until they don't need to rely on their sight to get the job done." He snapped.

"Why do we have to train with her, though? Can't you just blindfold us, throw us in a room, and have us go at it?" Jesper protested, and when Anastasia gave him a glare, his hand shot to his gun.

It was Inej that answered him: "Because no one knows darkness better than Anastasia."

Kaz simply nodded. "I'll have a seamstress come by to take measurements—apparently, the merch's daughter wants a princess party, so you've got to dress accordingly."

Jesper laughed out loud, nearly keeling over. "Oh, Saints, this is too good. This is perfect."

Anastasia flicked a single finger, and a rope of shadows slithered around Jesper's neck, just like the night before. She didn't squeeze, though; instead, she let the string of darkness linger there.

He shivered at the feeling of the icy gloom around his neck, pulled a gun out of his holster, and pointed it at her. "Watch it, Darkling." He said, cold and threatening.

The tendril of shadow recoiled immediately at the sound of the label so often used for Anastasia's brother. It was derogatory, rude, and harmful to hear herself be compared and likened to him, after the lives he'd taken and the pain he'd caused. She'd spent her life trying not to be anything like him.

Jesper saw the flash of weakness across her face, the flicker of vulnerability, and his gun was suddenly holstered again, no longer pointed at her forehead. He didn't apologize, but his eyes softened slightly—not much, but enough to be noticed.

Anastasia turned to Inej. "Hope you're not afraid of the dark."

"Of course not."

⚜︎

Training began right after lunch that same day, and when Anastasia and Clara showed up to a large, empty warehouse that Kaz had directed them to, they were surprised to find they were the first ones there.

Anastasia adjusted the waistband of her pants—thankfully, she'd packed a pair of trousers, loose enough to move around in but tight enough to still look flattering and acceptable enough to the residents of Ketterdam.

"Does this space work for you, princess?"

She rolled her eyes. "It would work far better if you'd stop calling me princess." She said rudely in return, taking an exhasperated breath before turning around to face him.

Inej, silent as a church mouse, stood next to him, looking dwarvish in comparison. She gave Anastasia a small smile.

"Do us all a favor, Inej, and gut him for me, will you?" Anastasia said, dark eyes glinting with a mischievous sparkle. She adjusted the waistband of her trousers again, not completely used to having anything form-fitting on her legs. She hadn't been able to freely wear pants in public in decades, and wearing anything other than a skirt in front of men was still quite strange.

Clara was laughing quietly, trying not to draw attention to herself since Kaz hadn't explicitly given her permission to attend these training sessions; she didn't answer to him, not at all, but she didn't want to make him mad when they were living in his home and surviving on what he called generosity.

Inej clasped her hands behind her back and watched Anastasia curiously. "So...what are we doing?"

Anastasia didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned her eyes to her hands—small palms, nimble fingers, neat nails and cuticles. They didn't look like they could cause death and destruction, but she knew better.

She was well aware of the hand movements her mother had trained her to use: sharp, precise actions that had a specific meaning and purpose in the Small Science. But those movements were made by a group that now obeyed her brother, and she had developed her own way of practicing her gifts.

So she curled her fingers into her palm, forming a tight fist, and watched as tiny slivers of shadows escaped from between her fingers.

Anastasia smiled softly to herself and opened her hand.

The shadows exploded out of her open palm, forming shapes and patterns as they danced across the empty space between her and the others.

In a way, it was beautiful, in the same way that some found thunderstorms and other natural disasters beautiful. The shadows were an extention of her, and when the room was overtaken by utter blackness, she felt more at home than she ever had in her life.

The darkness inside of her terrified her most days, but in times like these—when people were relying on her to get a job done, or save their lives—she loved the shadows.

When the room was void of any light, she spoke: "Tell me what you can see."

"Well, seeing as it's completely dark in here, I'd say your soul." Jesper blurted.

If it hadn't been dark, she wouldn't have smiled. She walked through her shadows and crossed the large warehouse until she was in front of him, flicking him on the nose.

"Shit!" He exclaimed. "What did I say about touching me with your magic?"

Anastasia didn't laugh, going for an element of horror: "No magic. Just my hand. I'm assuming you're familiar with the idea of using your hand, no?"

Clara's snort was incredibly loud in the darkness, and Anastasia heard Jesper gasp, startled by how close she suddenly was.

"Seriously, what can you see? Think past your literal sight. What can you see with your other senses?" Anastasia asked, voice hushed enough to not sound like she was shouting, but loud enough to be heard throughout the room.

Inej swallowed. "I can—I know you're close by, because your voice, but I can almost see you. Your body heat. And you have a certain—how do I say it—you smell like...you smell like death, I guess. It's a distinct smell, like molasses, and burnt sugar. I noticed it the first time I met you. I can tell when you're close." She said, almost apologetically.

Despite how being told you smell like death might be offensive to some, it caused Anastasia to smile, and she moved a few steps away, feet silent on the stone floor.

She heard the sound of a gun cocking. "Bet you ten kruege that I can shoot her and hit her without seeing her." Jesper whispered deviously.

The shadows in front of Anastasia hardened, forming a sort of shield. "I dare you." She smiled around her words. He couldn't have any idea that there was the equivilent of a brick wall between them, so he'd be getting a shock.

"Done it once, might as well do it again."

A shot rang out, and then there was a noise akin to a bullet hitting concrete.

"I think you owe me ten kruege, Jesper."