WHEN ANASTASIA WOKE UP in the bed farthest from the door in their simple and modest room above the tavern, her hand immediately went to her left shoulder.

    Instead of a bullet wound, there was just a raised bit of scar tissue. No blood, no open wound. It didn't even hurt.

    Anastasia's dark eyes darted around the room until she found Clara, standing at the window and peering outside into the bright streets of Ketterdam.

    "What happened?" She demanded in a pinched, panicked voice, her hand still pressed to where there certainly should have been some sort of injury to prove that she'd been shot last night.

    Clara looked away from the window. "I slowed your heart enough to make you pass out. You were going to get knocked out eventually—blood loss—so I figured it'd be easier to put you to sleep and carry you home, instead of you passing out with no warning and cracking your skull open on the cobblestones." She paused, cracked a weak smile. "You started to wake up by the time we got back, but I had to put you under again so I could get the bullet out. I might not be a Healer, but I mostly stitched you back up."

    Rubbing at her temples, Anastasia took a deep breath. "Someone knows. Two people, actually. We've got to leave, Clara. They could have tracked us back here—"

    "If they wanted to track us, they'd be here by now. And if they were that serious, I'm sure they'd follow us wherever we went, no matter the country." Clara interrupted curtly, the weak smile on her face transforming into something more humorous.

    There was a heartbeat of silence before Anastasia spoke again: "What did that girl mean? Shadow singer?"

    Clara didn't lose her grin. "There's a fairytale in West Ravka, where I grew up before you found me. I would say it's a story, but it's more myth than anything. When I was young, my mother would tell me about this one Grisha, a Shadow Summoner who did more than summon shadows. It was more than controlling darkness—this Grisha was one with the shadows, could summon, see through, dismiss, and absorb them.

    "They obeyed this particular Grisha more than any other. The people in my hometown believed that this shadow singer could destroy the Fold. They believed in that legend more than the Sun Summoner—after all, we'd seen Shadow Summoners before, but we'd never seen anyone who can summon the sun." She explained.

    The Fold. The Unsea. Anastasia had been in Os Kervo when it was created, seen the destruction, heard the screams. She'd hopped a ship to Kerch immediately, knowing it was her brother's doing and wanting to flee to escape further persecution.

    "You know I don't believe in fairytales, Clara." She said simply, not even considering the story. "Besides, I'm no such thing. Summoning shadows is all I can do." A lie, bitter tasting as it rolled off of her tongue.

    With a snort, Clara shook her head. "You're just scared to do more. You aren't him and you know it."

    When Anastasia had found Clara, two hundred and twenty years ago, the Heartrender had gotten in over her head in a situation she couldn't use her Small Science to get out of. Somehow, Clara had wandered into Fjerda, and from the moment she crossed the border, and a band of so-called witch hunters had began to hunt her. They had almost killed her, and would have, if Anastasia hadn't choked two of them out with her shadows. She told Clara to run and offered herself up as a trade.

    Nine years later, the two found each other again, this time in Shriftport, and while Anastasia hadn't aged a day, Clara only looked a year or so older. That was when Anastasia realized that the Drüskelle had been hunting Clara because she was a Grisha in their lands.

    Since that day, they'd been inseperable, Anastasia immortal and Clara thriving off of the Amplifier she called her best friend.

    Clara had been the first person Anastasia had ever confided in about her brother, told her that he was the Black Heretic and that she was running from everything he'd done.

    They'd been traveling together for a hundred years when word crossed the True Sea of a Shadow Summoner, a Darkling, back in Os Alta who had become the most powerful man in Ravka, second only to the king. Anastasia had been hysterical, unable to be consoled until Clara pushed her into Eames Harbor to calm her down.

    They were used to fleeing. And the thought of having to go on the run again, mere hours after arriving in what was supposed to be their home for the next few years, gave Anastasia a headache.

    "What happened to the two people who saw us?" She asked after a few moments of stressed silence. "The boy and the girl. What happened?"

    Clara laughed. "They ended up on the ground. Somehow, their memories of last night managed to never reach proper storage in their brains. Tricky little issue with memory and whatnot."

    Unconvinced, Anastasia gnawed on her bottom lip. It was bad enough that she didn't even look human, and spoke with an accent that was a blend of every country she'd ever lived in. She stood out by appearance and voice alone, without even considering her abilities and the energy radiating off of her. Possibly having two people who had seen firsthand what she could do—and who, if Clara's science hadn't worked, could run their mouths to the first slaver they came across—put a dent in Anastasia and Clara's plans for their time in Ketterdam.

    They had planned it all out, just like they did every time they had to migrate to a new place: fraternize with the locals for a few weeks, only using fake names, to get a lay of the land and see what new social customs and norms had emerged since the last time they'd been in that particular place. Then, eventually, once they had become well-known, at least enough to fit in with the natives, they'd find a place to work that paid under the table and become fully intertwined with society.

    Until they had to leave again, and it was back to square one in a new country.

    "Stas, we'll be fine. I promise you that they won't remember us. We can stay here, and do the same thing we always do." Clara's voice was so incredibly genuine, especially as she used her nickname for her best friend.. "We'll be safe. If anyone finds out about us, they'll be dead by the time the sun rises the next day."

    Anastasia took a deep breath and tried to calm the shadows that attempted to escape from her, until another thought came to her: "How did that boy shoot me last night? He shouldn't have been able to hit me through the darkness. I mean, there's no way he could even see me, let alone aim at and hit me, right? Or am I just overthinking?"

    She knew she was paranoid. But something about the way the boy had managed to actually hit her was nagging at her.

    Clara rolled her eyes and flopped down on the bed she'd claimed as her own. "It was probably a lucky shot. Actually, no. I guarantee it was a lucky shot. No way in hell it wasn't." She glanced at Anastasia out of the corner of her eye. "Are you hungry? Because I'm famished. There's a place a few blocks over that advertises roasted garlic chicken and wine imported from Cofton. We could get a late lunch and start looking for places to work, if you'd like." She offered, sitting up again.

    "That sounds heavenly. But after last night, I'm not going without protection." Anastasia replied as she rose from her spot on the bed, crossing the small room to her suitcase.

    She dug into it for a moment before pulling out several hiding pieces for weapons, from a thigh garter sheath with multiple slots to a band of leather stamped to form a scabbard that went around one's forearm, under the long sleeves of a blouse. She also extracted a handful of daggers, small and easily concealed, as well as a bracelet made of the bones of a viper, interlocked with silver clasps.

    It was something Anastasia had picked up in the Wandering Isle, an Amplifier forged by a Durast hiding as far as possible from Ravka. She'd been on the hunt for a true, honest-to-Saints Amplifier for Clara, so her companion wouldn't have to rely on her in order to access the full extent of her Heartrender powers.

    "That is the ugliest bracelet I've ever seen." Clara said, brutally honest, after peeking over Anastasia's shoulder.

    Anastasia raised her eyebrows. "You really think it's ugly?" She asked in a quiet voice, and when Clara nodded fervently, she frowned. "Fine. No Amplifier to call your own, then."

    That had Clara scrambling to snatch the bracelet out of Anastasia's hands. "You're kidding! You've got to be kidding. Stas! You really got me an Amplifier? But you're my Amplifier. Why would I need another one?" Her words came in rapid succession, and her blue eyes were wide with glee.

    Shrugging, Anastasia replied, "Because you're powerful and capable on your own. I want to make sure you're protected, regardless of whether or not I'm around."

    "Oh, don't be ridiculous. You and I are going to be together forever. A Shadow Summoner and her Heartrender best friend." Clara said with a wide grin. "Besides, you haven't grown sick of me yet. What's another two hundred years?"

⚜︎

    The weather in Ketterdam that evening was unseasonably warm for early April, so Anastasia and Clara shed their cloaks and roamed around heart of the city with their bellies full and smiles on their faces.

    The tavern that served the chicken Clara had mentioned was owned by a refugee from Fjerda and, judging by sensation of raw energy that shot through Anastasia's body when the woman had shaken her hand, she was just as Grisha as Anastasia and Clara. As for what type of Grisha she was, however, Anastasia couldn't tell. Definitely not a Shadow Summoner, though; she would have felt the sense of like calls to like.

    "We need workers." The woman, who had introduced herself as Estrid, had said in broken Kerch that lilted with a Fjerdan accent when Clara had mentioned looking for employment in Ketterdam. "Good workers who can earn their wages—coin in your hand once a week, no banks. You can work here."

    Anastasia had smiled politely. "That would be wonderful. Thank you."

    Their excitement over finding a job was evident to those passing by as the girls practically glided down the street.

    Clara's eyes sparked with an idea. "D'you remember when we were in the Southern Colonies for the first time together? There was that tiny village with the fountain in the town square." She asked, gaze focused on a very similar fountain about a hundred feet ahead of them.

    "I remember, but I will not be splashing around in any fountains. We aren't two hundred, or fifty, for that matter, anymore." Anastasia said, her tone light but steely.

    Clara pouted, pulling on her arm childishly. "You were so much more fun back then. Now you're just a mean old witch." She whined.

    They continued to walk towards the fountain despite Anastasia's best attempts to steer Clara away. But Clara lagged behind and dragged her feet, moping and grumbling that she never had any fun anymore.

    Letting Clara walk behind her had been Anastasia's mistake, for the Heartrender, wearing her new Amplifier, had a near-perfect angle to work her Small Science on her companion.

    "S-Stop it!" Anastasia squealed, feeling her legs move as if controlled by a puppeteer. She was walking smoothly towards the fountain, not of her own doing. Resisting against Clara's abilities was nearly impossible—that much had been proven to her time and time again over the past two centuries. "I swear to every Saint there is, if you push me I'll kill—"

    She tipped forward into the water, going silent except for a muffled scream as she face-planted.

    And then she was sputtering to the surface, annoyance and anger storming in her dark eyes. Her hair clung to her face and neck, and her long skirts, completely soaked, were a hundred times heavier with water weighing them down.

    Clara was too busy laughing, keeled over with uncontrollable cackles, to notice that Anastasia was storming out of the fountain and stomping over to her.

    She only laughed harder when she realized that Anastasia was also starting to giggle, and she didn't protest when her friend's bony hand wrapped around her wrist and started to drag her into the water, too.

    They both went sprawling, laughing so hard they were on the verge of tears.

    "I'm sorry, really." Clara wheezed. "I had to. I honestly had to—couldn't resist the temptation."

    They laughed the entire way home, leaning on each other and leaving behind wet footprints, unaware that they were being followed.

⚜︎

    There was a time when Anastasia Morozova and her brother had been incredibly close, thick as thieves. Before she had developed abilities that so closely mirrored his own and, eventually, exceeded them. Before he'd lashed out and tried to kill her. Before he'd killed thousands by making the Shadow Fold.

    She'd been his exact opposite from the moment she was born—he'd come into the world screaming bloody murder and raising hell, with thick, dark hair and a horrible colic; Anastasia, on the other hand, didn't cry when she was born, or for the first several years of her life. She was pale in every way and peaceful, sweet and kind-demeanored.

    Yet, somehow, the half-siblings were the best of friends up until the day she fled. They did everything together, from training their senses and abilities to simply playing around whatever cottage they occupied that week. Even when he'd have an outburst and almost hurt someone, she knew he didn't mean it. It took an attempted murder for her to turn her back on him.

    In the years after her escape, she had received countless letters from both him and her mother. The former made threats and promised to come after her and strip her power from her, then leave her to die a human death—he'd been so angry, so furious and murderous with her for simply being his equal. The latter, however, begged her to come back, swearing to make things right for their family.

    Anastasia never believed her mother's vows. After tracking down her father and demanding answers for the strange powers she possessed, she realized that she was not born out of desire for a child or the love between two parents, or even the want for an heir.

    No. Anastasia was bred like a prized mare, for one purpose and one purpose only: to make sure that her older half-brother didn't turn out to be evil.

    Four centuries later, Anastasia had failed at her life's purpose. But as long as she was alive and well and far out of her brother's reach, she didn't care.

    Sometimes, however, the nightmares made guilt creep up on her.

⚜︎

    Anastasia's eyes flew open, darting around the room in panic. She didn't recognize this place, not at first, especially with inky black tendrils of darkness that snaked around the room.

    She closed her eyes again and felt the shadows recede back into their source, and only then did the frenzied feeling in her chest ebb away. Despite being over four hundred years old—ancient, even by Grisha standards—her abilities still managed to go hawyire whenever she had a bad dream.

    When her eyes opened, she saw a shadow, still and immobile against the floor from where the moonlight outlined the shape of a silhouette.

    The shadow was cast by someone crouching on the outside windowsill, unmoving but watching the two girls inside the room.

    Under the cover of darkness from the night itself and not any summoned shadows, Anastasia was thankful that she hadn't sat up or made any other movements apart from opening and closing her eyes.

    And then the window opened, eerily silent, she went completely, deathly still. She pretended to be asleep, focused on keeping her breathing even and deep so the intruder would never suspect a thing. She just prayed to every Saint that Clara, hotheaded and temperamental at her worst times, stayed fast asleep and didn't start an unnecessary conflict.

    The sharp edge of a blade pressed against Anastasia's throat, and she went stiff all over.

    "I know you're awake, shadow singer. I'd like to have a chat." A whispered female voice hissed, breath cool against Anastasia's cheek.

    Anastasia felt the blade draw back, the cold steel no longer in a place that one wrong movement could lead to her imminent death. Even though age did not touch her, a dagger to the jugular certainly could if this intruder decided to harm her.

    As she sat up and opened her eyes, she could have sworn the prowler who had climbed in through her window was quite close to her. She'd had to be. But silently, without so much as a creak in the floorboards, she'd moved across the room without Anastasia noticing.

    "Hands up. Above your head." It was the girl who had witnessed her shadows, her headscarf gone to reveal long, dark hair that was braided into a thick rope of onyx. "I know how you Grisha operate—can't practice your magic without having your hands touch. So keep them separate." She ordered, and her voice was quietly callous.

    Anastasia grit her teeth. "It's not magic, it's science." She said simply, her hands held apart, high above her head. She was steely and unphased, not scared at all by the girl in front of her who was practically half her height. Even without any sort of Grisha power, she could snap the girl in half.

    The girl raised her eyebrows. "Don't bother. I can tell what you're thinking—you'd be dead by the time you got off the bed."

    This tiny intruder had at least a bit of brains, it seemed.

    "My friends are very interested in what you can do, shadow singer." The girl said, eyes narrowed in curiosity.

    "If your friends are so interested," Anastasia began, and her hands twitched minutely, a reflex as well as the itch to wipe out the girl in front of her. "Why didn't they come themselves, instead of you?"

    Surprisingly, the girl laughed. It was quiet, and hoarse, but she was laughing. "They figured you'd find me less threatening. And after your friend's failed attempt at making us forget what we saw...well, my associates think the two of you could be useful to us. Under their employment, you could be the most feared woman in Ketterdam. You could end the war between the gangs."

    Anastasia's temper flared. "I am not an asset. I don't care what your friends think—you will not be using me and my power for your own purposes." She put her hands down, palms flat against the bedspread.

    The girl, still nameless, flinched at the movement, but recovered quickly and pulled a piece of cardstock from the pocket of her trousers.

    "If you decide to accept my offer, or if you have questions, you'll find me here." She said, handing over the card. "Ask for Inej." The girl—Inej—walked towards the window, feet silent on the wood floor. "Thank you for your consideration, shadow singer."

    And then she was gone, as if she was never there. The only evidence of her ever being there was the card in Anastasia's hand and the open window.

    Anastasia studied the business card under the light of the moon: thick black cardstock, with words in the native language of Kerch stamped in crimson ink across it. The Crow Club. Below the words, an address and a silver crow were embossed into the paper.

    She ran her fingertips across the card. It was simple but high quality, clearly made with care and concern for how the people who got their hands on the card would perceive it.

    She glanced at the clock on the wall across the room. Two in the morning.

    With a sigh, she shoved the card under her pillow and laid back down. She had at least six more hours to sleep before Clara would wake up, and then they would talk about where to go from there. In the morning, they would decide together—it was a decision that affected the both of them—whether or not they wanted to pay the Crow Club, as well as Inej's friends, a visit.

⚜︎

    "So you're telling me that a stranger was in our room last night, and I didn't wake up? And you didn't wake me up immediately after?" Clara demanded once she had been briefed on the situation.

    Anastasia shrugged and sipped her tea. "I didn't want to worry you in the middle of the night. Besides, if you woke up while Inej was here, I wasn't sure that she wouldn't kill you on the spot." She said, far too casually.

    With raised eyebrows and wide eyes, Clara replied, "You're on a first name basis with someone who climbed in through the window? That's new."

    There had been numerous attempts over the past two centuries, people trying to murder the two Grisha girls in the middle of the night, under the cover of darkness and the assumption that they would be asleep. Since Clara was such a heavy sleeper, Anastasia had always been the one to neutralize the threat; murder didn't come easy to her, but when it meant either their lives or hers, she didn't hesitate. Out on the streets, however, was Clara's territory. She was the one to handle any attackers outside of their lodging.

    "She doesn't know my name, so no. Not on a first name basis." Anastasia said stiffly. The whole situation was absurd. The fact that she was genuinely considering going to the Crow Club for answers was even more absurd. "Should we do this? I mean, even if it's a bust, it's a gambling club, so we could still have fun."

    Clara wore a surprised expression. "Usually I'm the one who has to convince you to do something crazy."

    "Is that a yes or a no?"

    "That's a yes, but only if we can use our real names with these people. I'm so bored of going by Millie fucking Dowsing." Clara answered, already rooting through her luggage for an appropriate outfit.

    Anastasia crossed the room and grabbed at Clara's hands. "These people might not be Ravkan, but I can't use my surname. It's too recognizable. It stands out too much."

    "Then don't use your mother's name. Use your real name, but keep going by your father's last name like you have been. Anastasia Sokolov instead of Anastasia Morozova. Simple as that." Clara proposed, sounding hopeful.

    Taking a breath, Anastasia echoed her best friend. "Anastasia Sokolov." It felt so foreign to say, the combination of her given name and the name she didn't inheret. Her mother had wanted both of her children to be an extension of herself, with no hints of their fathers in their names. Anastasia had never in her life gone by her father's surname, not really, and neither had her brother, at least while she had known him. She knew now, however, that he had begun to go by his father's surname—Kirigan—to erase the part of him that was known as the Black Heretic by the general public.

    It seemed simple enough—to give a part of her truth but not anywhere near all of it. But she hadn't used her real name with anyone except Clara for so long that offering up her name to complete strangers felt like a death sentence.

    "Stas," Clara said quietly and clearly. "Stas, we don't have to do this. We can just, I don't know, stay in tonight. Or we can leave. Go to another country. It's up to you. I know what this will cost you—no more anonymity. Being known is terrifying. But you said you were interested in at least figuring out what they wanted."

    Anastasia had this strange, far-away look on her face. "The day I met you, you were being tortured by Fjerdan witch hunters, and I made a decision to trade my life for yours. You were so young, so little. Every choice I've made since that day has either been for my own self-preservation, or for yours. I'm just trying to rationalize the positives and negatives of us going to this club. They could be slavers, or undercover Fjerdans—"

    "They aren't Fjerdan. You would know if they were. Fjerdans are far stupider than the average person." Clara interrupted.

    Anastasia gave her a withering glare. "Not the point. We could be walking into an ambush and not know it." She fiddled with the ring around her index finger, finding solace in the cold Ravkan steel. No matter the weather, no matter how sweaty or heated she was, the ring stayed cool, a definite bonus of being crafted by a Fabrikator. "I just think we should weigh our options, that's all. Someone broke into our room and could have killed me, or you, or the both of us. The last person to do that was that boy in Novyi Zem." She said bluntly.

    Clara's nose wrinkled in the memory in disgust; the boy in mention was someone who had managed to get close to her, close enough to see what and who she was first-hand, and he'd nearly killed her for it. Anastasia had come home from a late-night shift at the bookstore she'd worked at back then to find a blindfold over Clara's eyes and the boy's hands around her throat. Her hands had been tied down at her sides, completely paralyzing her and preventing her from Heartrending.

    It hadn't been the first time Anastasia had used the Cut on someone, and it hadn't been the last, but it was the first time that Anastasia hadn't vomited after doing it. She'd felt a swell of power and, for the first time in her life, understood exactly why Grisha were so feared. They could end someone's life just by blinking, without even touching the person.

    People like Anastasia took life and added their victims' lost years to their own lifespan—at least, that's what the citizens of Fjerda thought, but the truth was that Grisha just lived longer because of their abilities. Anastasia and her brother were lucky enough to be practically immortal; if they weren't truly eternal beings, well, she'd find out the hard way eventually.

    "Alright." Clara said, finally, after several moments. "Then it's a no."

    Anastasia pursed her lips and continued to tug at her fingers. "That's not what I said."