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At 1AM, Jesper wakes up. He hadn’t been asleep for even a second.
The strangeness of the location played a part, certainly. He was off on a mini job for Kaz in the west of Kerch, more of a training exercise for the younger recruits to the Dregs than a real heist. He and his partner for the job, a bubbly Suli teenager named Nidish, finished the last bits of it around midnight, just as the last of the ferries left the harbor.
But the location really wasn’t really the reason Jesper couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t adrenaline from the job, either. It wasn’t even the fact that Jesper could hear Nidish snore, through the walls of the suite they were in.
No, Jesper couldn’t sleep, because for the first time in years, he was sleeping entirely on his own. Attempting to, at least.
Jesper flips the pillow over onto its other side, for the third time in the past ten minutes. He was unsure why the process of sleeping by himself feels so foreign. He spent, give or take a few nights, seventeen full years sleeping on his own. He liked sleeping on his own; he liked to sprawl out and let his limbs stretch, adjust the pillows and blankets in the middle of the night, without fear of waking anyone. He should be happy to do that now, without worrying about waking a sleepy merchling.
And yet.
Jesper hadn’t realized how much he could miss Wylan’s curled up form, the way he always found a way to twine himself with Jesper. He wanted to bring Wylan a cup of tea and drink it in bed together, and let the cups join their ever-growing mess on their bedside tables. He wanted to kiss Wylan into the pillow, and let him steal as much blanket as he wanted, and then wait for the morning to pick a playful fight over it. Saints, did he want to wake up to Wylan. He found that no matter what positions they had contorted to in their sleep—it was not very surprising for them to sometimes wake up 180 degrees opposite to where they began—he always felt Wylan’s curls tickling his skin. He desperately wanted to run his fingers through Wylan’s hair. He wanted Wylan here.
And the job was done—Jesper had no obligation to truly stay here—but all the ferries had left. There were other boats, fishing vessels and merchant ships, but he doubted there was anything that had a chartered course to Ketterdam.
But still…
Jesper sat up abruptly. He shoved his random assortment of belongings into his bag, scribbled out a note, and sprinted out the door. If he wasn’t going to sleep either way, he might as well try and figure out a way back.
*
At 2AM, Wylan wakes up. He hadn’t been asleep, but he had been earnestly trying since 1AM.
The fact of the matter was that everything felt weird. For an hour, Wylan tossed and turned, because the bedsheets were too hot, but then he felt too cold. The pillows were lumpy and too soft, and then they were too hard. He went to the bathroom to inhale the lavender scented soap he and Jesper kept, if that could promote relaxation and sleep, but in that instance, Wylan decided he hated the scent of lavender. He drank chamomile tea, and then he was too aware of the taste in his mouth, so he obviously couldn’t sleep then.
It shouldn’t even make sense that being without Jesper, for this single night, should make sleep as a whole so unappealing. But over the past few years, sleep, in its very definition, included being with Jesper. Sleep meant the drowsy, often meaningless conversations they had, the sleepy goodnight kisses, the decidedly less sleepy and more smugly satiated kisses, the physical presence of one another. Even on the nights they had fought, when the mansion had any number of rooms for them to storm into and sleep separately in, they came together at the same bed at night, even if their arms were folded, stonily facing opposite sides. And in the morning, when they woke, and their eyes met after blinking awake, it was hard to remember what they had even been angry about.
Wylan throws the pillow off his bed, groaning. He’s never been more awake in his life.
He debates heading over to the study and getting some work done, certain that a chance of sleep is hopeless. He figures now’s not the time to practice the flute, lest he wake his mother or any of the staff, so he sighs again.
Wylan decides, ultimately, to get out of the house. A brisk, night stroll—at 2AM—might make him cold enough that the heat of the Jesper-less bed seems comforting, and maybe then he’ll sleep. He doesn’t bother changing out of his sleep clothes, since he knows no one else will be out on the streets. He doesn’t need pockets right now, either, since they leave their spare house key under the doormat (much to Kaz’s constant displeasure).
He does decide, though, at the thought of Kaz, that he should take a flashbomb with him. The Geldstraat is nothing like the Barrel, but since he is going out alone, late at night, it’s a fine precaution.
Wylan makes it past three streets, and has started looping back, when he realizes this was a mistake.
There’s a man, a little ways behind, undoubtedly following Wylan. He’s following his path nearly exactly, waiting for him to enter one of the houses. Wylan steels himself. He’s lived in the Barrel— he can handle this. Wylan turns down an alley, a shortcut to their house. If the man follows him here, then Wylan will know for a fact that he is being followed—the only other person who’d use this path is Jesper.
Sure enough, Wylan hears footsteps behind him. He doesn’t hesitate.
Wylan tosses the flashbomb behind him, shutting his own eyes tight. Almost simultaneously, there’s a gunshot. Wylan starts to sprint away, eyes still closed as the bright light lingers in the air, but he runs, almost precisely, directly into the brick wall of the alley. It’s there, then, that he hears his name amongst the loud barrage of shouted curses from the stranger.
“Jesper?” Wylan shouts back, incredulous.
The curses stop. “Finally. Saints, Wylan.”
Wylan rushes back, head spinning—from running into the wall, but also from Jesper’s unexpected presence. And at the realization, suddenly, that—
“I hit you with the bomb!” Wylan gasps, diving down next to him. He pulls Jesper towards him, and notices the blood on the ground. His next breath is one of sheer panic, almost a shriek.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Jesper groans, but he’s pressing a hand tightly to his eyes.
Another swarm of panic. Wylan designs his flashbombs specifically not to blind permanently, but the after effects hurt. He recalls one accidentally going off in the lab while he tested it, and tries to even out his breathing to relay the instructions.
“You’re fine,” Wylan echoes. He takes a deep breath. “Keep your eyes shut, Jes. Any source of light—even the street light—is just going to hurt, so… I’m so sorry, I thought you were following me, and I didn’t–”
“Don’t be,” Jesper says, wincing. “I didn’t recognize you at first, and thought you were going to try and rob me. I was going to shoot you. Saints, I did shoot, I–”
“Don’t worry,” Wylan says, searching Jesper’s head for the source of the blood on the ground with urgency. Jesper attempts to open his eyes, and Wylan puts his hand over them in warning. “For once in your life, you missed. I heard the gun go off, but I suppose the light…”
Jesper, then, looks entirely sheepish. “Um. Well, once the light went off, I realized it was you—I could see you, I mean, for a split second. I changed the aim of the shot.”
Wylan freezes. He glances at the blood on the ground. Slowly, he asks, “And where did you aim it too?”
“My leg,” Jesper says lightly. Wylan releases another panicked garble of curses, reassurances, and gasps. Jesper quickly exclaims, “It doesn’t hurt, though! I barely nicked myself.”
“Where? Where, I don’t see the–”
“On my calf. No important arteries, don’t be worried.”
“Of course I’m worried!” Wylan says hysterically. He pulls off the shirt he’s wearing—Jesper’s shirt, which he mortifyingly grabbed from the laundry hamper and wore because it smelt of him—and rips a strip off of it. Seeing the wound, he takes a small breath of relief; it really is just a nick. “Okay. I’m wrapping it up, and then we’ll head home.”
“Why the hell were you even walking around at night?” Jesper demands, gesticulating wildly. “What if I had shot you? What if someone else–”
“I just actually set a bomb off on you!” Wylan snaps. “Try the what ifs another time. What are you doing here, walking around?”
A beat of silence, and then Jesper says, “The job ended early.”
Wylan releases a frustrated huff. He makes the executive decision to argue about this another time, perhaps tomorrow morning. “Here, let me help you stand.”
Wylan rises on his knee to help Jesper, and immediately inhales sharply as stars dance around the corners of his vision.
Jesper’s hands flail out to reach Wylan, unseeing but determined to help him. “What happened? Are you hurt, did I–”
“I’m fine, just a little dizzy,” Wylan manages, clutching Jesper’s shoulder. He slumps back down to the ground and admits defeat. “I ran into a wall. My head hurts.”
“Saints, Wylan, you didn’t want to tell me earlier–”
“I’m better off than you,” Wylan shoots back.
Jesper lets out a noise that’s half a groan, half a laugh. “Alright. Okay. Let’s just—let’s just sit here for a minute.”
Wylan relents. They sit in a stunned, semi-exhausted silence for a minute, when a breeze makes Wylan shiver. He moves his body towards the familiar warmth of Jesper. “Jes? Can I wear your jacket?”
“‘Course, love.” Jesper shrugs it off without any delay, and then frowns. “Are you cold? We can head back home, I’ll help you stand–”
“It’s okay, Jes. We should at least wait until you can open your eyes again–”
“But if you’re cold, I don’t want to–”
“I’m not cold, I’m just shirtless.”
“And I don’t get to see it?” Jesper says, in full offense. He reaches a hand out, blindly groping from Wylan’s clavicle to shoulder to confirm. Wylan’s lips twitch up in amusement, but he scoffs for propriety’s sake. “Thank you for sacrificing your shirt for me.”
“Anytime,” Wylan says dryly. He hesitates, and adds, “And it was your shirt.”
Jesper grins stupidly. “You were wearing my shirt? Why?”
“Why else?” Wylan pokes Jesper’s shoulder, but almost instantly relents his defensive attack. Wylan sighs, and carefully rests his head down on the same shoulder he just poked. “It smelled like you, and I missed you.”
Wylan feels Jesper’s head turn, dropping a kiss into his hair.
“I missed you too,” Jesper confesses. “I found that navy tie of yours at the bottom of my bag. I kept it in my jacket pocket so I could keep it near.”
Wylan reaches into the pocket; he feels the tie for himself, and his breath catches. “I was wondering where that tie went,” he teases lightly. He lifts his head enough to kiss Jesper’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re back home. More or less okay.”
Jesper laughs. “What were you doing, out at night?”
Wylan sighs, and his face heats. He’ll tell the truth, and hope Jesper doesn’t find him too clingy for it. “I couldn’t sleep without you. I figured I might as well go for a walk.”
“Oh,” Jesper whispers. His fingers play with Wylan’s loosely, and he starts to smile. “I couldn’t sleep either. Tossed and turned for an hour, and then I gave up.”
Wylan furrows his brows. “I thought your job–”
“It finished on time, as planned. The last boat had already left the station. But…”
“What did you do?”
“I may have commandeered a tiny merchant ship,” Jesper admits sheepishly. “The tiniest thing, which… I didn’t necessarily sail well, but I promised I’d pay them for the damages, so if you see a little charge on your ledger in the next week–”
Wylan laughs loudly. He thinks he should be scolding Jesper, or at the very least, feeling sorry for the unassuming merchants that are missing a boat, but he can’t bring himself to feel anything but giddy delight. “You’re ridiculous, Jes.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to sleep,” Jesper defends, but he too can sense the humor in Wylan’s voice. “I would’ve been up all night, missing you, waiting for the next boat or carriage—oh,” he says, in a dawning realization. “I could’ve taken a carriage.” He shrugs the realization away. “But the canals are faster. And I’m here now.”
“With a gunshot and temporary blindness,” Wylan points out.
“Still better than being without you.”
Wylan shakes his head fondly, and then turns to meet Jesper’s lips with his own. He doesn’t feel dizzy when he rises again, but still hovers over Jesper for a second, hesitant to sit on his lap and accidentally make Jesper’s leg wound worse. Jesper thinks ahead. He splays his legs out, which makes Wylan’s face go very warm, and gently tugs Wylan down onto the thigh of his un-injured leg.
One of Jesper’s hands is in Wylan’s hair, tugging gently at the curls. Wylan sighs into their next kiss, too tired to really let it get dirtier— but deeper isn’t off the table. Perhaps it should be, situation considering, but neither of them care enough. Hours apart, and it could be a lifetime; Wylan never wants to do it again.
Another blinding light pouring over them both interrupts the kiss. Wylan’s eyes fly open, wincing immediately from the brightness. Jesper attempts the same, and makes a muffled sound of pain when he fails, but reaches for his pistols nonetheless. Wylan holds his hand out to block as much light as he can, for both of their sakes, revealing the Stadwatch officer and his torch, responsible for it all.
“Break it up, you two,” the officer says with a scowl. “Hands away from each other, and behind your backs.”
Wylan’s mouth opens, then closes. He opens it again, and asks, “Are we being arrested?”
The officer raises an eyebrow, his eyes going from the gaudy gold shirt torn on the ground, Jesper’s general dishevelment, and Wylan’s lack of shirt. It’s a very short distance to go between, considering Wylan is mostly on Jesper’s lap. “Public indecency is a crime, so yes.”
Wylan splutters; Jesper, the asshole, starts to snicker until Wylan elbows him to silence.
“This is a misunderstanding, officer,” Jesper assures, though he snorts when he attempts to say the word officer with any sort of respect. “We’re actually not–”
“The way I see it,” the officer begins, as though Jesper hadn’t spoken, “you two can stay in the holding cell tonight, and pay the fine tomorrow morning, or, I’ll ship you two off to Hellgate for attempting to break into one of these here homes.”
“You can’t just do that!” Wylan protests. He shifts up off of Jesper and wraps the jacket tightly around himself. The officer has a gun in his holster, and has his freehand ready to grab it. “We live here.”
“You’re telling me two Barrel rats live on the Geldstraat? This is a respectable neighborhood.”
Wylan wonders how the man could think this, when he recalls the fact that he’s wearing Jesper’s long leather magenta jacket, and the remains of the (also Jesper’s) worn gold silk shirt are on the cobblestone—Barrel flash might actually be more subtle. Wylan swallows a frustrated groan.
Jesper answers for them. In a haughty tone, one that Wylan shouldn’t find attractive but really does, Jesper sniffs, “Do you know who you’re speaking with right now? This is Wylan Van Eck. Of the Merchant Council.”
“Does he have any identification to prove that?” the officer asks flatly.
Wylan bites his lip. Jesper, still with his eyes shut, patiently waits for Wylan to pull out his wallet.
“I don’t have it with me at the moment,” Wylan says awkwardly.
“Identity theft is also a crime.”
“I promise I really am him!” Wylan protests, half a whine. He desperately wants to go home and sleep now that he has Jesper at his side again, and maybe kiss him a few times too. “I can prove it to you, if you’d go down the street with us, our home–”
“Do you have the key to this home?” the officer poses.
At this, Wylan shuts his eyes. “It’s… Well… The key is under the front mat?”
Jesper whirls around to him, incredulous. Quietly, he hisses, “You went out at night with absolutely nothing but a bomb?”
“I couldn’t sleep without you! I wanted to go for a walk!” Wylan hisses back. It comes out less romantic this second time around. “And lower your voice, before he tries to add some other absurd charge!”
“To be fair, love,” Jesper whispers; his tone softened upon hearing Wylan say that again, even if it came out as more of an accusation than a confession. “Setting off a bomb is an actual crime.”
“Don’t remind me,” Wylan mutters. The officer is tapping his foot impatiently, flashlight still trained on them. Lowering his voice, Wylan asks, “What should we do?”
Jesper tilts his head, gesturing to the back of the alleyway. Should we make a run for it? he communicates.
“No,” Wylan murmurs. He used up his flashbomb security, he might have a concussion, Jesper cannot run, and Jesper also needs to keep his eyes shut, which makes the usual methods of escape seem challenging. Jesper could shoot the man—even with his eyes shut, Wylan trusts his aim—but the noise would certainly wake the neighbors. And, murderous as the situation makes him, Wylan doesn’t particularly want to actually murder someone over it.
“Tell you what,” Jesper says loudly, clearing his throat and adopting a charming, professional manner. The officer raises an eyebrow. “You can walk us down to our house—it really is just a few streets over—and we’ll… Ah, give you extra compensation for all your troubles.” Jesper smiles, knowing and easy. Had he been able to open his eyes, he would’ve winked right about now. “Do we have a deal?”
The officer’s face becomes stony. “Are you trying to bribe me?”
“He never said that!” Wylan says defensively, lest they add bribery to their list of charges.
“Attempting to bribe a Stadwatch officer is a second-degree felony!” The officer’s chest puffs out angrily. “Under Section 201 of Title–”
“Yes, I know!” Wylan snaps. “I’m on the Council that passed the law.”
“Is it a new law?” Jesper murmurs curiously. “Because in the Barrel, any officer worth his salt could be bought off with twenty kruge and a poker chip.”
Wylan gives Jesper a disgruntled look. “It is not a new law.”
“If you two don’t surrender yourselves,” the officer interrupts. “I’m going to charge you with noncompliance. Stand up, and keep your hands behind your back.”
“Wy,” Jesper warns, his voice only loud enough for Wylan to hear. “If we’re going to make a run for it, we’ve got to do it now.”
Wylan chews his lip. Tentatively, he asks the officer, “If we surrender ourselves, can we stop at the hospital first? His leg is bleeding, and–”
“This isn’t a taxi service,” the officer says indignantly. “We have a medik at the jail.”
“I’m fine, honestly, love!” Jesper says encouragingly. He hesitates, and says, “I might wait a minute or two more for the eyes, but…” Wylan makes a strained noise, and Jesper hastens to add, “But nothing hurts, you know? I’m more worried about your head.”
“This is all my fault, I’m so sorry,” Wylan says, turning away in guilt.
“None of that,” Jesper says, squeezing his hand. Wylan smiles weakly. “You’re a genius who makes powerful bombs. It’s a credit to you.”
“Bombs?” the officer exclaims, hands rushing to the gun on his hips.
Wylan and Jesper both sigh. Without needing to say a word, they make their decision.
Minutes later, they’re in the back of the Stadwatch carriage, hands cuffed behind their backs. The officer sets them on opposite sides of the cart, but Wylan doesn’t anticipate that lasting for long.
Sure enough, once the carriage is moving, there’s the faint noise of metal clinking together. Jesper shakes out his newly freed hands, and touches Wylan’s knee. With a bit of maneuvering, he fabrikates Wylan’s off too. They sit together on the floor, in the space between the two rows of seats.
“I think I can open my eyes now,” Jesper says, keeping his voice low.
Wylan cups Jesper’s face with one hand, gently stroking his thumb over Jesper’s brow with the other. Slowly, Jesper’s eyes flutter open. Wylan’s pulse races in worry, but the flutter of his heartbeat when Jesper’s eyes meet his own for the first time in hours, like they do every morning when they wake up together, is peaceful and warm.
“Hello,” Wylan says softly. Jesper smiles and leans in for a kiss. “I’m very sorry I bombed you.”
Jesper shrugs him off, still grinning. “I’m glad you went out with something to defend yourself with. If nothing else, including your wallet.”
“How was the job?”
“It went alright,” Jesper murmurs. He sighs fondly, brushing a strand of Wylan’s hair back. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Wylan’s face pinks, barely visible in the dark light of the cart. Still, it washes a wave of affection over Jesper. He ushers Wylan in for a hug; they both take a long inhale, soothed in each other’s arms. Jesper nuzzles his face into Wylan’s hair, now that he can, and plays with the curls absent-mindedly.
After a minute or two, Jesper yawns; Wylan half-lifts his head up, but Jesper shushes him and strokes his hair down again. “I’m fine, I’m not sleepy,” Jesper assures drowsily. “Don’t let me sleep. I’ll open the doors, knock the officer out and get my guns back, and then we’ll make a run for it.”
“Mmh.” Wylan finds that his eyes are starting to droop. “Sure. We’ll wait until—” he yawns, “until we’re on a less… bumpy road.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Jesper mumbles. The motion of the carriage over the bumps in the road is awfully lulling. He decides—very wisely—that he’ll only close his eyes for just a second, and once the road is smooth, he’ll open them.
*
At 5AM, Kaz Brekker wakes up to a nervous, panicked knocking at his door.
He had been asleep. Contrary to public superstition, he did go to sleep. His trick was to wear sleep clothes that, to a bleary eye, could pass as his usual black suit should he be suddenly awoken and in company.
Like now. Kaz flung open the door, preemptively glaring.
Standing at the door were two young Dregs, yet to take the tattoo but still a part of Kaz’s crew. There was Wilona, a Barrel-born girl with excellent close-combat skills and a typically calm demeanor, and more alarmingly, Nidish. Nidish, who should be in the west of Kerch right now, with Jesper.
“What business?” Kaz asks suspiciously.
Nidish gulps nervously. “Um—well. The job went well!” he restarts energetically. “Jesper got the mark to the warehouse, and I got his keys, and it was actually really cool because there were like, levels to the safe, it wasn’t just–”
“You could’ve told me this during our planned meeting, at 9. When you were supposed to arrive.”
“Yes, I know, well,” Nidish stammers. “The job worked out fine. It’s only that… After, Jesper and I went to the inn to stay the night, as planned, right. I had just gone to sleep, and then I heard the door slam, and I wondered if we were being robbed—which would be crazy, because we were there to rob—but anyways, I went to wake Jesper—he was in a different room. I mean, it was like, a suite? Same room, but different bedrooms— but I went to Jesper’s room, and he was gone! At first I thought he had been kidnapped—which would be crazy, because–”
“Because you were there to kidnap, yes, I understand,” Kaz says impatiently. He suddenly pities anyone on the boat ride or inn who had to listen to Nidish and Jesper talk back and forth.
Nidish continues, unaffected. “Right, but his bag was gone too! And he left a note, saying he’s gone back to Ketterdam, and then I wondered whether something had happened with the mark, because I mean, what else would make Jesper leave in the middle of the night so suddenly–”
Missing Wylan, Kaz thinks peevishly. It might’ve been more productive to just bring Wylan along, but Wylan was irritatingly insistent not doing anything illegal, like he didn’t stock Inej with every sort of bomb and chemical weapon known to man. “Did he take the boat back to Ketterdam?”
Nidish nods. “He must’ve caught the last one out, I guess. But either way, he should’ve been back by now.”
“Should’ve?”
Here, Wilona shakes her head. She’s training to be a spider, and Kaz assigns her the task of tailing Wylan when he’s alone, until he sleeps. She’s not nearly as good as Inej, but as that’s an impossible bar to pass, particularly in Kaz’s eyes, he doesn’t hold it against her.
Wilona explains, “I thought Wylan went to sleep at around 1AM, so I had left, but then Nidish woke me when he arrived at 4–”
“I took a carriage over,” Nidish informs, helpfully.
“–and asked me whether Jesper was back in Ketterdam or not. I didn’t think so, and when I broke into their room to check–”
“Which window did you go through?” Kaz asks curiously.
“Music room, left wall.”
Kaz exhales irritably. He had told the two of them at least a month ago to get a better lock on that window, having found it incredibly simple to pick in all the times he had tried it. He waves a hand at Wilona, urging her to continue.
Though her speech is calm and collected, her eyes are wide with worry. “Neither of them were home at all. I told Nidish, and then I caught a rumor that some Stadwatch officer arrested someone claiming to be Wylan Van Eck. I went to Stadwatch Hall, but I couldn’t sneak in—” Kaz frowns; they’ll have to work on that one, “—but I overheard from the officers outside that there are two people, who might be Wylan and Jesper, being kept in a holding cell there.”
“What charges are they under?” Kaz asks.
Nidish and Wilona cast furtive looks at each other, silently deciding who should take the question.
Nidish volunteers, or is otherwise chosen. He clears his throat, and says, “Well, they haven’t been charged with anything officially, and it might not even be them! But… Loitering, attempted robbery, false impersonation of a government official, attempted bribery of an officer, non-compliance, possession of unauthorized explosive devices, and public indecency.”
“It’s them,” Kaz says. Under his breath, he adds, “Idiots.”
*
At 6AM, a newly hired Stadwatch officer dozing off at the front desk wakes up.
Kaz stares down at him, and the officer almost shrieks.
“Dirtyhan—Mr. Brekker,” the officer gasps.
Kaz remains ominously impassive, though he mentally smiles smugly, imagining relaying this news to Jesper and Wylan both. His face is recognized, and his reputation is still feared. Wylan, meanwhile, needs to launch a public awareness campaign for the Councilmen’s faces, and Jesper might’ve cleaned up his reputation a little too well.
He could relay the news now, if he wishes. Kaz’s eyes drift behind the officer’s desk, where a holding cell is in view. It’s quite empty, considering Ketterdam; two straggling public intoxication charges, a rookie Razorgull that Kaz dimly recognizes, and then—
“Do you know those two?” the officer asks in surprise.
The mystery of where Wylan and Jesper went is resolved; they’re both here, fast asleep against each other. That, or they were both knocked unconscious while playing some kind of game that required mimicking a pretzel. Knowing the two of them, either option is equally as likely.
Jesper’s head rests on Wylan’s shoulder, but not the shoulder closest to him, thereby creating a pillow for Wylan to rest his head on; Wylan’s knee is bent over Jesper’s lap, or he might be sitting on it, or Jesper might actually be sitting on him—there’s no way of telling whose limbs are whose. One of Jesper’s legs is bandaged at the calf, and stretched out on the other side. Between this and Wylan’s long jacket—a fashion disaster that must belong to Jesper—draping over the other side, the two of them create the most impressive tripping hazard Kaz has ever seen.
Kaz turns back to the officer. “I’ve never seen these men before in my life.”