[ Her chin tips back as she laughs and he feels that squeeze in his chest, the one that makes him light-headed. That's the laugh, the one that'd slipped under creases in his armor he hadn't known existed. The one that had reminded him that magic could be more than sleight of hand and misdirection. There are days he really wishes he could bottle it up, savor it in sips when she was gone away at sea too long.

For now, he basks in it, letting it wash over him like a warm spring rain.

Shifting, he moves his other hand to curve along the side of her neck, thumb lightly resting on her jawline. Her words are a gentle tease and he huffs a quiet laugh at his expense. In a different time, the jab would've been injurious, would've reminded him that Ketterdam had only served to cage her in. ]

You're more precious than anything the city could ever offer me, Inej. [ Because despite his anxiety, his disagreement, his reluctance–if she asked him to burn it all to the ground and follow her instead, he would. There are hundreds of reasons why he stays in Ketterdam; his responsibilities, the gang, his crows (both sets), all the undone schemes. None are so significant as his role in being an anchor there for Inej when she finally came to dry land. ]

Besides, Ketterdam's my mother. All children have to fly the nest on occasion.