Natasha Van Doren is a shadow summoner. She bides her time and resides in darkness, feared and esteemed by Ketterdam's civilians, a ghost . She cons Kaz Brekker into joining a heist he can't refuse and with thirty million kruge on the line, the crow...
" I may be a thief, a murderer, and an absolute monster, but I'm not a liar, Van Doren, "
- K.B
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THE AIR WAS FILLED WITH SMOKE. Bullets punctured the mist, grey smoke rising and falling. Natasha's silver eyes were watering, thick tears streaming down her cheeks. She pressed a hand against her temples, coughing up ash. She couldn't see past the smoke or hear a word over the shooting and shrieking.
She stifled a scream as she looked around the shattered deck, bodies strewn around her. She crawled over to one, on her knees, shutting the man's eyes gently. Blood was running down his forearm, the crow tattoo hidden beneath the pooling liquid.
She went to push herself up, but she realised she couldn't. A sob wracked through her body as she looked down at her legs. They were crooked and bent, like broken pins. So she tried pulling herself up. Her hands curled tightly around the metal railing. Natasha could hear the bullets rushing past her ears, the very wind whirring to escape.
Her knees buckled, and Natasha slammed down against the deck, splinters digging into the flesh of her cheek. She moaned in pain, clutching her legs. She was going to die alone and broken.
She could hear voices on the harbour, the boat tipping from side to side. Water was rushing in below deck, slowly sinking the ship. I can make it, she thought fiercely. She bit the flesh on the inside of her cheek as she struggled over the gangplank, hauling her bag behind her. It was dead weight, but if she didn't hurry, she would be too.
Natasha Van Doren refused to drown on a boat. She'd die fighting. She pursed her lips in a grimace, squinting her eyes through the mist. The crackling embers of crates on fire glistened like rubies.
"Anyone," she called out lowly. She dragged her legs behind her, eyes wet with tears. "Is anyone there," she cried out again. Natasha wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and let the pain wash over her like the waves on a shore.
She crawled over to another stack of crates, throwing her bag atop of the several wooden boxes. I can make it, she mumbled through gritted teeth.
She weakly pushed her arms up until she was nearly flipped upside down. She grabbed the hem of her pants, dragging each leg weakly, the leather belt of her bag keeping her in place.
The view below was sickening. The dregs were outnumbered, the boat Natasha had crawled off tipping into the sea. She watched the bodies roll down the deck, swallowed in by welcoming waters.
"She's up there," A voice screamed. Natasha shuddered in fear. She was too weak to climb any higher, the muscles in her arm already seizing. It's better to die here than in that boat, she reminded herself.
Natasha curled her fingers around the hilt of her dagger, praying to whatever God would listen. She was no saint and especially no saviour. She'd need all the prayers she could get.
