Kaz feels his heart beat faster, his eyes widening. Is he being haunted? Of all the ghosts of his past, he can't help but think it's his brother, haunting his steps and decisions, the brutal way he'd clawed to the front of the pack.

"Jordie?" he whispers, sounding more like Kaz, the little boy who lost his brother, than Dirtyhands, bastard of the Barrel. He steps closer slowly, squinting at the figure. But then again, he had thought Van Eck's Grisha under the influence of jurda parem were ghosts, too. Perhaps this figure is something else and someone else. He stops a little ways away, not wanting to spook them.

"Who are you?"