She… she wouldn’t accept it. She wouldn’t believe he was gone. He’d… he’dsurvived worse than this. She would come home one day and he’dbe sitting in her kitchen helping himself to the chocolate.
And if that never happened?
I can’t deal with that right now,she thought.Not on two hours of sleep.
She let the delusion linger. So it could erode, like a stone in the waves, over time.
Allik took her by the shoulders. “You,” he declared, “look like you are in need of copious amounts of baked goods. Delivered with an urgency rivaling that of a warleader in battle. Yah?”
“Yah,” she said, embracing him again. “A thousand times yah, Allik.”
***
An hour later—full of exotic cakes and biscuits—Marasi snuggled in the overstuffed chair of her small flat. She’dfinally changed, but not into pajamas. Instead she wore her uniform. Long skirt, blouse, constable’s overcoat.
Allik had given that an odd glance before he’dslipped out—with characteristic apologies—to buy a bottle of wine. The thing was, as tired as Marasi had felt, another emotion dominated. A sense of displacement. An awareness that something waswrong.
She was struggling to deal with the idea that Wayne was dead. Most of her refused to believe, for her own sanity. That was part of it. There was another part though. A sense that something was unfinished, that a question hung in the balance. One she had to answer before she could truly rest.
So it was no great surprise that soon after Allik left, a knock sounded at the door. It was a young messenger girl, of the variety you could easily hire in town for a few clips. They knew the ins and outs of the many tenements, apartments, and winding streets of the octants better than most postmen.
The girl delivered a small envelope before scampering off. Inside was a card with the symbol of the interlocking triangles. The Ghostbloods. There was an address on the back.
Marasi checked her things. Credentials in her pocket. Handgun in the holster at her side. Insignia on her jacket. She didn’t bring a rifle. Today, she didn’t need to be armed so much as equipped.
She left a quick note for Allik, promising to return soon, then made her way out into the city. Her city.
She loved Elendel. The sheer variety of people. The way that the broadsheets were already selling the story of the detonation. Some called it a warning shot from the Outer Cities, others a deliberate attempt to cause a flood—as if blowing the city up wouldn’t have been a more effective choice. A surprising number actually had the right facts.
DAWNSHOT AND DEPUTY SAVE DAY.
DARING LAST-MINUTE RACE TO SAVE ELENDEL!
BILMING BOMB PREMATURELY DETONATED BY CONSTABLE COURAGE!
She wondered what they’dsay when they got hold of her story. A hidden cavern full of kidnapped people being used to try to create Mistborn? Moving photos and Hemalurgic monsters? It was the sort of thing that would fuel broadsheet stories for decades.
She strolled toward her destination. Savoring the scents—good and bad, but always potent—the sounds, thefeelof a city so alive that even a disaster couldn’t stop it.
The Ghostblood base in Elendel was more ostentatious than the one in Bilming. A grand old-school estate, with stained glass and manicured grounds. Marasi was ushered in without needing to knock, then led to a dimly lit room. She assumed she was to sit here and wait, until she noticed someone at the far side. Seated in a comfortable—but enveloping—chair, fine shoes catching the light, his face lost in shadows. But one feature was plain: a single spike pushed through his right eye.
The Survivor himself.
She’dmet Death, chatted with kandra, heard Wax speak of Harmony. She was no newcomer to figures from lore stepping out of shadow and into her life. This was different somehow. This was the man who had started it all. The man who had survived his own murder. This was the man she’dbeen taught to worship and revere.
Here he was. And it was the most intimidating experience of her life. She tried to speak, and found her mouth dry.
The door opened and TwinSoul entered, stabilizing himself against the door handle. Though she’dknown him only a short time, it still felt right to give him a hug, which he returned.
“It is good to see you well, my lady,” he said to her. “And to hear of your accomplishments.”
“Oh!” Marasi said. “TwinSoul. Moonlight, she—”
“We’ve heard reports,” TwinSoul said. “She was… forced to use her stamp?”
“Yes,” Marasi said.
“She will be difficult to recover,” Kelsier said from the shadows. “I may have permanently lost my best agent to this fiasco.”