Now, to be quiet. Kelsier let himself drift again, spread out. No longer did he try to stop Ruin’s influence. In withdrawing, he saw that he had been helping a tiny bit. He’d held back some earthquakes, slowed the flow of lava. An insignificant amount, but at least he’d done something.

Now he let it go and gave Ruin free rein. The end accelerated, twisting about the motions of one young woman, who arrived back in Luthadel at the advent of a storm.

Kelsier closed his eyes, feeling the world hush, as if the land itself were holding its breath. Vin fought, danced, and pushed herself to the limits of her abilities—and then beyond. She stood against Ruin’s assembled might of Inquisitors, and fought with such majesty that Kelsier was astonished. She was better than the Inquisitor he’d fought, better than any man he’d seen. Better than Kelsier himself.

Unfortunately, against an entire murder of Inquisitors, it was not nearly enough.

Kelsier forced himself to hold back. And hell, was it difficult. He let Ruin reign, let his Inquisitors beat Vin to submission. The fight was over too soon, and ended with Vin broken and defeated, at Marsh’s mercy.

Ruin stepped close, whispering to her. Where is the atium, Vin? he said. What do you know of it?

Atium? Kelsier drew himself near as Marsh knelt by Vin and prepared to hurt her. Atium. Why …

It all came together for him. Ruin wasn’t complete either. There in the broken city of Luthadel—rain washing down, ash clogging the streets, Inquisitors roosting and watching with expressionless spiked eyes—Kelsier understood.

Preservation’s plan. It could work!

Marsh snapped Vin’s arm, and grinned.

Now.

Kelsier hit Ruin with the full strength of his power. It wasn’t much, and he was a poor master of it. But it was unexpected, and it drew away Ruin’s attention. The powers met, and the friction—the opposition—caused them to grind.

Pain coursed through Kelsier. The ground throughout the city trembled.

“Kelsier, Kelsier,” Ruin said.

Below, Marsh laughed.

“Do you know,” Kelsier said, “why I always won at card tricks, Ruin?”

“Please,” Ruin said. “Does this matter?”

“It’s because,” Kelsier said, grunting in pain, his power taut, “I could always. Force. People to choose. The card I wanted them to.”

Ruin paused, then looked down. The letter—delivered by Goradel not to Vin, but to Marsh—did its job.

Marsh ripped free Vin’s earring.

The world froze. Ruin, vast and immortal, looked on with complete and utter horror.

“You made the wrong one of us into your Inquisitor, Ruin,” Kelsier hissed. “You shouldn’t have picked the good brother. He always did have a nasty habit of doing what was right instead of what was smart.”

Ruin looked to Kelsier, turning his full, incredible attention on him.

Kelsier smiled. Gods, it appeared, could still fall for a classic misdirection con.