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From Wayne's head: Wax knows a lot of things, but tonight on the marble landing of the Shaw he has become Ruin incarnate. Wax is right about most of what he has done, but he doesn't have to be right about this. So Wayne takes the lead this time.

He calls out to the security force gathered before the double doors at the end of the marble hall. *Hey, you all, out there? I know you.* Wax gives him a glare; Wayne ignores it. *I know you,* he says again, louder, and the room falls quiet save for the clinking of weapons. Then he tells them what they are. They are guards, watchmen, fellows hired to keep an eye on a building. They don't know about cities being destroyed, about dark gods. They have seen creepy stuff but they were not hired for *that*. They were here to put coin in their pockets honestly. They were supposed to go home tonight, hug their kids, eat a meal even if it was cold, go drinking with mates or just get a decent night's sleep for once.

*But now, here you are,* he tells them. Their hands are slick on the grips of their guns. Their hearts feel like they are trying to rip out of their chests and run. They are telling themselves they have no choice, that they signed up for this, that they have to shoot. They are wrong. They were lied to about what tonight was. There is a door to their right; he doesn't know where it goes but at least it isn't *here*. In a moment, *Dawnshot and I are gonna come out killin'*. If a man stays, maybe he gets lucky and dies clean and doesn't have to live the rest of his life crushed by what he did this night — shooting lawmen, hearing later about an entire city full of kids and families gone. Or maybe he isn't lucky. Maybe he pulls the trigger, hits one of them, and that follows him forever. So Wayne says his piece and finishes: he hopes one of them is listening, and when he and Wax come out, anyone whose gun is already holstered as they make for that exit is *not gonna be aimed at first.*

Wax cinches his arm bandage tight and nods. The Big Gun is out of ammo and on the floor; he has Vindication up and ready, but no real conviction left in his hand for what would have happened next without Wayne. Sometimes what is needed is a sword. Sometimes what is needed is something else. A shield, maybe — but that is too poetic, and Wayne doesn't know much about poetry. Sometimes what is needed is a guy who has been where they are.

They step out from behind the pillar with weapons drawn — and the whole gathered crowd is scrambling for the side door, shoving and pushing to get through. A few at the back glance back as though they might be in charge and feel uneasy about leaving their posts, but two trained Twinborn with notches in their stocks running into three digits is, in the end, plenty of permission to walk away. In seconds the marble entry is empty.

Wax and Wayne share a look, then push open the heavy wooden doors at the far end. A grand staircase leads up to a ballroom under a skylight. Standing at the top: a man in a suit, and a woman in a bowler hat — head completely healed since the storm drain — flipping a dueling cane in one hand and trying her best to imitate a Wayne grin. *These idiots again?* Wayne sighs. He'll tackle the one with the hat; Wax takes the —

*No,* Wax says softly. *No.* The man knows exactly how to hunt him. They were built and trained to defeat Wax and Wayne specifically, and the right matchup is the wrong one: *you take the fellow, I take the woman.* Wax smiles, Wayne grins back. *Remember he's a Leecher; don't get too close or he'll wipe out your Allomancy.* Wayne is depending on it.