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Wax sits alone in a room full of people at Ladrian Mansion. They have set him up the way Steris knows he likes — warm fire, small flame-lamp by the chair, broadsheets rolled by his teacup — but he sees none of it. The party is the post-crisis victory lap. Lord Harms leads the conversation, congratulating everyone for being progressive enough to celebrate a city head with no noble blood at all — not even the part-nobility of the Lord Mistborn, or the half of the Survivor. Steris diverts attention away from Wax when she can, telling guests they have delayed the wedding so he can take a short recuperation. Wax speaks when spoken to. Mostly they let him be. He thinks about how fragile everyone is. One small thing goes wrong, and we break.

Wayne hobbles over on crutches and settles on the footstool by Wax's feet to confide his plan: he is a *rusting genius*, and he means to *get everybody drunk* — workers need something to do with the hours the new reforms are going to give them back. He passes on his father's wisdom about keeping a stiff upper lip (which involves bashing your own face against a wall till the lip bleeds, and you'll feel better, and yes Wayne is fairly sure this works because he can't quite remember from too many head wounds), tells Wax Lessie would have wanted to be stopped, makes a fist of solidarity, and hobbles off. Across the room he spots the Tarcsel daughter — *daughter of Remmingtel Tarcsel, the guy what invented the incandescent lightbulb? Word is you're as smart as your father. That speech device sure is nice.* She seizes him: *that's only the start. They've brought electricity into their houses. Don't you see? It's all around. And I'm going to be the first to use it.* He starts offering her money on the spot, and she tows him away into the crowd talking faster than he can listen.

Marasi settles onto Wax's footstool partway through and quietly puts a finger-long spike of silvery metal flecked with dark red rust on the table beside his tea. *That's one of the spikes she was using, Waxillium. MeLaan wanted me to show it to you.* He doesn't want to see it. She tells him they can't identify the metal it is made of — not one of the ones Paalm started with, so she removed both her originals and replaced them with this. *Where did she get them? Who gave them to her?* He doesn't care. *He sent her to me, Marasi. He sent a kandra to seduce me.* — *No,* she says, firm. *He sent a bodyguard. The seduction was her idea, and yours.* *Harmony knew what would happen.* *Maybe he didn't.* *Then what kind of God is He?* She fidgets, sighs, takes the spike back, and as she stands she leaves a small earring in its place. Wax does not look at it.

Marasi stops by the precinct on the way home to retrieve her copy of the Lord Mistborn's Hemalurgy book and finds Aradel up by candlelight at the back of the main chamber working through equipment-depreciation reports on his first day as interim governor of Elendel. He tells her he is not really governor; she points out the title has the word in it. He says he will refuse the seat. She tells him the people who would be happy in the chair have already had their chance and she is excited to see what happens. Then MeLaan strolls in still wearing Innate's body, holding a belt, asking how to tie a noose. She is on her way to hang herself in Innate's cell. She refuses to testify under oath against the lords on the letters — *people have to be able to trust the law; I'm not going to set the precedent that the kandra can lie under oath even when you're pretty sure you've got the right evidence* — and would rather close the case the other way. Aradel ties the noose for her with instructions on bruise placement and arranges for a cremation she will breathe through and then slip the bones for him to burn.

Marasi walks her to the cell-block door and asks the real question. Would Harmony confirm guilt? Yes. Would the kandra use it? No. You don't get to ask a god to do your prosecutor's work. They walk in silence to the door. Then Marasi takes the strange spike out and asks the better question. MeLaan tells her: the metal is unknown to the kandra and unknown to Allomancers, *and unknown to Harmony*. Spikes like it stole Allomancy and Feruchemy for Paalm's use, and they are how she hid from God. *What could stop a god, Marasi Colms?* *Another god*, she whispers. *Congratulations. You've found proof of something that terrifies us.* MeLaan slips off to hang herself. Marasi stands in the dark precinct holding the spike and remembers the name Miles Hundredlives spoke at his own execution a year ago. She had been too distracted then by Ironeyes to chase it properly. She is going to dig back into the records and find out, finally, who or what Trell is.

Back at Ladrian Mansion the room has gone quiet long before Wax noticed. The fire is dying; he doesn't tend it. Steris gets up and sets a new log on, stirs the embers, then scoots the footstool around beside his chair and sits down, legs crossed neatly, hands in her lap. She does not say anything. After a while she lays her hand on top of his. The fire has felt cold to him all night and the air frozen, but her hand is warm. He turns to the side, rests his head on her shoulder, and finally weeps.