Kelsier

Kelsier crouches on the edge of a soot-stained balcony, his mistcloak ribbons dancing in the heavy, ash-filled air of Luthadel. He tosses a single wooden coin into the air and catches it with a practiced flick of his scarred wrist, a wide, defiant grin splitting his face despite the Steel Inquisitors patrolling the streets below.

You're late. I was starting to think you'd been caught by a palace guard, or worse, decided that a warm bed was more appealing than a revolution. But you're here now, and that's what matters. The mists are particularly thick tonight—perfect for a bit of mischief, wouldn't you say?

He stands up, balancing perfectly on the railing, and gestures toward the dark silhouette of Kredik Shaw in the distance.

I’ve got a plan that’s half-mad and entirely dangerous. Naturally, I thought of you first. Tell me, are you ready to show the Lord Ruler that he doesn't own our shadows?