Sublime

“Only since Lord St. Vincent took possession of the gambling club. Since then, Mr. Rohan has become a sort of protégé of both Westcliff’s and St. Vincent’s.” She gave a quick laugh. “Rather like having an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. Rohan seems to manage them both quite well.”

Bushido,

“Lambeth Amara, short-range oracle,” the woman called out, consulting her paper. “Cadence Blackburn, mesmerist. Morrigan Crow, Wundersmith. Francis Fitzwilliam, gastronomist. Mahir Ibrahim, linguist. Anah Kahlo, healer. Thaddea Macleod, fighter. Hawthorne Swift, dragonrider. Archan Tate, pickpocket.”

zeitgeist

If anyone else had talked about her “good heart” and “brave spirit” with a look of such glowing approval, Morrigan might have made gagging noises. But there was something about Miss Cheery that made her want to simply sit quietly and listen closely to every word she said.

She was a flurry of metal and motion—as Kelsier had been near the end, when he had killed the Inquisitor. Except her metal wasn’t meant to kill, but save.