Mistborn #01 The Final Empire

you,” the suited man said, choosing a chair next to the soldier. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, his dueling cane held to the side, tip against the floor, one hand resting on the top.
    Vin walked to the bar and began rummaging for drinks.
    “Breeze . . .” the soldier said with a warning tone as Vin selected a bottle of Camon’s most expensive wine and began pouring a cup.
    “Hum . . .?” the suited man said, raising an eyebrow.
    The soldier nodded toward Vin.
    “Oh, very well,” the suited man said with a sigh.
    Vin paused, wine half poured, and frowned slightly. What am I doing?
    “I swear, Ham,” the suited man said, “you are dreadfully stiff sometimes.”
    “Just because you can Push someone around doesn’t mean you should, Breeze.”
    Vin stood, dumbfounded. He . . . used Luck on me. When Kelsier had tried to manipulate her, she’d felt his touch and had been able to resist. This time, however, she hadn’t even realized what she was doing.
    She looked up at the man, thinning her eyes. “Mistborn.”
    The suited man, Breeze, chuckled. “Hardly. Kelsier’s the only skaa Mistborn you’re likely to ever meet, my dear—and pray you never are in a situation where you meet a noble one. No, I am just an ordinary, humble Misting.”
    “Humble?” Ham asked.
    Breeze shrugged.
    Vin looked down at the half-full cup of wine. “You Pulled on my emotions. With . . . Allomancy, I mean.”
    “I Pushed on them, actually,” Breeze said. “Pulling makes a person less trusting and more determined. Pushing on emotions—Soothing them—makes a person more trusting.”
    “Regardless, you controlled me,” Vin said. “You made me fetch you a drink.”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t say that I made you do it,” Breeze said. “I just altered your emotions slightly, putting you in a frame of mind where you’d be more likely to do as I wished.”
    Ham rubbed his chin. “I don’t know, Breeze. It’s an interesting question. By influencing her emotions, did you take away her ability to choose? If, for instance, she were to kill or steal while under your control, would the crime be hers or yours?”
    Breeze rolled his eyes. “There’s really no question to it at all. You shouldn’t think about such things, Hammond—you’ll hurt your brain. I offered her encouragement, I simply did it through an irregular means.”
    “But—”
    “I’m not going to argue it with you, Ham.”
    The beefy man sighed, looking a little bit forlorn.
    “Are you going to bring me the drink . . .?” Breeze asked hopefully, looking at Vin. “I mean, you’re already up, and you’re going to have to come back this direction to reach your seat anyway. . . .”
    Vin examined her emotions. Did she feel irregularly drawn to do as the man asked? Was he manipulating her again? Finally, she simply walked away from the bar, leaving the drink where it was.
    Breeze sighed. He didn’t stand to go get the drink himself, however.
    Vin walked tentatively toward the two men’s table. She was accustomed to shadows and corners—close enough to eavesdrop, but far enough away to escape. Yet, she couldn’t hide from these men—not while the room was so empty. So, she chose a chair at the table beside the one that the two men were using, then sat cautiously. She needed information—as long as she was ignorant, she was going to be at a severe disadvantage in this new world of Misting crews.
    Breeze chuckled. “Nervous little thing, aren’t you?”
    Vin ignored the comment. “You,” Vin said, nodding to Ham. “You’re a . . . a Misting too?”
    Ham nodded. “I’m a Thug.”
    Vin frowned in confusion.
    “I burn pewter,” Ham said.
    Again, Vin looked at him questioningly.
    “He can make himself stronger, my dear,” Breeze said. “He hits things—particularly other people—who try to interfere with what the rest of us are doing.”
    “There’s much more to it than that,” Ham said. “I run general security for jobs, providing my crewleader with manpower and warriors, assuming such are necessary.”
    “And he’ll try and bore you with random philosophy when it isn’t,” Breeze added.
    Ham sighed. “Breeze, honestly, sometimes I don’t know why I . . .” Ham trailed off as the door opened again, admitting another man.
    The newcomer wore a dull tan overcoat, a pair of brown trousers, and a simple white shirt. However, his face was far more distinctive than his clothing. It was knotted and gnarled, like a twisted piece