Mistborn #02 The Well of Ascension

"When?"
    "On that last day," Vin said. "During the fight with the Inquisitor. Kell protected Elend, who came looking for me."
    "Must have thought he was one of the prisoners."
    Vin shook her head. "He knew who Elend was, and knew that I loved him. In the end, Kelsier was willing to admit that a good man was worth protecting, no matter who his parents were."
    "I find that hard to accept, Vin."
    "Why?"
    Dockson met her eyes. "Because if I accept that Elend bears no guilt for what his people did to mine, then I must admit to being a monster for the things that I did to them."
    Vin shivered. In those eyes, she saw the truth behind Dockson's transformation. She saw the death of his laughter. She saw the guilt. The murders.
    This man is no impostor .
    "I can find little joy in this government, Vin," Dockson said quietly. "Because I know what we did to create it. The thing is, I'd do it all again. I tell myself it's because I believe in skaa freedom. I still lie awake at nights, however, quietly satisfied for what we've done to our former rulers. Their society undermined, their god dead. Now they know."
    Vin nodded. Dockson looked down, as if ashamed, an emotion she'd rarely seen in him. There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Dockson sat quietly as she withdrew, his pen and ledger forgotten on the desktop.

    "It's not him," Vin said, walking down an empty palace hallway, trying to shake the haunting sound of Dockson's voice from her mind.
    "You are certain, Mistress?" OreSeur asked.
    Vin nodded. "He knew about a private conversation that Dockson and I had before the Collapse."
    OreSeur was silent for a moment. "Mistress," he finally said, "my brethren can be very thorough."
    "Yes, but how could he have known about such an event?"
    "We often interview people before we take their bones, Mistress," OreSeur explained. "We'll meet them several times, in different settings, and find ways to talk about their lives. We'll also talk to their friends and acquaintances. Did you ever tell anyone about this conversation you had with Dockson?"
    Vin stopped to lean against the side of the stone hallway. "Maybe Elend," she admitted. "I think I mentioned it to Sazed too, just after it happened. That was almost two years ago."
    "That could have been enough, Mistress," OreSeur said. "We cannot learn everything about a person, but we try our best to discover items like this—private conversations, secrets, confidential information—so that we can mention them at appropriate times and reinforce our illusion."
    Vin frowned.
    "There are. . .other things as well, Mistress," OreSeur said. "I hesitate because I do not wish you to imagine your friends in pain. However, it is common for our master—the one who actually does the killing—to torture their victim for information."
    Vin closed her eyes. Dockson felt so real. . .his guilt, his reactions. . .that couldn't be faked, could it?
    "Damn," she whispered quietly, opening her eyes. She turned, sighing as she pushed open the shutters of a hallway window. It was dark out, and the mists curled before her as she leaned against the stone windowsill and looked out at the courtyard two stories below.
    "Dox isn't an Allomancer," she said. "How can I find out for certain if he's the impostor or not?"
    "I do not know, Mistress," OreSeur said. "This is never an easy task."
    Vin stood quietly. Absently, she pulled out her bronze earring—her mother's earring—and worked it between her fingers, watching it reflect light. It had once been gilded with silver, but that had worn off in most places.
    "I hate this," she finally whispered.
    "What, Mistress?"
    "This. . .distrust," she said. "I hate being suspicious of my friends. I thought I was through mistrusting those around me. I feel like a knife is twisting inside of me, and it cuts deeper every time I confront one of the crew."
    OreSeur sat on his haunches beside her, and he cocked his head. "But, Mistress. You've managed to eliminate several of them as impostors."
    "Yes," Vin said. "But that only narrows the field—brings me one step closer to knowing which one of them is dead."
    "And that knowledge isn't a good thing?"
    Vin shook her head. "I don't want it to be any of them, OreSeur. I don't want to distrust them, don't want to find out that we're right. . .."
    OreSeur didn't respond at first, leaving her to stare out the window, mists slowly streaming to the floor around her.
    "You are sincere," OreSeur finally said.
    She turned. "Of course I