Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Syl strode off Kaladin’s shoulder and plopped down on the edge of his mug, swinging her ethereal legs into his coffee. Right before he was about to take a sip.

“Syl!” he yelped, jerking away.

Syl cocked her head back, grinning up at him. “It’s not like I’m actually in your coffee, silly.”

Kaladin scowled at her, thumping the mug back onto the table. She didn’t stir, not even when the coffee sloshed over her knees. Today she looked like a student from Palanaeum University, complete with black framed glasses, sloppy bun, and oversized sweater that slid off one shoulder. She leaned her elbow on her knee, resting her chin on her hand. “All I’m saying, Kal, is that you haven’t had a date in how long?”

“Three years!” came a booming response from over his shoulder. Rock, the owner of Bridge Four, set a bowl of stew in front of Kaladin and beamed at him. Kaladin had long ago given up on trying to make the huge Horneater stop giving him special treatment, but Rock cheerfully refused, saying that “There would be no Bridge Four if not for you!” Bridge Four was barely anything more than a counter nestled between two squalid tenements, but the food was good enough that the small patio was rarely empty, even during the off hours.

Rock bowed respectfully at Syl, setting a small bowl with a sphere in it beside the coffee mug. She beamed up at him. They turned their beaming faces towards Kaladin.

Kaladin glowered back.

“We’re just worried about you,” said Syl. Never one to sit still, she hopped up and paced around the edge of the coffee mug. “What about Lyn? She’s cute.” Syl paused, then looked up to Rock for confirmation. “Right?”

“Right,” said Rock, nodding seriously at her.

Kaladin pinched the bridge of his nose. “A Horneater,” he said, mostly to himself, “and a spren are trying to play matchmaker for me. This is so much worse than those romantic comedies Tien pretends like he doesn’t like.”

“You just need to learn how to have fun again,” said Syl, twirling up next to his head. “You’re always so gloomy these days.”

“You eat stew. It will make you feel better. Is new recipe.” Rock clapped a hand on Kaladin’s shoulder, then waved at a customer waiting to be seated.

Kaladin sighed and poked at his stew, picking around something that looked suspiciously like a cremling shell. Fun. How was he supposed to have fun when all he had to look forward to was either continuing in squalor in Sadeas or returning home in shame as a failure? He had made his choice and these were the consequences he had to deal with.

“Kal?” said Syl.

There was some sort of commotion across the street. Two men dressed in the green uniforms of Sadeas’s police force were flanking a pretty girl who—actually was dressed a lot like Syl, with her tangle of red hair pulled up in a high ponytail and a pair of black framed glasses perched on a freckled nose. She was clutching several sketchpads to her chest, loose sheafs of paper threatening to slip out from between the pages.

“Come on now, sweetheart,” one of the officers said, striding forward and spinning around, blocking her path. He was a big man, with a broad face and a flat nose, like it had been pounded into his face and never fixed. “Where are you from? You’re too cute to be a Horneater.”

The second officer swung up to the girl’s side, cutting off her access to the street. He was the shorter and skinnier of the two and with a sinuous black tattoo peeking out over his collar. “At least tell us your name.”

Had Sadeas gotten this bad, where even its police officers were harassing the citizens? Kaladin stalked forward, hands balling into fists at his sides. Generally speaking it was a bad idea to pick a fight with police officers, but he wasn’t about to stand around and let them intimidate some helpless girl, even if it did mean more years doing manual labor.

“Shallan,” said the girl, pushing up her glasses. “Now that you know my name, please let me pass.”

“Don’t be like that,” said Nose, laying an overly familiar hand on her shoulder.

Shallan smacked Nose’s hand away. It was a hell of a hit, sending him stumbling back several feet, but a hit like that would do nothing more than piss someone like Nose off. Except when he regained his feet to swing a meaty fist at her, Kaladin was there to catch his punch.

Kaladin smiled at Nose. He winced and jerked back, as if Kaladin had already hit him. Well, that wasn’t that surprising. Kaladin’s smiles weren’t exactly friendly.

“You weren’t about to hit a citizen, were you, officer?” asked Kaladin, pleasantly.

“Hey!” snapped Tattoo, stomping up to Kaladin’s side, a hand on his piece. Kaladin lowered his head, glaring up at him from under a heavy brow. Sadeas’s officers were too quick to resort to weapons. He would just love to see one of them pull a gun on him though. His smile widened into a grin. He could feel his spheres burning in his pocket, just waiting to be drawn in.

“Listen here you little shit,” said Nose, wrenching his fist out of Kaladin’s hand. He swung it at Kaladin’s head, but he just danced back and—bumped into the girl, dammit.

“Stay back,” said Kaladin.

Shallan attempted to fold her arms over her chest, but when that resulted in her nearly dropping her mess of sketch pads, she resorted to shooting a dirty look at Kaladin over her glasses. “Hold on a minute, I don’t need some dude to white knight for me—”

She cut off with a wince when Nose’s fist slammed into Kaladin’s temple. It was a solid enough hit that Kaladin blacked out for a second, coming to just as his face smashed into the sidewalk.

Dammit.

“Hey!”

Kaladin came up swinging, blood spilling down his nose and onto his bared teeth. Before his fists could connect, the two officers shied back. Kaladin slowly lowered his hands, swaying slightly. He frowned, confused. While he did win his fights nine times out of ten, it was usually a bit more—challenging.

“What’s going on here?”

Kaladin blinked and shook his head. The stormlight was already healing his injuries from when his face met the ground, but he was still a little dizzy. He turned and met the eyes of a handsome man, with blond hair speckled black, in a Kholin blue uniform.

Kaladin knew that face. Everyone knew that face, since it was plastered across magazines, newspapers, billboards. Adolin Kholin, Commander of the Kholin police force, third in line to the throne, Alethkar’s most eligible bachelor.

Great.

“It’s none of your business,” said Nose, somehow managing to sound both disdainful and respectful.

Adolin’s eyes flicked to where Tattoo was still resting his hand on his gun. “I see.” He dropped his hand to the side, and mist swirled into a huge, fuck-off Shardblade. It was a single-edged blade, serrated, and curved up into a nasty looking point, which Adolin leveled at Tattoo’s face.

Kaladin, wisely, stepped to the side.

“It’s breathtaking,” Shallan breathed, clutching her drawing pads to her chest.

“It’s douchy,” said Kaladin, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “Who uses a sword against guns?”

Beside him, Syl folded her arms over her chest and nodded. Then she cocked her head to the side. “Don’t you fight with a spear?”

Kaladin shot a dark look at her, but said nothing.

Tattoo yanked out his gun with a trembling hand, but Nose, clearly the smarter of the two, pulled his hand back down. With a parting glare over his shoulder, Nose dragged his partner away, shoulders hunched in defeat.

Adolin watched the cops disappear around the corner, a Kholin-crease between his eyebrows. He turned back to Kaladin and Shallan, eyes snagging on Kaladin’s bloody face. Eyes crinkling in concern, he said, “Hey, man, are you okay?”

Kaladin folded his arms over his chest and glared. “Do you always whip out your sword at the smallest provocation?”

Clearly, not many people dared to speak to the princling so informally. He swung the sword up, resting it on his shoulder. Now he was just showing off. “Not many people get the pleasure of seeing my sword,” he said, blue eyes glinting with amusement.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special,” said Kaladin, dryly.

“Is that any way to say thank you?” said Adolin. “You looked like you could use some help.”

“I had it under control,” hissed Kaladin.

“Excuse me.” Shallan sliced her hand between Kaladin and Adolin. Kaladin blinked and stepped back. When had he gotten so close to the other man? “While I certainly appreciate two ridiculously hot men fighting about who gets to protect my virtue and all that—” she flapped a hand, as if dismissing something unimportant “—has it occurred to either of you that maybe I didn’t need your help?”

Kaladin looked down at Shallan. She was short—much shorter than the average Alethi—and looked like she could barely hold herself together, let alone in a fight. But he knew better than to make assumptions.

“So,” said Adolin, his lips stretching into a grin that even Kaladin could see was devastating. “You think I’m ‘ridiculously hot’.”

Shallan immediately flamed up and Kaladin made a disgusted noise, turning away. The last thing he needed today was to watch bad flirting.

“Kaladin,” said Syl, darting up to his shoulder, then zipping away again. She reappeared to the left of his head, punching her fists onto her hips. “Why are you just walking away? Go ask her out!”

Kaladin rolled his eyes. So this was what it came to: Syl flinging him at every girl who looked around his age. He paused halfway across the street, then turned back to the two of them. Surprisingly, Adolin met his eyes, as if he had been watching Kaladin leave.

“Thank you,” said Kaladin, grudgingly. “For helping me.” He paused, then added, “Even though I didn’t need it.”

Much to Kaladin’s surprise, Adolin turned that devastating smile to Kaladin. Kaladin felt his cheeks heat up. Horrified, he ducked his head, hiding his face with his hair.

“Anytime,” said Adolin, shooting a pair of finger guns at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Kaladin, then spun back around and stormed off.

“Or maybe,” Syl said, drifting beside him without walking, one hand rubbing her chin, “ask him out?”

Kaladin swatted at her. She cackled and streaked away.

Adolin watched the thundercloud stalk back to Bridge Four, the smile still lingering on his lips. He dismissed his Shardblade and dropped his hand back to his side. “That was probably the grumpiest ‘thank you’ I’ve ever received.”

The redhead sighed dreamily. “There’s something about guys like him, huh?”

Adolin shook himself. There was a time and place when he could pick up cute redheads or admire a pair of stormy brown eyes, and this was neither. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Will you be okay heading home by yourself, or do you want me to walk back with you, Miss—?”

The redhead rolled her eyes. “Davar. Shallan Davar. But I’m fine, really. In fact, I could probably protect you better than you could protect you.” She winced. “Sorry, that sounds unappreciative, doesn’t it. Anyway—run along now. I’m good.”

Adolin grinned. “Was that supposed to be more appreciative?”

Shallan flipped a hand at him. “Shoo.”

Adolin saluted her and sauntered off, since he did actually have places to go and people to see. And the sooner he could get out of Sadeas, the better.

Unlike the rest of the Sadeas police force, Commissioner Meridas Amaram was disciplined, organized, and put together. Even his office was meticulously neat. There was a reason why Adolin sought out Amaram instead going straight to Highprince Sadeas, and it wasn’t just because his father went way back with the man.

“It’s always good to see you,” said Amaram, standing from his desk to shake Adolin’s hand. “But to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Commander?”

Adolin pulled up a chair across from Amaram’s desk, leaning forward and folding his hands together. “What have you heard from Kholinar lately?”

“You mean, the attempt on the king’s life?” Amaram asked, settling back into his plush leather chair. “Now, son, I’m as cautious as the next man—especially when it comes to our king’s life—but you know how King Elhokar gets.”

Adolin nodded. Amaram sounded almost apologetic, but Adolin was fully aware of his cousin’s reputation. “Elhokar is as paranoid as a chasm fiend’s mother,” agreed Adolin. “However…”

Amaram frowned. “You think there really was an attempt on Elhokar’s life.”

“We do.”

“I see.” Amaram leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and bringing his hands up to his mouth. It made him look a bit like a plotting supervillain, actually. “But what does this have to do with my jurisdiction?”

This was the tricky part. No matter how close Amaram was with the Kholin family, their jurisdictions didn’t exactly like each other. But the few clues they had all pointed to the assassin likely being from Sadeas. Not that he could say that without majorly stomping on some dangerous toes.

“We take any attacks on King Elhokar’s life very seriously,” said Adolin, carefully. “I’m hoping we can work together to explore every avenue.”

“Anything for King Elhokar.”

Adolin exhaled quietly through his nose. This had gone better than he expected. Then again, this was just the beginning. “Thank you, Amaram.”

“Of course,” said Amaram, smiling.

Chapter Text

“Listen,” Kaladin said, bracing his hands against the edge of the table. It was his bi-weekly scheduled card night with the guys and the five of them were crowded in the back room of Bridge Four, amidst gleaming sharp knives and boxes of imported fruit. A small, dim light hung overhead, casting their faces into deep shadows.

“Ha!” Lopen shouted, capturing Rock’s tower with a squire, and definitely not listening.

“I wanted you to do that,” Rock said, taking a slug from his beer. “Was getting thirsty.”

Syl swirled around Lopen, then dropped onto Lopen’s shoulder. “I’m pretty sure Lopen’s cheating,” she said, deeply offended.

“I was thinking,” continued Kaladin, doggedly. It was late enough to be considered early, and he was both tipsy and tired. Drunk. Drunk and tired. He could just use his stormlight to burn off the alcohol, but his friends gave him shit when he did that, and somehow they always knew. “We gotta do—something.”

“About what?” Moash asked. He was slouched across from Lopen, his body relaxed, but eyes zeroed in on the Herdazian like he was trying to catch him cheating. Kaladin didn’t think he would. For all that he only had one arm, Lopen was so good at cards that he cheated just to give himself a challenge.

“There was this girl,” Kaladin explained.

Since Teft was a gossiping old lady at heart, he perked up, leaning on the table. “Oh? You finally back in the game, son?”

“It’s not like that.” Kaladin shook his head. What was it with all his friends trying to hook him up with everyone who seemed even mildly friendly? Or in Shallan’s case, seemed ready to leave him to the tender care of Sadeas’s police force. Though—Shallan was pretty cute. “Anyway—anyway, she was being harassed. Today.” He looked around, expecting righteous outrage. Or even subdued indignation. He would settle for a frown.

“Is it a day that ends in y?” Moash asked, dryly.

“Yeah, gancho. It sucks, but it’s not that strange,” said Lopen.

Kaladin scowled at them. “She was being harassed by police officers.”

At least that got a better reaction. His friends leaned back in their chairs, deeply offended. Teft shook his head in disgust. “Someone ought to do something.”

Kaladin pointed at him. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Wait,” Teft said.

Twenty minutes later found the five of them crouched behind a rusty sedan, watching three masked men slink up to the front door of a dilapidated house while two masked men kept watch. It really wasn’t that hard to find crime in Sadeas; hard times created desperate men, and the police force was too busy padding their own pockets to worry about concerned citizens.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Teft grumbled, hunching into his oversized coat. Beside him, Lopen was practically buzzing with excitement.

Kaladin ducked back behind the car, turning to his friends. “Okay, so here’s what we’ll do.”

Apparently, this was cue for Lopen to leap to his feet. “Don’t worry about it, gancho! The Lopen has everything under control!”

“Lopen!” Kaladin hissed, but the Herdazian vaulted over the car with surprising grace for someone who had as many beers sloshing around in him as he did. He barreled right into the group of robbers with a war cry that would make his ancestors proud. Teft and Moash shared a look, shrugged, then launched themselves after Lopen.

Kaladin gawked at his friends as their act of good turned into a drunken brawl, complete with shouting laughter and howls of, “The Lopen is here to save the day!”

Kaladin turned to Rock.

“Don’t look at me,” said Rock. “I am a chef, not a fighter.”

What the hell. Might as well join the fun. Shouting with a passion that surprised even him, Kaladin leaped over the car and dove headfirst into the fight.

Fists flew, men bellowed, Lopen cackled. Around them, the lights from neighboring houses flickered on, lighting up the masked man Kaladin was duking it out with just in time for him to see the punch flying at his face. Kaladin ducked the fist and drove his knee into the robber’s solar plexus, sending him stumbling back.

“Nice move, gancho!” Lopen shouted, and then cut off at the sound of a fist hitting flesh. Kaladin looked up just in time to see Lopen spin away, arm flailing out. “Oy, you scoundrel!”

The fight was dirty and sloppy. None of them fought well: Kaladin and his friends because of the alcohol, the robbers because they didn’t have the same training. Of course, Kaladin could just suck in some stormlight and end the whole thing now, but that was just unsportsmanlike. Syl danced over their heads, shadow boxing the windspren spiraling around Kaladin’s head.

But even totally obliterated, Kaladin’s men were trained enough to bust up the five burglars. Actually, Kaladin half-expected they drew the fight out longer than necessary for the fun of it. He couldn’t really blame them, since his own heart was alive and his blood was thrumming hot in his veins.

“Good people of Sadeas!” bellowed Lopen, resting his hand against his hip and stepping one foot on the back of one of the burglars. He swayed unsteadily. Blood was dripping down the side of his face from a gash on his forehead. “If you are a single lady and would like to personally thank me for rescuing you from these nefarious crooks, you can call me at—”

Moash smacked a hand over Lopen’s mouth, dragging him back into the safety of the shadows. “We’re supposed to be anonymous, idiot.”

“Sooo,” said Teft, cocking a look at Kaladin. He waved a hand at where the five crooks were piled by the front door. “What now?”

Kaladin—hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. They never really showed what happened to the bad guys after the superheroes beat them up.

“Call the cops?” said Moash, a little dubiously.

Kaladin hesitated. The burglars hadn’t actually hurt anyone, and punishment in Sadeas was—severe. A crime like this could land them years of manual labor, only to be then dumped back on the streets, their lives ruined, and at a high risk for recidivism.

“Hey, Rock,” said Kaladin. “Didn’t you say you needed some new dishwashers?”

The next morning, Kaladin slumped onto the stool behind the counter at Bridge Four. Rock was a one man army when it came to his restaurant, but even he needed to take a break sometimes, and he didn’t have stormlight to help with his hangover. Or at least, that’s what he’d told Kaladin when he’d called to bitch him out at six in the morning.

“That was a good thing you did last night,” said Syl, drifting onto the counter. Today she was in a cheerful little sundress, her luminescent hair swinging freely across her narrow shoulders. She peeked around Kaladin’s arm. Kaladin followed her gaze. In the kitchen behind him, Skar, one of the burglars from last night, slowly dried a plate. He looked a bit like he was questioning all the decisions that had led him up to this moment. Frankly, Kaladin was surprised he’d even shown up for his shift.

“It's good you convinced them to work here,” said Syl, nodding in approval. “Rock needed the help.”

“If he ends up stealing from Bridge Four, Rock will stop feeding me,” Kaladin murmured.

“He wouldn’t dare,” gasped Syl, deeply offended. She twirled up, landing lightly on top of the cash register. “Besides, I don’t think he would. The burglar, I mean.”

“How do you know?”

Syl shrugged. “I just do.”

Kaladin hoped she was right, because he did rely on Rock for at least eighty percent of his meals that didn’t consist of soulcast instant noodles.

“This is good for you, Kal. You look happier.” She looked suddenly sly, which meant horrible things for Kaladin in the near future. He glared suspiciously at her. “Now, if you’ll just ask out that handsome Kholin police officer…”

“No,” Kaladin said.

“I’m just saying,” said Syl, striding across the top of the cash register. “I think he likes you back.” She tapped the side of her head. “I can tell these things, you know.”

Kaladin pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. The stormlight may have taken care of his hangover, but it did nothing to help him wake up and Syl really needed to shut up about Adolin Kholin.

“Are you listening to me, Kal? Ka—" She cut off with a little cackle and zipped away in a ribbon of light. Kal blinked and dropped his hand, and then groaned in dismay.

Standing in front of the counter was Adolin Kholin, in the flesh.

“You,” said the bridgeboy, accusingly.

“Me,” Adolin agreed. The bridgeboy looked completely wiped out, his curls swept back in a messy manbun, dark circles around his eyes, scruff shadowing his jaw. But somehow, he seemed less—tense. Adolin thought there was even a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. It was—nice.

Of course, then he had to open his mouth. “What are you doing here?” demanded the bridgeboy.

“I’m here on legitimate business,” said Adolin, resting one arm on the counter. He grinned when the bridgeboy leaned back, which made the bridgeboy scowl, like he’d just given up a point to Adolin. “Your nose looks good.”

“My—what?”

Adolin twirled a finger at the bridgeboy’s nose. “You fell pretty hard the other day. I could have sworn it looked broken. I was just dropping by to see if you were okay.”

“Oh.” The bridgeboy’s eyes widened, as if he had completely forgotten about faceplanting into the sidewalk. “Right. Uh, thanks.”

“What’s your name, anyway?”

For some reason, the bridgeboy looked completely steamrolled. Funny. That was usually the look people got when talking to his father, not him. He hesitated, and then grudgingly admitted, “Kaladin.”

Adolin grinned at him. Progress. “Nice to meet you, Kaladin. I’m Adolin.”

Kaladin looked at him like he was crazy. “I know.”

Right. Of course he did. “Shh, I’m just trying to pretend like I’m normal for once.”

“Alright,” said Kaladin, slowly. “Nice to meet you, Adolin Kholin, who is not a High Prince, nor the third in line for the throne to all of Alethkar.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said Adolin, suavely.

That actually made Kaladin crack a small smile, which felt like a huge victory. “What’s a Kholin blue doing all the way out here in Sadeas, anyway?” Kaladin asked.

Adolin shot a glance over his shoulder. Dalinar was across the street, one hand holding a cellphone to his ear, the other pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d beat a strategic retreat as soon as Elohkar had called, since Adolin wouldn’t put it past his father trying to pawn the call off on him.

“We’re investigating—something.”

Kaladin nodded his understanding, as if Adolin’s brief explanation cleared things up. “And Sadeas’s men in green weren’t cutting it?”

“Well.” Adolin hesitated, unwilling to throw other officers under the proverbial bus—even if it was true. It definitely didn’t help that Kaladin apparently had a chip on his shoulder the size of Alethkar with regards to cops, which didn’t exactly bode well for Adolin. “You—obviously don’t think very highly about Sadeas’s police force, but they do—some—good.”

Kaladin’s disbelief was practically a corporeal thing. “You were there yesterday, right? I wasn’t just imagining you?”

“Not all of them are bad guys—“ Adolin protested.

“Maybe in Kholinar. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re in Sadeas.” Kaladin waved a hand Bridge Four’s bay window to the scene outside, at the rundown buildings and old fabriel cars, a strange mix of wealth and destitution.

“Commissioner Amaram—”

For some reason, this made Kaladin’s expression slam shut. “Don’t you have ‘legitimate business’ you need to get back to?”

Adolin straightened. Well, he’d messed that up royally, somehow. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m—glad your nose is okay.”

He slouched out of Bridge Four to where Dalinar and his men were waiting, wincing to himself. “I’m glad your nose is okay? Storms, how lame.”

His father was on still on the phone with Elokhar, if his thunderous expression was anything to go by. Adolin loved his cousin but that man saw assassins in his cereal box and then wondered why no one took him seriously, even though Adolin and his father had traveled all the way to Sadeas to chase a lead. One that was increasingly looking like another dead end. Adolin shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped into the street. It was incredible that he was somehow managing the walk of shame without having gotten anything for it.

“Adolin, wait!”

Adolin turned around. Kaladin was jogging after him, his face a mask of embarrassed guilt. Adolin folded his arms across his chest, refusing to get his hopes up. The bridgeboy was attractive, but Adolin had some dignity. Most of the time.

Then Kaladin’s expression morphed into horror, and he launched himself at Adolin. For a moment it was like his was flying, like some sort of incredibly grumpy flying herald. He skidded to a stop in front of Adolin, and then he kicked Adolin’s legs out from under him.

Adolin twisted mid-fall, letting his shoulder take the brunt of his landing. There was a crack just as he landed, and Adolin looked up to see Kaladin staggering back, blood sprayed across the street.

“K-Kaladin!” Adolin shouted.

Kaladin was staring down at his shoulder, almost like he was confused, one hand hovering over the dark stain spreading over the white cloth. He lifted his head when Adolin scrambled to his feet and had the audacity to look infuriated, instead of like he was dying.

“Get back down, you idiot!” Kaladin ordered.

Oh, of course he was the one who needed to get down while Kaladin loitered around to get shot at. Screw that. Adolin charged towards him, but before he could reach the idiot bridgeboy, another volley of gunshots shattered the air, and he instinctively threw himself to the ground. They were coming from both directions now; Dalinar and his men had joined in on the firefight.

There was a brief break between the volley of gunshots. Adolin braved a glance up to check on Kaladin. To his amazed horror, Kaladin was just standing there, scanning the row of apartment buildings.

“Kaladin!” Adolin bellowed.

Kaladin didn’t even look at him. Instead, he flung himself at a narrow alley between two apartment buildings, where Adolin could just make out a man slinking around in the shadows.

Okay, so Kaladin was completely mad.

Kaladin grabbed the man before he could duck back deeper into the shadows, flinging him into the street. The gunman staggered, wide-eyed at Kaladin’s reckless attack. Adolin recognized him. He was the tattooed cop who had been pestering Shallan just the other day. So maybe Kaladin did have a point about Sadeas’s cops.

The renegade cop pointed the gun straight at Kaladin’s chest. Adolin could do nothing but stare in horror as he pulled the trigger, the gunshot crashing through the street, and—completely missing Kaladin.

“What—” said Adolin, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

The cop gaped down at the gun, just as confused as Adolin felt, and then tripped back when Kaladin swung up a shimmering silver pole and slammed it into the cop’s wrist. Where had he even got that? The alley? The gun spun out of the cop’s hand, skittering across the street. He lunged after it, but Kaladin spun around, as graceful as any dancer, and slammed the pipe into the cop’s chin.

Adolin’s mouth may have been hanging open in awe. Somehow, Kaladin could make fighting with a pipe look as beautiful as a master fighter wielding a Shardblade in a kata. There even appeared to be windspren swinging around him, as if they had been caught by the currents of Kaladin’s attacks.

Stumbling back, the cop reached to his belt where his baton was holstered, but Kaladin slammed his pipe into his wrist so hard that Adolin could actually hear the man’s wrist snap. The cop screamed, sinking to his knees and cradling his arm.

“Say uncle,” Kaladin said.

"Screw you," the cop said, his face a rictus of pain and fury. Adolin scrambled to his feet and sprinted to the two men, swooping down to grab the gun. He strode up to Kaladin’s side, leveling the gun to his would-be assassin’s head.

“Are you okay?” asked Adolin, which was kind of a stupid question. The whole front of Kaladin’s shirt was drenched in blood. “Storms, how are you still standing?”

“Huh?” Kaladin frowned, looking at Adolin as if he just realized he was there. The man must be even more injured than Adolin realized. “I’m fine. What are you talking about?”

Adolin glanced pointedly at Kaladin’s blood-drenched shirt.

Kaladin followed his gaze, then his shoulders lifted in an annoyed sigh. “Dammit.”