“Same thing you are,” Kaladin said. He felt a wave of nausea, but forced himself to appear firm. “Windrunner.” “You can’t be.” Kaladin held up the knife, the few wisps of remaining Light steaming from his skin. Rain sprinkled him. The assassin scrambled backward, eyes as wide as if Kaladin had turned into a chasmfiend. “They told me I was a liar!” the assassin screamed. “They told me I was wrong! Szeth-son-son-Vallano . . . Truthless. They named me Truthless!”
