Scum.

Worthless.

He'll never forgive you.

No one will.

You're nothing.

Nothing!

Nothing—

Trinket let out a sharp gasp as Daphne grabbed her around the waist and nearly pulled her off her feet. "Good Lord, Daphne, what—"

Widening her eyes, Daphne nodded emphatically at the lit stove that Trinket had almost walked into.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I guess I wasn't paying attention."

Worthless.

Daphne furrowed her brow and cocked her head to the side.

"It's fine, really. I was just . . . distracted."

Worthless.

Narrowing her eyes and scrunching up her lips, Daphne gave a sigh and shrugged her shoulders.

Thankful that her friend hadn't pressed the matter further, Trinket continued on into the scullery. It was probably safer for her there anyhow, what with her state of mind.

Worthless, worthless, worthless, worthless—

She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to will away the voices. They'd been nagging her for days now. Ever since she posted that letter.

Her stomach dropped. The letter. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to send it. What if he was angry with her? Or if he told her parents? Maybe he wanted nothing to do with her. She couldn't blame him if that were true.

The front door opened, and even in her anxious haze, she heard it all the way from the other end of the house. Dropping the dirty pan she'd been washing, she hurried out of the kitchen and met Booker halfway down the hallway. She stopped short and held her breath as she spied an envelope in his hand.

An envelope with her name on it.

Clutching her apron, she met his gaze with wide eyes. He gave a soft, crooked smile and held the letter up. "For you, my dear."

Snatching the envelope from him, she stared down at it in utter astonishment. He'd written back? He hadn't just torn up her letter or thrown it in the fire? Perhaps he didn't hate her after all?

Worthless, worthless, worthless.

Swallowing hard, she glanced up at Booker. "Read it?" she asked.

He drew his brows together. "Are you—"

She pressed the letter into his hands, closing her eyes and nodding. "Please, I can barely see straight right now."

Without argument, he took the envelope back. She leaned her head against his chest as he tore it open, waiting for the worst.

"'My dearest Kate,'" he began. "'I cannot put into words the utter delight I experienced upon receiving your letter.'"

Her heart pounded against her ribs, and she gripped Booker's shirt as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

"'I have so much to say, I don't think I could fit it all on paper. If you'd be open to it, I'd be overjoyed if we could meet in person. It's been too long, and I'm desperate to see my little sister again.'"

She took a sharp breath.

"''I can understand your hesitation to accept considering our parents, but if you'd be willing, I'd like to arrange a meeting in Broadfall at a discreet location. I often go to the town to visit Rae, so it would raise no suspicions. Please do write soon and tell me if this is an agreeable arrangement. Your doting brother, Merrill.'"

Letting out an astonished laugh, Trinket wrapped her arms around Booker and buried her face in his chest.

Merrill wanted to see her.

He didn't hate her.

By some miracle, he didn't hate her.

"I'm assuming you're pleased?" Booker said with a laugh as he drew her closer.

"He actually wants to see me," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. She lifted her face to him. "He doesn't hate me."

A single tear slid down her cheek. Booker wiped it away with the back of his finger and leaned his head against hers with a big smile. "I can't imagine anyone could."

Worthless, worthless, worthless.

"You'll come, won't you?" she asked, gripping his arms in a sudden panic.

"Of course, if that's what you want."

Inhaling deeply, she backed away and pressed her palms together, resting the tips of her fingers on her lips as she stared off into the distance. "I can't believe he wants to meet. It seems like a dream."

Booker stroked her hair. "Shall we write back?"

She nodded excitedly, but before he could go fetch a fresh sheet of paper, she pulled him back and embraced him once more. "Thank you, Booker."

He placed a kiss atop her head. "Anything for you, my dear."

~

Trinket's muscles were wound tight as the hired coach rolled through familiar streets. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and with every turn, memories flooded her senses. Old sights and sounds and smells.

Her hometown.

Her childhood.

Her sins.

The coach hit a divot in the road, practically tossing her off the bench. Booker reached out and took her hand to steady her, giving it a gentle squeeze and offering an encouraging smile. She gave a quick smile of her own before returning her gaze to the window, taking in every bit of passing scenery.

The tailor shop.

The bakery.

The apothecary.

It was like time had stood still for the almost two years she'd been gone. Nothing had changed.

And yet it had. She had changed. This was no longer her home. It was only a dark, dreary reminder of the wrongs she had committed against the ones she loved. Nothing about it felt warm or inviting, even as the sun shone brightly on the friendly shopfronts and lively shoppers.

She didn't belong here.

Why had she come?

"Ah, I think this is the place," Booker said.

His soothing voice drew her back to the present, and she focused on the inn the coach had pulled up in front of. It was a respectable establishment with a freshly painted sign and bright flowers growing up the gate.

"Shall we?" Booker said as the coachman opened the door.

Wooooorrrthleeeeeeesss.

With a deep breath, she accepted Booker's hand and stepped out into the street. A chill ran through her veins despite the lovely spring weather.

"Your trunk, sir?" asked the coachman.

"We can take it from here," Booker said, taking their luggage from him. "Thank you greatly for your services."

He gave the man a generous payment, and as the delighted coachman drove off, Booker joined Trinket in staring up at the inn.

"I can call him back if you'd like," he said. "You're allowed to change your mind."

It was tempting. Very tempting. But as terrified as she was now, the regret she'd have to live with if she left would be worse.

"No. We've come this far."

Taking her hand, he tucked it into the crook of his arm and led her inside to the front desk.

"Welcome," said a cheerful woman sporting a smile that took up half of her tan face. "How can I help you today?"

"We'd like a room," Booker said, leaning against the counter and flashing her a charming grin.

"Very good, sir. For just tonight or for tomorrow as well?"

Glancing down at Trinket, Booker hesitated. She offered a nervous smile. "Whatever you think is best," she said.

He turned back to the cheerful woman at the desk. "For tonight and tomorrow morning. We might decide to sleep in, depending on how the night goes."

The woman smiled knowingly but made no comment. "Is this your first time here in Broadfall?"

Trinket's heart skittered. Memories rose from the depths of her mind. Dark, shadowy memories filled with blood and monsters.

Fiend.

Killer.

Worthless.

"Not for me," Booker said smoothly. "I've been here once or twice on business. But my partner was unable to accompany me at the time."

The woman's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Partner? Oh, I thought . . . I'm sorry, I just assumed . . ."

Her pink cheeks turned red, and in a sudden fluster, she began to rearrange some papers.

Booker chuckled devilishly, but Trinket shot him an unamused glare. Stopping mid-laugh, he cleared his throat and addressed the woman once more. "Partners in all aspects of life, both professional and marital."

She seemed to relax immediately. "How lovely. Well, here's your key. Room five. If you need anything, please ring and someone will be up to assist you."

Taking the small bronze key from her, Booker offered another dashing smile. "Thank you, my dear."

"Enjoy your stay."

"Oh, we intend to."

He put his hand on Trinket's waist and pulled her closer, winking as they headed over to the stairs. The sweet woman laughed nervously, the blush returning to her cheeks.

"You're terrible," Trinket said once they were out of earshot of the front desk.

"It's fun making people squirm," Booker said. "I can see why Grace enjoys harassing me so much."

"Yes, but at least you deserve it. That poor woman certainly did not."

"You wound me, my dear."

She shook her head but couldn't keep a smile from her face as they stopped in front of their room. Booker slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open.

It was beautifully furnished inside. Forest green wallpaper decorated with dark green birds and leaves, expertly woven rugs to match, and a bed big enough for two piled with cozy quilts and blankets. A large window was set into the wall opposite the door, the lacey curtains opened wide to allow the setting sun to peek through.

"Well, this is a far cry from the Clocktower," Trinket said, taking in the homey decor.

"I suppose, but I highly doubt there'll be excitement and gossip like in our fair alehouse," Booker said, closing the door and joining her in her exploration of the room.

She picked up a small porcelain figure of a lady from the East that was dressed in the traditional, robe-like attire and holding what looked to be a paper parasol. "Oh, trust me, Broadfall is full of gossip. It's just not as insidious as the gossip in Tinkerfall. Well, not usually."

Her stomach sank as she imagined how many people had whispered about her atrocious deeds. Had the news spread like wildfire? Had it spun out of control, becoming a sensational tale meant for the papers? Although, how could someone make that story out to be any worse than it actually was?

Booker came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against his chest.

"It doesn't matter what they all think," he said. "We came here for Merrill, not them."

She swallowed. "I know. And I know he invited us here, but I still can't shake the fear that he and I will never be the same again. That I ruined our relationship."

"If that's the way he sees it, he's a moron and not worthy of your consideration."

"Booker, he's my brother."

"Genius doesn't necessarily have to be hereditary, my dear."

She gave a breathy laugh and turned to face him. "You're going to be nice to him, right?"

"When am I not nice?"

"Because I know you don't think too fondly of him."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"The numerous times you said he was a coward for never trying to find out what happened to me."

"Well, stating the facts isn't really being mean, it's just being honest."

"Booker, I stabbed him. I nearly killed him. I can't blame him for not hiring a private detective to find me."

"You stabbed me and I would have done just that. Well, no, I would have gone off and found you myself, but I doubt your brother is as clever as I am."

Smiling at his incorrigible arrogance, she gently cupped his cheek. "I love my brother, and I can only hope that you might tolerate him, even if he isn't exactly up to your standards."

"You know I'd do anything for you, my dear."

"Good. Then behave."

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips and brushed past him to open their travel trunk. They'd packed lightly, not expecting a long trip. Booker tried to get away with only bringing the clothes on his person, but knowing his tendency to ruin shirts and trousers with blood and viscera, she insisted he bring along some spares.

Setting his things aside, she shuffled through her own belongings. She'd packed a single dress: the lovely blue one Booker had gotten her when she first arrived in Tinkerfall. It had since been altered to fit her properly and was her favorite outfit to wear, although she didn't often find occasions to don it. Her fingers traced the broad, dark stripes lining the bodice as she recalled the day Booker had gifted it to her.

How things had changed since then. How she had changed.

Would Merrill approve of the person she'd become?

"I hate to brag, but I really do have an excellent eye for dresses," Booker said, leaning over her shoulder.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Since when do you hate to brag?"

He plopped himself on the edge of the bed and gave a crooked grin. "So tell me more about your brother. Does he have as refined fashion sense as I do?"

Pulling the dress out of the trunk, she sat beside him and laid the garment out on her lap. "Don't try to pretend that you haven't dug up every bit of information you could find on him. I know your ways, Mr. Larkin. You likely know more about him than I do. After all, it's been almost two years since I've seen him."

Her chest tightened as that fact hit her hard. Two years. Two long, eventful years.

"Come now, humor me, won't you?" Booker begged. "I never had a sibling before. I must live vicariously through you."

Letting out a long breath, she tilted her head back and thought for a moment. "He's soft."

"Soft? As in, his hair is soft?"

"No, just that his manners are soft. And gentle. He's sweet and caring and unafraid of showing his emotions in front of others."

Booker's eye twitched. "Please don't tell me he's a poet like our dear friend Henry."

She chuckled as she ran her fingers up and down the silk skirt of her dress. "No, but he did sing and play piano, far better than I ever could, I might add."

"So he's clearly an accomplished young fellow, bound to make some lucky lady a fine husband."

"Rae."

"Pardon?"

"Rae. She was his sweetheart. And if your sources are correct—"

"And they always are."

"Then they're engaged to be wed."

"And what is this Rae like?"

Trinket smiled as memories of the lovely woman surfaced. "Like strawberry candy and sunshine."

"Strawberry candy and sunshine? That's all you're giving me?"

Sighing, she fell back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "She's sweet and bright and full of mischief."

Booker laid down beside her. "Ooh, mischief. I like that."

"She could play the role of refined lady effortlessly, and yet she wasn't above pulling pranks on her brothers. Or mine, for that matter."

"They sound like a fun couple."

She turned to face Booker, toying with a strand of his hair. "I've never seen two people more in love."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Well, present company excluded."

Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against hers and drew her closer. She snaked her arms around his neck, happy to have something to distract her from her anxiety.

An ear-splitting scream rang through her head. She gasped, not expecting the sudden interruption. Blast those obnoxious voices.

"Good Lord, what was that?" Booker said, sitting up and staring at the door.

She did the same. "Oh? You heard it, too? I thought it was my imagination."

Another scream, followed by shouting: "Someone call a doctor!"

Booker caught Trinket's eye and grinned. She nearly let out a disappointed groan but instead nodded at the door. "I think that's your cue, Mr. Larkin."

~

"Aren't you glad I made you bring an extra set of clothes now?" Trinket said as Booker helped her out of the coach.

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "Yes, my dear, I should never have questioned your wisdom. Though I doubt even your sharp mind could have predicted our inn's cook would slice his thumb off."

"No, but it did predict that you'd jump at the chance to stain your shirt and waistcoat with blood and guts."

The coach rolled off, and Trinket set her gaze on the house before them. It was a tiny little abode, a bit rough around the edges, but nothing like the shacks in the slums she was used to seeing every day. Set just outside the center of town, away from the bustle of the shops and street sellers, it seemed to be the very embodiment of home. And yet the sight of it sent her pulse racing.

"We can always go back," Booker whispered into her ear. "It's your choice. You're under no obligation to go inside."

Swallowing hard, her eyes still on the little house, she shook her head. "No. I need to do this. I . . . I want to do this."

He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. "I'll be right by your side."

"Which is the only reason I've made it this far." She smiled up at him and took a deep breath. "Shall we?"

Booker lifted his eyebrows and knocked on the thin, wooden door, rattling both it and her tightly coiled nerves.

Run away!

Now!

Hurry!

Before it's too—

Her breath caught in her throat as the door swung open. A plump, fair-skinned woman stood inside the doorway. There were streaks of white in her reddish-blonde hair and more wrinkles around her eyes than there'd been before. But there was no doubt as to who she was.

"Ottie," Trinket breathed, attempting a smile.

The cook's rosy cheeks rounded, her grey eyes crinkling in the corners as a bright smile overtook her face. "Miss Seymour!" she exclaimed, pulling Trinket into a tight hug. "Oh, my heavens, look at you! You're all grown up! I can hardly believe it."

Trinket laughed nervously. "It's only been two years. I can't have changed that much."

Releasing her, Ottie wiped away the tears leaking from her eyes. "It seems like a lot longer."

A heavy pit sank in Trinket's stomach. "Yes, it does."

Ottie's gaze flickered to Booker. "Oh, that's right! Mr. Seymour said you'd gone and got hitched. Is this the lucky man?"

"The luckiest," Booker said as he stepped forward. "Booker Larkin, madam. It's an honor to meet you."

He brushed a polite kiss against her knuckles, and Ottie went bright red. "Oh, my," she said, fluttering her fingers against her chest. "He's quite handsome, Miss Seymour. I mean, Mrs. Larkin. Heavens, that will take some getting used to."

"Booker, this is Ottie," Trinket said. "She was our family's cook. In fact, she's the one who taught me how to properly brew a cup of tea."

"Then I owe you all the thanks in the world, madam," Booker said, flashing one of his dazzling smiles.

"Please, Ottie is just fine," Ottie said. "Oh, where are my manners? Please, come in, come in."

She ushered them inside, taking Booker's hat and hanging it on a crooked coat rack by the door. Though cramped for room, the house was warm and welcoming, smelling of fresh bread and hearty stew. It brought forth memories of sitting in the kitchen as a child, listening to Ottie sing in her pretty country accent.

"Kate?"

Trinket's heart squeezed at the familiar voice, and her vision blurred momentarily. The horrifying sounds from that night played through her mind.

Wood scraping against the tiled floor.

The screaming kettle.

Demonic growls.

And cries of pain.

Murderer.

Murderer.

Murderer!

"Trinket?"

Booker's hand on her arm pulled her back to reality. She blinked away the visions and set her attention on the two people standing in Ottie's cozy kitchen: a young woman with strawberry hair and porcelain skin and a dark-blonde gentleman with mischievous green eyes.

Merrill.

Trinket's body hummed with conflicting emotions. Excitement. Fear. Joy. Guilt. She didn't know whether to run to him or away from him. To burst into laughter or tears. The voices swirled in her head, a noisy ball of confusion, her stomach twisting into knots.

No one else in the room moved, as if they were waiting for her to react. Were they afraid she'd snap? That she'd attack them all in a bloody rampage? There was a noticeable lack of sharp utensils in the otherwise well-furnished kitchen. Not that she could blame them for taking precautions. Still, that little detail stung at her heart.

Booker's grip on her arm tightened, and the reminder that at least one person in the room wasn't afraid of her gave her the courage to see the reunion through.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and gave her brother a tentative smile. "Merrill. It's been a while."

For a terrifying moment, she thought she saw fear flash through his eyes. But then his arms were around her, pulling her into a warm embrace that almost squeezed the breath out of her.

"Kate," he whispered, somehow managing to draw her even closer. "Kate, Kate, Kate. I can't believe it's you. I can't believe you're actually here."

Trinket let out a relieved sigh. "I can't believe you're happy to see me."

He backed away and took her face in his hands, his green eyes brimming with tears. "Of course I'm happy to see you. I'm ecstatic."

"We all are," the red-headed woman chimed in.

"Rae!" Trinket exclaimed, throwing her arms around her.

Her brother's sweetheart squeezed her tight. "Oh, Kate, it's so good to see you again."

"Congratulations on the engagement," Trinket said. "I was so happy to hear about it."

"We should be the ones congratulating you, Mrs. Larkin," Rae said, raising her eyebrows teasingly. "When your brother told me, I nearly fell out of my chair."

"If I recall, you did fall out of your chair," Merrill said.

Rae smacked him on the shoulder. "If anything, I swooned gracefully."

"Whatever you say, dear."

Their playful banter filled Trinket's heart with nostalgic warmth. Reaching for Booker's hand, she tugged him over to them. "Merrill, Rae, I'd like you to meet Dr. Booker Larkin, my husband."

Merrill furrowed his brow. "Doctor?"

"Booker is fine," Booker said. "A pleasure to meet you both. My wife has spoken very highly of you. You as well, Miss Ottie. Here, let me help you with that."

The cook, who had her hands full with a serving tray of teacups, was nearly speechless as Booker took the tray from her and set it on the kitchen table. "Oh, my. Please, Mr. Larkin, allow me to—"

"It's no use, Ottie," Trinket said. "Mr. Larkin is a terribly stubborn gentleman who has no regard for what society deems proper. Trust me, I had many arguments with him about it when I was his maid."

"Maid?" Merrill repeated, helping Rae into her chair before sitting beside her.

"Don't worry, I quickly promoted her to assistant," Booker said as he took a seat next to Trinket. "Though she still insists on being in charge of the tea."

"Do you protest, Mr. Larkin?" Trinket asked, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He gave a lopsided grin. "I wouldn't dare, my dear."

"Aren't you two just the most adorable couple I've ever laid eyes on?" Ottie sighed.

"Won't you join us?" Trinket asked.

"Oh, no, no, you lot have some catching up to do. Besides, I need to keep an eye on this stew, take care it doesn't boil over."

As Ottie walked away, Trinket turned to Booker and playfully whispered, "Don't worry, she cooks stews far better than I do."

"Well, you don't exactly set a high standard," he said.

"So Kate, what was all that about being a maid?" Merrill asked, drumming his fingers anxiously on the table. "I'm having somewhat of a difficult time wrapping my mind around the idea."

Averting her eyes, Trinket laughed nervously. "Yes, I suppose you would. But it's not like I had all that many options when I . . ."

An awkward silence hung in the air as she trailed off. How much did he know? Had their parents told him about Elysium? About the conditions of the asylum? Or had they even been aware of the sort of place they'd condemned her to?

Booker shifted in his chair, drawing it closer to hers and slipping an arm around her waist. "It was really a kindness towards me. After seeing the unsightly condition of my home and experiencing the horror that is my tea, she graciously agreed to help me with the house. Calling her a maid was simply a formality to keep the neighbors from asking too many questions."

Trinket let out a soft breath, relieved to have been saved from relating her hellish existence in Elysium. Though she couldn't help but feel a little guilty for being such a coward.

"Well, Kate does know her way around a tea kettle," Merrill said. "And crumpets."

"Yes, especially when enjoyed covertly at midnight while the rest of the family is asleep in their beds," Trinket said with a smile.

He returned it with a devilish grin of his own. "We were nearly caught several times, weren't we?"

"Only because you wouldn't stop cracking jokes as we passed Mother and Father's room."

"I can't help that I'm a natural wit."

"So that's where all my crumpets used to go," Ottie said from the stove. "And here I was blaming the mice."

They all shared a laugh, and as Ottie began to dole out the stew, Booker leaned in close to Trinket and whispered, "You don't have to tell him everything at once, you know. Just take today to get to know each other again before spilling every secret."

Trinket cast him a grateful smile. Reaching under the table, she took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you, Booker."

~

The five of them talked for hours and hours, sharing memories and catching up on important events. At one point, Rae whisked Trinket away to have a private conversation about what it was like to be married and running her own household. Trinket tried to explain that her life with Booker was anything but typical, but the soon-to-be bride was desperate for any tips.

Throughout the entire evening, no one spoke a word about what had happened that night in the kitchen two years ago. Nor did anyone ask for details of Trinket's life before she met Booker. As much as she didn't want to talk about either of those subjects, it felt wrong ignoring them. Shouldn't she apologize for nearly killing her brother? For ripping her family apart? Didn't she deserve some sort of reproach?

Fiend.

Sinner.

Monster.

"Oh dear, is that really the time?" Rae gasped. She collected her and Merrill's empty cups and made her way to the sink. "My family will wonder what's become of me. I'm so sorry, I don't mean to disrupt the fun."

"No, no, it is rather late," Trinket said as she reached for her own teacup.

"Allow me, my dear," Booker said, taking it from her.

"Oh, but I—"

He leaned forward and raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps you and your brother could go out and fetch us a cab. The three of us can finish up in here."

Trinket glanced over at Merrill, her heart fluttering as he gave her a shy smile. Turning back to Booker, she worried her lip and nodded. "Yes. I think that would be a good idea."

Bumping his forehead lightly against hers, he flashed her an encouraging smile and followed after Rae and Ottie.

"I think there are a few cabs stationed nearby," Merrill said. "It shouldn't be too difficult to find one."

He offered her his arm, and she hesitated before taking it. "Thank you."

The cloudy, moonless night was an unexpected blessing. Even though they weren't in her old neighborhood, Trinket still feared that someone would recognize her and remember what she'd done.

You monster.

You don't deserve forgiveness.

You ruined everything!

"Merrill," she said softly.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

He furrowed his brow and turned to her. "Sorry?"

"I'm so sorry. For that night. After all you did to help me, to protect me, I shouldn't have—"

Merrill pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms shaking as he held her close. "It wasn't your fault, Kate," he whispered.

She clenched her teeth. "But I—"

"Kate, I can't even begin to understand what you were going through back then. What you're still going through. The horrifying things you've seen. The ways you've been hurt."

So he did know about Elysium. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest. "I deserved everything that happened to me."

"No, you didn't. You didn't deserve any of it. And I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you. I'm sorry I didn't try to find you."

"Please don't apologize to me. I don't think I can bear it."

"Then no apologies from either of us. Agreed?"

"Agreed." She looked up at him and smiled. "I've missed you so much, Merrill."

"I've missed you, too." He paused for a moment and then cleared his throat nervously. "Are you happy, Kate?"

"Happier than I ever expected to be."

He backed up to meet her eye. "And this husband of yours. He treats you well? You feel safe with him? You didn't just marry him out of necessity?"

She laughed and slowly shook her head. "No, I did not. I married him because I love and adore him. He's my best friend. He understands and respects me. I've honestly never felt safer, which is rather strange considering the number of times I've nearly died at his side."

Merrill drew his brows together. "That's really not as reassuring as you might think it is."

Grinning at his confusion, she took his hands and gave them a squeeze. "My life has meaning and purpose. He's the best thing that has ever happened to me."

With a soft smile, he let out a sigh. "Well, I still believe he's a tad . . . odd, but if you're happy, then I'm happy."

She wrapped her arms around him once more. "And I am. Very."

~

Trinket leaned against Booker as a cab carried them back to the inn. "Tired?" he asked, snaking his arm around her shoulders.

"Exhausted. You?"

"Remember, my dear, I'm used to burning the candle at both ends."

"Right, you're annoyingly chipper at night."

"Did everything go as you'd hoped?"

Recalling her heart-to-heart with Merrill, she gave a soft smile. "I'm not really sure how I hoped it would go. But I'd say it went rather well."

"Good. And did I behave?"

"Like a saint."

He kissed the top of her head, and she nestled in closer, letting the familiarity of his touch and smell flood her senses. What would she have done without him tonight?

"Rae told me to expect a wedding invitation in the post soon," Booker said.

Trinket sat up. "Wait, really? Their wedding?"

"That's what she said."

A wedding. Her brother's wedding. Which meant her parents would be there. Her father. And mother. Who had sent her to Elysium. Reuniting with Merrill had been one thing. But her parents?

Booker rubbed her shoulder. "It's weeks away. We have plenty of time to prepare. Or to come up with an excuse not to go."

"I'm too tired to even worry about it right now," Trinket said, sinking back into her seat. "I suppose this means we'll need to think of a gift for them."

"I'm sure I could cobble something up. Tell me, how does your brother feel about bone-themed trinkets?"

"I highly doubt he likes bones."

"Perfect. I'll make him a full-skeleton coat rack."

Grinning, she tugged him down by his lapels and caught his lips. "I see the saintliness isn't long lasting."

"Sorry to disappoint."

She kissed him again, deeper this time. "You never disappoint, Mr. Larkin," she murmured against his lips before he pulled her in for another long kiss.