With great reservation, Trinket rose early the next morning to prepare for her encounter with Emma. As she braided her hair in front of the standing mirror, she recalled her last conversation with the tea shop owner. The woman had made it very clear she was not interested in any further business with her or Booker. Knowing this, Trinket was ready for a less-than-welcoming reception.

"Lord, Booker, the things you convince me to do," she muttered to her reflection as she ran a hand down the bodice of her light blue dress.

Making her way downstairs, she headed to the kitchen for a quick cup of tea in hopes it might steady her nerves. Not that she was necessarily afraid of Emma. She'd faced down thugs and vampires and wolves and venomous snakes; a petite tea shop girl wasn't a terrible threat. But Trinket had been fond of Emma at one time, and she regretted that things ended as they did. To walk in and attempt friendliness again when she knew what the result would be was a tad nerve-wracking.

"Is Mr. Larkin up?" Trinket asked Daphne who was busy kneading dough at the kitchen table.

Daphne shrugged, blowing a dark curl out of her eyes.

"Probably already out searching for more frogs."

Glancing over her shoulder, Daphne paused her kneading and raised an eyebrow.

Waving away her questioning expression, Trinket set a strainer over a cup and added some tea leaves. "Long story. Long and rather disgusting."

She fetched the kettle, which was boiled and ready. As she poured the water, Daphne looked her up and down and gave a teasing smirk. Trinket furrowed her brow, and in response, Daphne jutted out her hip and struck a ridiculous pose while fluttering her lashes.

Still slightly confused, Trinket laughed nervously. "What are you getting on about?"

Dropping her pantomime, Daphne gestured to her, staring pointedly at her dress.

"Oh, this." Trinket glanced down at her outfit. It was one of her finer dresses, and she didn't often wear it for fear of ruining it on an unplanned excursion with Booker. "I'm off on an errand for Mr. Larkin this morning, and I thought making myself look as presentable and trustworthy as possible might help."

Nodding slowly, Daphne returned to the dough.

Thankful she didn't push for more of an explanation, Trinket took a long sip of her tea. "I hope to be home in time to help with the housecleaning, so please don't finish everything without me," she went on.

Daphne rolled her eyes and waved her away.

"You're ridiculous, Daphne. I will be back to help. As the one who hired you, listen to me when I say: Do. Not. Finish. All. The work. Without me."

Wrinkling her nose, Daphne turned to her and clapped her flour-covered hands, letting off a cloud of powder. Stepping aside to keep it from clinging to her attire, Trinket swallowed down the rest of her tea at a speed that would greatly impress Booker and raised a finger at Daphne as she inched towards the door.

"At least leave the dishes for me," she said, ducking into the hallway as Daphne sent a small ball of dough hurtling in her direction.

Sunshine streamed into the house as Trinket opened the front door. It was a beautiful, warm day, and if it weren't for the task at hand, she'd be thrilled at the prospect of spending some time outdoors. With a short sigh, she locked the door behind her and headed off towards the city center.

There was already a good-sized crowd milling about, and while some were still gossiping about the dead body, the hype had died down considerably. Luckily, it seemed no one had become privy to the frog found on Emma's door. The fewer people who knew about it, the less chance there was of someone troublesome getting involved.

As the tea shop loomed closer, the dread in Trinket's chest grew heavier until it felt as if she were dragging an anchor along with her. It was a little different from the doom and gloom that made even daily activities seem like an impossibility, but it was still an uncomfortable sensation. It wasn't that she thought Emma would try to hurt her. She just had no doubt in her mind about how this visit was going to play out.

Taking a deep breath, she slipped through the door. The tiny bell that hung from it cheerfully announced her presence. Emma turned to greet her with a bright smile, but as soon as she saw it was her, the brightness faded. Sucking in her lips, she glanced at the only other customer in the store, an old woman Trinket recognized as Mrs. Portch, one of Booker's patients.

Ever the cordial shopkeeper, Emma forced a smile back onto her face as she gave Trinket a nod. "Good morning, miss. Can I help you find anything special today?"

Returning Emma's rigid smile with one of her own, Trinket approached the counter. The young woman's eyes kept darting to Mrs. Portch, and the panic in her expression was as readable as a book.

"Hello, Emma," Trinket said softly, keeping her voice low to avoid being overheard by the older woman in the corner. The ear that held Booker's hearing device was turned away from them, so she wasn't sure how much of their conversation Mrs. Portch would catch. "I hope I haven't come at a bad time."

"Actually, I'm very busy at the moment."

Trinket scanned the nearly empty store, but in the name of being amiable, she nodded her understanding. "I promise I won't take too long. I was hoping you might be able to tell me more about last night. You said you heard something, yes?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, miss. I slept like the dead last night. Nothing could've woken me."

The dark bags under her eyes said otherwise. "Emma," Trinket continued, lowering her voice all the more so, "we're not trying to get you involved in this. We just need to know what you heard and what you saw."

Emma pursed her lips together and held Trinket's gaze for a long moment before her eyes flickered back to Mrs. Portch. Trinket followed suit, and now that the old woman had shifted a smidge, it was clear her hearing device was on and at its full power. The miniature hearing horn was hard to miss, peeking out from beneath the old woman's grey hair. And based on how she was standing—her back turned to them and her head tilted ever so slightly to the side as she scanned the same tins of tea over and over again—she was doing her best to catch a bit of their conversation.

Letting out a breath, Trinket leaned closer to Emma. She was somewhat disappointed by the way the young woman flinched. The whole reason she was here instead of Booker was because she was the less intimidating one. She felt like a failure, knowing she was causing fear rather than putting the woman at ease.

"Emma, I promise you, we have no intention of letting you get hurt," she whispered so softly she almost couldn't hear her own voice.

"And I suppose Mr. Larkin had no intention of hurting me when I came to him for help with my broken wrist," Emma hissed back.

She looked just as surprised by the vehemence behind her words as Trinket was. Her gaze shot back to Mrs. Portch. She cleared her throat and pasted on another smile.

"I'm sorry, miss, I'm afraid we're out of that tea right now," she said more loudly. "But I could recommend you to an outside source. You might do better ordering your supplies directly from them. I doubt my humble shop will ever have the product you're looking for."

There was a little added venom to her last sentence that made Trinket's spine go rigid. Emma still sported a smile, but there was something quite threatening about the glint in her eyes. Perhaps Trinket did have reason to fear for her safety. Although, with Mrs. Portch as a witness, she doubted the girl would dare to do her harm.

"That's odd," Trinket replied. "You had plenty of it last night. I must say, I'm awfully surprised to learn you sold it all in such a short period of time. But then, your mixtures are quite addictive."

She raised an eyebrow, daring Emma to deny her request again. Emma's eyes went wide, and she hunched her shoulders. Trinket nearly smiled at her reaction. Emma wasn't the only one who could put on a facade of being sweet and innocent.

"Oh, now that I think about it, I may have some in the back," Emma said stiffly, her gaze fixed anxiously on Trinket. "But first, I believe I'm needed over there. Mrs. Portch, can I help you find something today?"

The old woman turned to her with a jar of tea in her hands and smiled sweetly, her eyes nearly disappearing amidst a sea of wrinkles. "Oh, no, dearie. I think I found the perfect blend for my dear Vernice. She's been a tad under the weather, and I thought a nice cup of tea would put her on the mend."

"Is she all right?" Trinket asked, worried for the young girl who had aided her and Booker several times in weeks past. "I'm sure Mr. Larkin would be willing to check in on her, seeing as you're already a loyal patient of his."

"Oh, she's doing fine. Over the worst of it, I suspect. I'm just fretting about my favorite tenant, is all."

"I think this will perk her right up," Emma said as she took the jar from the old woman and returned to the counter to bag it up.

Mrs. Portch turned her cheerful gaze to Trinket. As her smile grew, her cheeks rounded to the point that Trinket worried her face might pop. She hobbled over to Trinket and placed a dry, cracked hand on her wrist, squeezing it tightly. For as fragile as she appeared, the woman had a firm grip.

"I just want to tell you how wonderful I think it is, you and Doctor Larkin being together."

Trinket's stomach dropped, and she could've sworn she heard Emma snicker as she measured out the tea. "Oh, well, I didn't—" Trinket started, not exactly sure how to respond.

"Now, I know some people might think it unseemly for a gentleman to take his maid to bed."

As heat burst in her cheeks and neck, Trinket tried to extricate herself from the old woman's grasp. "Oh, no, no, you're mistaken, we're not—"

Mrs. Portch held on tighter and raised her voice. "But don't let the naysayers bring you down. Your business is your business, and they should have no say in it."

"Mrs. Portch, while I do appreciate—"

Patting Trinket's cheek softly with her free hand, Mrs. Portch beamed up at her. "I can't say I've ever seen Doctor Larkin quite this happy and content before."

Trinket ceased her struggling for a moment, curious as to the woman's insights about Booker.

"He's brilliant, surely," she went on, "but there was always something very frazzled and disconnected about him. Like he lived in another world and didn't notice the one around him. Ever since you came into his life, he seems to be more aware of other people. It's almost as if he's seeing the world for the first time with you by his side."

Nearly overwhelmed by the old woman's sweet words, Trinket smiled softly. "You're too kind, madame."

Mrs. Portch's grip tightened again. "And the way he looks at you. My goodness, child, it's like he might devour you on the spot. He must be a handful in the bedroom."

And just like that, the touching moment was shattered. Before Trinket could combust from embarrassment, Emma intervened, handing Mrs. Portch her bag of tea. "I hope Vernice feels better soon, Mrs. Portch."

"Oh, bless you, dearie." The old woman passed Emma some coins and pocketed the tea before turning back to Trinket. "And bless you and your scrumptious little doctor."

With that parting sentiment, Mrs. Portch shuffled out the door. Composing herself as best she could, Trinket turned to Emma who wasn't even trying to hide her wicked grin. "I hope you were entertained," Trinket said.

"Oh, greatly so," Emma laughed. "Put me in a much better mood."

Sighing, Trinket leaned against the counter. "What did you see last night, Emma?"

Though she donned a more sober expression, there was still a hint of a smile on Emma's lips. "I was in bed when I heard a soft pounding at the door to the shop, as though someone were trying not to draw attention to themselves. When I looked out the window, I caught a glimpse of someone out front. Not a good glimpse, mind you. By the time I armed myself and ran downstairs, the only thing there was the frog."

"What did they look like?"

Emma shook her head. "It was too dark to tell."

"Anything, Emma, please."

With a sigh, she raised her eyes upward, squinting slightly as if replaying the scene in her head. "Tall. He looked tall."

"'He'? So you believe it was a man?"

"Or a very flat-chested woman."

Tall. Like the man in Daphne's picture. And Tory's description. And the stranger in the Garden Block.

"I swear, that's all I know," Emma said, interrupting Trinket's musing. "Now, if you and your doctor would please leave me out of this, I'd be much obliged."

Nodding, Trinket dipped a quick curtsey. "Thank you, Emma. Truly, thank you."

Despite her obvious disdain, Emma still managed a slightly genuine half-smile. "Good luck, whatever you two are after. Try not to get yourselves killed."

Trinket smiled as she headed towards the door. "We make no promises, but thank you for the concern."

As she stepped outside, she let out a long breath of relief. Aside from the humiliating exchange with Mrs. Portch, that had gone a lot better than she'd expected. And based on Emma's description of the stranger at her door, Trinket thought it was safe to say Benedict was indeed the one who was leaving these frogs for Booker to find. She could just imagine the look of joy on Booker's face when she told him.

"You seem rather pleased with yourself."

Every hair on Trinket's body stood up on end at the sound of that oily, charming voice. She moved to back away, but Scales, now walking beside her, grabbed her arm and kept a firm hold on it.

"Don't run off so soon, little strumpet," he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and flashing her a chilling grin. "I thought we might have a nice promenade about the center. You and that night flower made it seem very enjoyable."

"Are you so deprived of entertainment that you're forced to follow me around all day?" Trinket asked, her eyes darting about the street in search of a friendlier face.

"You underestimate yourself, darling. You're one of the most interesting creatures to ever grace these godforsaken streets."

"How fondly you speak of your hometown, Mr. Scales."

Chuckling softly to himself, Scales squeezed her hand, nearly pulling a wince from her lips. "Always such a lady. It's a wonder you slum around with a scoundrel like Larkin."

"What can I do for you, Scales?"

"I saw you talking to your old friend at the tea shop. I was under the impression you'd been banned after that little fiasco with our dearly departed resurrectionist. Something happen to bring about this joyful reconciliation?"

"Is where I get my tea really such a fascinating subject?"

Pulling her closer, Scales lowered his voice as he said, "Be careful with that mouth, strumpet. Wouldn't want another loved one to croak, would you?"

Despite her best efforts to compose herself, Trinket swallowed hard and met Scales' gaze. He raised his eyebrows, almost in challenge, and she knew she'd be a fool to play dumb with him. "It was just a frog, Scales," she said, lamenting the tremor in her voice.

"Nothing is 'just' anything as far as Larkin and his little friend are concerned."

"I swear to you, Scales, there was nothing special about that frog. I watched Booker slice it open and examine it. There was nothing out of the ordinary."

"Then why are you out pestering shopkeepers?"

"In the desperate hope that it could be out of the ordinary. But it's not."

She kept her voice firm, but she was sure he'd see right through her. Scales wasn't stupid. He was unnervingly insightful and clever.

"There's nothing ordinary about a frog nailed to a door," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting into something like an amused grin. "But I applaud your efforts to convince me otherwise."

Sliding his arm around her waist and grabbing hold of her arm, he steered her into a nearby alley. Trinket's heart pounded against her ribcage, but she didn't fight him. It was no use fighting. She had to play along.

He backed her into the brick wall and casually leaned against it, one arm above her head as he gazed down at her. There was something about his stare that, while terrifying, was slightly alluring. She could imagine him luring his victims in with a charming smile before gutting them with a knife.

"You're nearly as clever as Larkin," he said, toying with a strand of her hair, "so I know you must realize by now what sort of stakes I have in this mad friend of his."

"How do you even know about him?" Trinket asked, not bothering to dance around the subject.

"It's my job to know everything, darling."

"Was your job."

His eyes turned cold. He leaned in closer, and Trinket instinctively tried to back away, forgetting about the wall at her back. "My job has never been reliant upon the Dead Mice," he said, his breath hitting her like a shock from the Jar. She was surprised to find it smelled strongly of fresh mint. "I've made it a point to know everything since I was a lad."

"You had high ambitions even as a child, then?"

"Knowledge is power, and power is needed to keep from losing." A strange shadow passed over his face, and for a brief moment, he actually looked sad. "There are far too many stupid, useless people with power. And they use it the wrong way. And on the wrong people."

If it weren't for the horrible things he'd done to the ones she loved, Trinket would have felt a twinge of sympathy for him. But they were past sympathy at this point. "So you thought you'd follow in their footsteps?"

The sadness disappeared, replaced with utter disgust. "Excuse me?"

"You use your power to bully people. To hurt people. Even innocent little girls."

He leaned towards her again, teeth gritted. "Every move I make, every life I take, is not done in vain or for my own personal pleasure, unlike all those idiots. When I act, it's calculated and necessary."

"So, are you going to kill me? Am I the next piece in your grand scheme?"

She said it with impressive bravado, but her trembling hands betrayed her terror.

Smiling wickedly, Scales trailed a gloved finger down her cheek. "Oh, not just yet, my dear. You're more valuable than you realize."

He traced her jawline, then her chin, every movement sending a shiver through her bones. As he reached her neck, he paused, his gaze flickering back to her face. His eyes pinned her to the wall as he held his finger against her throat like a blade. Somehow, his touch was just as unnerving as an actual weapon, and Trinket refrained from breathing too deeply for fear her flesh would be sliced open.

"But don't be mistaken," he whispered. "When the right moment reveals itself, I will kill you, and you will die knowing you've served a noble cause."

Refusing to avert her gaze, Trinket replied, "I'd take my own life before I'd let you use me like that."

With a low laugh, he turned his eyes downward and dropped his hand. "I would expect that sort of talk from an asylum escapee." He snapped his attention back to her, all humor vanished from his face. "Watch yourself, strumpet, or I'll send you right back there. And this time, the only way you'll escape is as a doctor's cadaver."

He pushed himself away and swaggered out of the alley. Trinket clutched her chest as she tried to steady her breathing, but the panic was setting in. He knew about Elysium? Of course he did. But then why hadn't he told the rest of Tinkerfall, revealing the lies Booker and Gin had put so much effort into spreading throughout the city?

Because that wouldn't have worked in his favor. He hadn't been bragging when he said every move he made was calculated. He knew exactly what he was doing and how to cause the most damage to his enemies.

Including her.

While the threat of death was effective, Elysium was far worse a fate. The idea of returning to that hell was enough to send her into a spiral of fear and darkness. Even now, the voices were whispering unintelligible words full of panic and mockery. Shadows darted in and out of her vision as roaches that hadn't been in the alley a moment ago began crawling up her legs.

No. She couldn't let that happen. She'd die before she let someone drag her back there. Still, as she made her way to the entrance of the alley, resisting the urge to shake the imaginary pests from her skirts, Scales' threats continued to echo in her mind.