Something stirred beside Trinket, and her eyes flew open to find Booker smiling softly. She released a long breath as he reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

"This is a very good way to keep me confined to bed, you know," he said, leaning forward and planting a kiss on her lips.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, running her fingers through his tangled hair.

"Truthfully, I'm in quite a bit of pain. But it's much more bearable with you here."

He flashed her another smile, and she gazed at him for a long moment, her chest swelling with relief and joy. "I was so afraid I'd lost you," she whispered.

Trailing his fingers along her neck, he whispered, "Forgive me, please. I was just so worried about you."

"What happened? How did Scales find you?"

He let out a weary sigh. "Lem gave me the number of the last body and its location. Turns out the Mice found it and stashed it in another member's apartment, a veteran this time. Little did they know I had a connection with the landlord. Reattached a rather sensitive body part and never told anyone his wife was the one who removed it."

Trinket shook her head. "You and your bizarre connections."

"He let me in, and I cut the body open to retrieve the map piece—inside the heart, by the way. As I was leaving, I got the sense I was being followed. I tried to lose them, but it was clear they meant business. So I took a detour into the Clocktower and found Theo. I wrote a message on the back of the map and told her to deliver it to Daphne after I left, not wanting to risk the Mice getting ahold of it and finding Benedict. Shortly after I stepped outside, I was ambushed and knocked out. When I woke up, I was in the factory, tied to a chair with Scales leering over me."

Gently running her hand over his bruised cheek, Trinket said, "He sure did a number on you."

"And got great satisfaction out of it, let me tell you."

She took his hand and sighed as she looked at the missing finger. "I was hoping beyond hope that the finger was someone else's."

"It could've been worse."

"What about your work? How will you perform surgeries?"

Lacing his remaining fingers with hers, he drew her hand to his lips. "I'm not too concerned. It wasn't a vital finger. Besides, I'm ambidextrous. And I have a spectacular assistant to help me."

"Only you could be so calm about losing an appendage."

"Who knows? Maybe I can figure out a way to attach one of my prosthetics. I'd be a walking advertisement."

She laughed softly and cupped his cheek. "I'm so happy you're safe."

He smiled and squeezed her hand. "And now, with all the chaos behind us, we can get down to the important things. Like you and I and a certain promise to spend the rest of our lives together."

Excitement built inside of her and then came to a sudden crashing halt as she remembered: she had to tell him. She had to tell him now before someone else tried to tear them apart.

Slipping her hand out of his, she sat up and took a deep breath. "Booker, I need to tell you something."

He sat up as well, wincing a little as he turned to face her. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Did you change your mind?"

"No, no, nothing like that."

Letting out a sigh, he placed a hand on his chest. "Lord, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I haven't changed my mind. And I hope you won't, either, once I . . ." She suddenly lost her breath and swallowed hard. "Once I tell you. This. All of this."

Booker gripped her arm, clearly alarmed by her behavior. "Trinket, whatever it is, I can assure you it won't change my feelings for you."

She dared to steal a glance at him, but his warm, intoxicating eyes were more than she could bear. Setting her gaze straight ahead, she whispered, "I certainly hope so."

He'll hate you.

He'll despise you.

Who could love a monster like you?

It took a moment to gather her thoughts, but she finally gripped her skirts and let out a shaky breath.

"My condition wasn't the reason my parents sent me away. Well, not exactly. There was an incident. When I was sixteen."

There was a short pause. "Trinket, you don't need—"

"No, I do." She took another breath, dutifully keeping her gaze away from him so she wouldn't lose her nerve. "When I experienced my first nightmarish episode, I was in the kitchen of my family's home. It was late, and I'd been up all night with horrible feelings of doom and gloom and utter depression and hopelessness. I snuck downstairs to make some tea in an attempt to calm myself when I heard this strange noise. Like wood scraping against the floor."

The images flashed through her mind, as fresh as the night it had happened.

Long crooked legs.

Nails like thick, rotted wood.

And a mouth filled with sharp teeth covered in strings of spittle.

She breathed in deeply, forcing herself to focus. "It was this monstrous, wolf-like creature. I panicked and lost touch with reality. In fear for my life, I grabbed a knife and attacked. Again and again and again, I plunged the blade into the beast's eye, its chest, whatever I could reach. But then the monster changed."

Another memory.

Merrill.

Curled up on the floor.

Blood pouring from his chest.

Her heart pounded as she gasped for breath, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Booker grasped her hand and leaned in closer. "Trinket, really, you—"

She shook her head violently. "No. I have to." Another breath. "It was much like what happened with you in the kitchen, but with far more dire consequences."

Again, the image of Merrill lying in his own blood interrupted her as the voices shouted warnings and accusations.

Murderer!

Don't tell him!

You'll lose him!

You'll kill him!

Just like your brother!

No. She had to have faith in Booker. She had to tell him.

"I killed my older brother," she whispered.

There was a still silence in the room. Her entire body was seized with trembling, and she slowly turned to Booker, terrified of what she might see. Surprisingly, there was no disgust or shock or horror in his expression. His brows were drawn together. He seemed confused, but there was no reproach or hatred.

Encouraged by this, she went on. "You see why I don't blame my parents for what happened to me? They were only trying to protect themselves. I was a danger. Not just to their status, but to their lives. And perhaps even to the lives of our neighbors. They had no choice. They had to send me away."

She inclined her head, trying to catch Booker's eyes as he continued to stare past her, still seeming puzzled. Snapping out of his daze, he looked to her and offered a quick, sympathetic smile.

"I should have told you a while ago," she said, grasping his hands. "But I was afraid. I was convinced that what I had done was so horrible, so wicked, even someone as understanding as you wouldn't be able to forgive me. I'm sorry, Booker. I'm so sorry."

He took her into his arms and held her tight. "You have no reason to be sorry, Trinket."

Trinket. Another lie she needed to expose. "And since I'm spilling truths—" She pulled away, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "My name is actually Katherine Seymour. I didn't want to tell you my real name for fear you'd be able to find my family and discover what I'd done. But I suppose none of that matters now. I'm so, so sorry that I've been this deceitful. I was just utterly terrified. I'm sorry, Booker. Truly, I pray you can forgive me for not telling you sooner."

There was a slight hesitation. Booker's eyes wandered back and forth as he gazed at her with uncertainty and worry.

And shame.

"Booker?"

He sighed. "Since we're being completely honest right now, I have a confession of my own."

Again, he hesitated. Trinket's heart pounded. What could he be about to confess? All sorts of terrible things ran through her head, horrible, dark truths only a mad scientist could be carrying. Still, he'd been kind and forgiving towards her. She was determined to do the same for him.

"When you first arrived here, I attempted to find out who you were," he said slowly. "But to my frustration, I came up empty-handed. Then our little incident in the kitchen occurred. Equipped with the information you gave me, I was able to trace you back to Broadfall. To your family. And I learned everything."

Her heart skittered. He'd known? All this time? He'd known everything?

"I'm so sorry," he babbled on, taking up her hands. "I should have told you. I meant to tell you. But you seemed so intent on leaving your past behind, and then I grew more and more ashamed that I'd meddled in your affairs, and . . . Trinket, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. I just . . ."

He knew. He'd always known. She felt like she should be angry with him, but there was too much relief. He'd known about her sins all this time and had still fallen in love with her. The voices had been wrong . . .

"Trinket?"

"So when you went to Broadfall," she said once she could find her voice, "did you see my family?"

His muscles relaxed slightly. "Not personally. But I did speak to a few people who knew them. I got in touch with a woman who worked in the house as their cook."

Ottie! Oh, how she had loved Ottie. "And?"

He furrowed his brow. "And?"

"And my parents. How are they?"

Averting his eyes, he hesitated. "I heard they moved. To Dufferford."

Dufferford. Why did that sound so familiar? Where had she heard that name?

She gasped. "Henry and Alice. That was the information you wanted from them. About my parents."

He winced and nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

The anger she knew she should be feeling still didn't come. "Are they well? Are they happy?"

Another hesitation. "Yes. I hear they're all doing quite well. Your mother, your father. . ." his eyes darted to her quickly. "Your brother."

The voices stopped. So did her heart. Or at least she thought it had. She couldn't have heard that right. He must have misspoken.

"What . . ." She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "What did you say?"

"Your brother. Trinket, he's alive."

Alive.

Alive?

Her brother was alive?

Merrill was alive!

"Trinket, believe me, if I'd had any idea you believed he was dead, I would've told you immediately. I'm sorry, I didn't know. I thought you were just torturing yourself over having hurt him and—"

A sob burst from her lips. Or was it a laugh? She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything anymore. The world was spinning, her mind racing. But one thought kept repeating itself over and over in her head:

Merrill was alive.

Booker pulled her into an embrace, whispering into her ear, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, my love."

Pushing away from him, she found her voice through the tears. "How is he?"

Furrowing his brow slightly, Booker leaned in closer. "Pardon?"

"Merrill, my brother. How is he? Were . . . was he crippled by his injuries? Is he happy? Please tell me he's happy."

"Ah, right, right. His injuries were substantial, but he made a full recovery and is doing well. And as for being happy, I'm guessing he is considering he's soon to be married."

"Married? To whom?"

"A young woman named Rae, I believe."

Oh! Rae! Memories resurfaced of picnics in the garden with a girl who was like sunshine and strawberry candy. The same girl Merrill had gazed at as if her eyes contained the world. They were still together. They were engaged.

Trinket hadn't ruined their lives.

Another tearful laugh escaped her lips. Booker steadied her, a line of worry etched between his eyes. "Trinket? Trinket, are you all right?"

Unable to speak, she nodded and laughed again, covering her face with her hands.

Merrill was alive.

Her brother was alive.

She hadn't destroyed his life.

He was alive. And he was happy.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner," Booker said again, his hands gripping her shoulders.

She shook her head as she uncovered her face. "No, no, I understand. I'm just . . . I'm so. . . . he's alive! I can't believe it. All this time . . . I'm so . . . so . . ."

Booker drew her close again and let out a heavy breath. "It makes me sick to think of how long you've blamed yourself for something that never even happened. I should've told you sooner. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Enough apologizing," Trinket said, wiping away her tears as she turned to face him. "We've both made mistakes. We've both lied. But it's all out in the open now. There's nothing left to hide."

He smiled, gently caressing her cheek. "No, there isn't."

She gazed up at him, that old anxiety rearing its ugly head again. "And it doesn't change anything?"

Frowning, he cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"Even after knowing all about my brother and my lies, do you still want to marry me?"

A smile spread over his face, and he lifted her hands to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "There is nothing I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you, Trinket. Or should I say, Katherine Seymour?"

Shaking her head, Trinket leaned forward and brushed her lips against his, warmth spreading from her chest to every part of her body. Booker wrapped his arms around her, holding her closer as he deepened the kiss.

When they finally parted, Trinket caught her breath and smiled. "Katherine Seymour is who I was. Trinket is who I am."

She kissed him again, relishing in the soft moan that escaped from him. Pulling away, she rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes, soaking in every inch of the man she loved.

"And Trinket Larkin is who I'll become," she whispered.