Hours passed. Days, even. Or maybe only minutes. It was impossible to tell. Trinket knew that from experience. Time didn't function in Elysium the same way it did in the real world. When patients would first arrive, they'd desperately try to cling to their former lives by keeping track of how many days had gone by. But between the drugs and the hopelessness, it didn't take long for them to give up.

If Elysium taught you anything, it was how to give up.

The door creaked open with a painful moan, and Trinket's head shot up. She shielded her eyes against the dim candlelight; it was blinding after her time spent in abysmal darkness. A towering figure stood in the doorway—female, based on the curve of the hips and the silhouette of what seemed to be a dress. She tossed something at Trinket, barely missing her face as Trinket threw up her hands to catch it.

"Change," the woman barked.

She slammed the door shut again, locking it and leaving Trinket alone to examine what she had thrown. It was cloth. Itchy, threadbare cloth. A dress. She well remembered the scrap of fabric they'd given her to wear when she'd first come to Elysium. Making her shed the well-bred life she'd been born into and forcing her into the role of patient.

Prisoner was more like it.

Curling her fingers around the garment, she threw it as far from herself as she could and rose to her feet. No. Not this time. She would not become a prisoner again. Yes, she was mad. Yes, she had killed her brother. Yes, she would live with that guilt forever.

But blast it all, she would live. She wanted to live.

She deserved to live.

A trembling laugh burst from her lips as she brushed back her hair and paced the room. How long would her sudden zest for life last? She never could tell with this ridiculous, twisted mind of hers. But she wanted to live. For now. And she would cling to that feeling for as long as she could. Or at least until she escaped.

Escape? Her first escape should have been impossible. To attempt it again? What chance did she have?

She couldn't just lay down and surrender, though. Not when she had a real, meaningful life waiting for her. A home. A job. Friends. And a man she was completely devoted to.

Booker!

Leaning against the wall, she clutched her chest, the panic returning. What if Booker had gotten caught trying to obtain the corpse? What if he'd run into the Mice? What if they'd hurt him? Or worse.

He needed her. She was his assistant and his friend, and he needed her. She would get out of here. Somehow, she'd find a way.

Some impossible way.

The door moaned again, and the candlelight flooded the room, illuminating the imaginary blood seeping through the floorboards.

"Time for—what are you still doing in that posh getup, child?" the woman snapped.

Taking a deep breath, Trinket pulled herself up to her full height, ignoring the blood slowly spreading into the hallway. "As I told you earlier, there's been a mistake. I do not belong here."

"Get out of those clothes and put on your assigned dress so you can take your water."

Trinket's eyes flickered to the cup of cloudy water in the woman's hand. She was certain it was the same drug-laced sludge they'd forced down her throat before. That horrid floating sensation returned to her, and fear buzzed through her body.

Tearing her gaze away from the water, she firmly planted her feet and repeated, "There's been a mistake. My husband will be most displeased to learn you dragged me to this vile place and attempted to strip me naked."

A bit of a lie, but she was sure Booker wouldn't mind. After all, they were engaged, so it was almost true.

This didn't seem to convince the orderly. "Change now and drink this water before I make you."

The woman stepped forward. She suddenly seemed much larger, her intimidating figure nearly filling the tiny room.

Trinket's courage was wavering. "No. I demand to speak with whoever's in charge here."

"As far as you're concerned, I'm the one in charge. Now drink your water."

The orderly grabbed at Trinket, but her short arms barely grazed her chest. Trinket scrambled back, searching for some means of escape. There was nothing in the room but the mattress, which she was certain she didn't have the strength to throw. Besides, the woman would surely catch hold of her as she struggled to lift it.

"If you don't settle down right this instant, I'll arrange for an appointment with the doctor," the orderly hissed, cornering her at the farthest point from the door. "His methods will make you nice and docile."

As Trinket backed away, her feet became tangled in something on the floor. Her eyes darted to the offending object. It was that horrible, scratchy dress.

"Drink the water so you can get some rest, and then we'll talk in the morning," the woman said, attempting to add a drop of sweetness to her low, grating voice.

Though not knowing what she'd do with it, Trinket stooped down and grabbed the dress. The orderly lunged for her, dropping the cup as she dug her nails into Trinket's arm. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Trinket wrapped the dress around the woman's neck and pulled as hard as she could. The woman's grip loosened slightly as she gagged and stumbled back. Trinket pulled the dress tighter, pushing the woman away until she could see a clear path to the door. With one final shove, she threw the orderly to the floor and darted into the hallway.

She ran down the feverish hallway, disoriented yet determined.

Rough, muscular arms caught her before she could get far. "Blasted cherry!" the man sneered.

"No! Let me go!" Trinket cried, fighting against him.

"We got a runner over here!" came another male voice.

More hands grabbed for her as she screamed and clawed at her attackers.

"Tried to strangle me in there," said the female orderly, her voice even raspier after Trinket's attack. "She's more deranged than she claimed."

"Get her downstairs. Maybe we can shock some respect into her."

No! No, not the Jar! "Let me go!" Trinket screamed as the men lifted her up and tried to bind her wrists and ankles.

"Unhand my wife this instant!"

Trinket drew in a sharp breath and ceased her struggling. The orderlies paused their attempts to immobilize her and turned to the man who had addressed them.

Trinket's heart leapt into her throat and then plummeted when she realized it wasn't Booker. Still, there was something very familiar about the man standing before her. Tall. Pale. Dark hair peppered with specks of grey and white at the temples. His voice was deep when he spoke, and judging by his clothes, he was not without wealth. The shaded glasses perched at the tip of his nose were a tad eccentric for a gentleman, though.

Wait, shaded glasses?

Images flashed through her mind: Daphne's drawing, Tory's description, the man in the suburbs.

Benedict.

This man was Benedict Hawk.

But how—

"I said unhand my wife this instant, you pathetic bootlickers," he repeated in a calm and even voice. "Now, before I decide to sue this entire establishment for everything it's worth, which I doubt would amount to much."

The man who had Trinket in a nearly horizontal position quickly placed her back on her feet and raised his hands up as he and the other orderlies backed away. Trinket wobbled slightly, and Benedict stepped forward to offer his hand.

"Are you all right, love?" he asked gently.

Unable to form words, Trinket merely nodded, doing her best to avoid his eyes as something tight built in her chest.

Turning his attention back to the orderlies, Benedict put a protective arm around Trinket's shoulders and pulled her close. "We'll be leaving now. And if I hear you spoke a word of what happened here—"

"Sir, we had no idea," one of the male orderlies said, wringing his hands. "We were only following orders."

"You know how to take orders?" Benedict said. "Good. Do not tell anyone what occurred here. And if you ever lay a hand on this woman again, I swear you'll wish you were dead."

The orderlies' faces went white as Benedict steered Trinket away from them and towards the foyer.

Benedict and Trinket didn't speak a word to each other as they hurried outside and into a waiting coach. It was dark, suggesting some time had passed since her altercation with Frieda. After closing the door, Benedict knocked on the roof, signaling the driver to head out. The carriage lurched into motion, and Trinket couldn't resist peeking out the window to watch as the asylum grew smaller and smaller and then disappeared from sight.

She let out a long breath, hoping that would be the last time she ever saw the place. Settling back into her seat, she kept her eyes trained on her stocking-clad feet as she tried to gather her thoughts. Her chest was still tight, and while she was sure some of the tension was from having been in Elysium, she knew a good amount of it was because of the man sitting across from her. So many emotions warred inside of her.

Fear. Gratitude. Anger.

Oh, so much anger.

"It's Miss Trinket, yes?" Benedict said.

She gripped her skirts tightly and sucked in her lips.

"Or would you prefer to go by Katherine?"

She flinched at the utterance of her name.

"Miss Trinket, then. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, though I could have hoped for better circumstances. My name is—"

"Benedict Hawk." She lifted her head and met his curious gaze. "I know exactly who you are."

He raised his eyebrows, hardly shaken by her cold, clipped words. "I expected no less from Booker's assistant."

"Why are you here?"

"In this carriage with you? I set off to fetch you as soon as Frieda told me what she'd done."

Of course it had been Frieda. Who else would want to send her back to the asylum? "Does that mean you and Frieda have been conspiring together all along?"

"No, actually, this has been the first contact I've had with her since I left the orphanage."

"How did she find you, then? Or did you find her?"

He hesitated, his cold, grey eyes flickering to the window for a moment before returning to her. "I'm afraid there's been something of a complication in this game I set up for Booker."

Trinket's heart skipped a beat. The body. Booker. "Is it the Mice? Did they get him? Is he all right? Is he alive?"

Benedict cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. It was only then that she realized how far she'd leaned forward. Her knees were practically brushing against his. She slid back, but her nerves remained on edge as she waited for a response.

"I don't know," he said, letting out a long breath. "Frieda showed up in my laboratory with the map I'd made, saying something about Booker being in trouble. After a little persuasion, she admitted to sending you away, and I jumped into a coach and came straight to the asylum."

Booker could be hurt. Or worse. Blast it all, that stupid, foolish, wonderful, brilliant man! If she lost him . . .

Shaking her head, she banished the thought. It wouldn't do her any good to fall apart right now, not when there was nothing she could do to help him. She had to be patient and calm.

"Miss Trinket, please know—"

"How do you even know who I am?" she snapped, allowing her anger to push aside her anguish.

He drew back at her sharp tone and blinked several times before responding. "It's no secret. One only needs to listen to the local gossip. You and Booker are a popular subject amongst the citizens of Tinkerfall."

"So you've spoken to people in the city?"

"Of course. I couldn't live an entirely solitary existence, especially not if I wanted to watch Booker's progression in the game."

"You were watching us?"

"Everyone is watching you, Miss Trinket. And with good reason. You're rather fascinating, even more so with this whole asylum business."

She furrowed her brow. "You didn't know about Elysium before?"

He shook his head. "No, I did not. There was no real need to dig into your past. Or so I thought. My focus was mostly on Booker, so my interest in you only extended to his interest in you."

"How flattering."

"I didn't mean it as an insult. Honestly, even without Booker, you're an intriguing specimen."

Scoffing, she folded her arms and turned away. "Specimen? Is that how you see people? As things to be studied?"

"Is that so wrong?"

"It is if you study them like dissected frogs."

She snapped her sharp gaze back to him and was surprised and slightly pleased to find him taken aback. "As far as I know, there's nothing wrong with studying human biology," he said rather defensively.

"Studying human biology? Is that what you call what you've been doing?"

Narrowing his eyes, Benedict straightened his back and cleared his throat. "Am I to understand that you find my work offensive?"

"I find the way you treat people offensive."

"And how do I treat them?"

"As if they're dispensable."

"Dispensable?"

"The Wolf was unfortunate. However, it wasn't human. I can excuse that behavior to some degree, though I still think it was cruel. But then your little experiments on people—"

"You mean the second round of the game?"

"Yes, exactly. What you did to those people—"

"Corpses. Dead bodies, completely unconscious and unable to feel pain."

"What about Daphne?"

"Daphne?"

She gave a sharp laugh. "And here I thought you were so attentive to what Booker was doing. Daphne, the woman to whom you surgically attached fish gills."

Benedict's eyebrows went up in understanding. "Ah, right. Sorry, I didn't realize you'd named her. Yes, I do recall her. Quite a success for both Booker and myself. Those aquariums are remarkable."

"Daphne was a living, breathing person, and you took it upon yourself to mutilate her. You nearly killed her."

"But I didn't."

"Only because Booker helped her."

"Then doesn't that show I had great faith in my friend's abilities?"

Trinket slammed her hands down on the leather bench, her entire body shaking with rage. "You had no right. No right at all."

"I'll have you know I explained everything to the woman before I did anything. And aside from that, she was supposedly dead when the resurrectionist found her and brought her to me. I never asked him to collect living people for me to experiment on."

This was news to her. Daphne had never mentioned Benedict discussing the procedure with her or about being mistaken for a corpse. But she had been through quite a bit. It was likely she didn't even remember.

"And did you give her a choice?" Trinket asked, still holding tight to her resentment.

Benedict's lip lifted slightly in a wince as he considered the question. "Well, I gave her the choice to be healed and then operated on or to be sent back to where she'd been found tossed on the street."

Trinket scoffed and sat back hard against the bench. "How magnanimous of you."

"All right, fine, I can see your point with that one. But in my defense, the woman was near death when I found her. If she hadn't been picked up by my resurrectionist, she would've been a corpse in a short while. And besides that, isn't she a good friend of yours now? Would that have been the case had I not worked on her?"

Twisting her lips into a frown, Trinket averted her eyes. While this was technically true, she wasn't certain the ends justified the means.

"All the others were dead before coming into my possession," he continued. "And if they're dead, what is so wrong with using their bodies? Why let useful parts go to waste?"

"What about Tory?"

"Who?"

He didn't even know her name? "Tory, the poor girl from Elysium. How do you justify what you did to her?"

"I got her permission before I took her from the asylum. I explained it could be a dangerous procedure, and she still agreed."

"Because you played on her delusions! You told her you'd help protect her from the people who were after her. Imaginary people. You used her condition against her."

Benedict just sat there, infuriatingly calm. "I assume you were acquainted with her? In the asylum, perhaps?"

Trinket was surprised when tears began to well up in her eyes. It wasn't as though Tory had been a close friend. Only a fellow prisoner. But it still pained her to think of what she'd been put through. "Yes, I did know her."

"And did trying to convince her that the voices in her head were anything but friends get you anywhere?"

Her heart sank. "No." Then the anger rose up again. "But that didn't give you any right to toy with her."

"Did I toy with her?"

"What else would you call what you did?"

"I kept my word. I did give her a way to defend herself against her enemies."

"Enemies that didn't exist. All you did was give her a way to hurt innocent people. Kill them, in fact."

"You can't really blame me for those deaths."

Trinket clenched her fists. "Oh? Can't I? Were you not the one who gave a delusional young woman the ability to poison those she deemed a threat?"

"Yes, but just because I gave her that ability, doesn't mean I forced her to use it. Can you blame the parent of a murderer for the lives he takes?"

"You can if he replaces her hands with knives."

Benedict pursed his lips and turned his eyes down, as though in concentration. Then, exhaling deeply, he set his gaze on her. "All right. I do see your point. But please understand, my intention was not to maim or kill. It was simply to create."

"Then why use a girl who you must have known would be driven to acts of violence? Is that why you chose her? Because you knew she would wreak chaos?"

He winced. "I admit I had hoped her irrational behavior would attract some attention and make the game a bit more interesting."

"Gah! The game! That stupid, selfish, dangerous game."

Drawing his brows together, Benedict hesitated before saying, "Pardon?"

Trinket leaned forward again, her blood boiling as she recalled all those who had been hurt in this madman's pursuit of entertainment. "What kind of person would mutilate bodies and lie to young women and watch people die just to reunite with an old friend? Do you realize how insane that is? And that's coming from someone who spent a year in an asylum. What is wrong with you?"

Again, he was silent, blinking as he took in her words. After a moment, he shifted uncomfortably, shooting her a glance that made it seem he was almost afraid she might try to bite him. "Nothing about my friendship with Booker was ever ordinary. I thought our reunion should reflect that."

"So you sent an entire city into a panic by releasing mutant wolves and vampires? And then getting the Mice involved. Do you know how many people were killed because of them?"

"Those men were not part of my plans," Benedict said sharply. "I didn't even know about them until they started coming after Booker. Honestly, they were an unforeseen problem. That's why I tried to leave the bodies in places Booker would be more likely to find them. To keep them out of it."

Then the locations were meaningful. "What about the missing fingers on the corpses?"

"I only did that to keep the police from opening them up and finding the map pieces. After seeing how terrified they were of the Mice, I thought if the police believed the gang was somehow involved, then they wouldn't investigate further."

So he had no interest in Scales. That would be a great relief to Booker. "How could you not have predicted the sheer pandemonium that would result from leaving dead bodies all over the city? I thought you were a genius."

Benedict's eyes flitted to the window. "I'm not accustomed to thinking about other people. My world has always been very small."

Trinket sat back a bit, trying to understand what he meant by that. "Small?"

Still staring at the passing scenery, he continued, "Growing up, I only knew my father. I had no tutors, no peers, hardly even any servants. Our world consisted mostly of his laboratory and the experiments he conducted there."

As furious as she was with this man, the tiniest ache seized her heart as she thought about a young boy being put in such a situation. What a lonely existence.

"No one in the orphanage interested me," he went on. "Except for Booker. In him I found, not just a companion who shared my passions, but a sharp mind capable of challenging me, pushing me to become better and better."

"A rival," Trinket muttered.

His eyes darted to her, and he chuckled softly. "Yes, something like that." He returned his gaze to the window. "And I suppose, if I really think about it, Frieda found a way into my world as well. She wasn't exactly the same as Booker, but she encouraged a wild freedom that was very enticing."

"Yes, I can see that in my own short acquaintance with her."

"When Mr. Goodfellow took me in, my world expanded, but it was the same as in the orphanage. None of the folks in his social circles caught my interest. If anything, their dull minds made me long for the friends I had left behind."

There was a nearly undetectable catch in his voice that did not escape Trinket's notice. He'd missed Booker. Perhaps as much as Booker had missed him. Despite herself, the thought warmed her heart, knowing how happy it would make Booker.

"However, as Mr. Goodfellow learned of the experiments my father had begun and that Booker and I had continued," he said, "he and I drew away from those social circles. Instead of attending parties and lectures, we studied and attempted procedures that were looked down upon by the rest of the medical community."

A sick pit grew heavy in her stomach as she watched him relate his past to her. He was so detached from it all, completely unaware of how twisted his upbringing had been. Booker may have envied him for his "open-minded" mentor, but at least Booker's mentor had attempted to ingrain ethics and morals into him. What sort of person was this Mr. Goodfellow? He seemed nearly as mad as his student.

"Where is Mr. Goodfellow now?" Trinket asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

"Dead." He turned to her and raised his eyebrows, as if anticipating her thoughts. "Illness. Nothing that I did."

She let out a long breath. That was a relief. At least he wasn't a murderer. Well, not a cold-blooded one. She still felt he was responsible for those who had died in this game.

"He left his entire fortune to me," Benedict continued. "So after doing a quick investigation as to Booker's whereabouts, I formulated a plan, sold everything, and moved to Tinkerfall. I thought it was about time our two genius minds reunited."

Even in his unemotional retelling of the story, it was still rather sad. Here sat a man who'd never known a normal, healthy childhood. Every adult in his life had been twisted and unhinged. Was it really any wonder he hadn't considered how his game could hurt those not even involved? It may not have been an excuse for his actions, but it certainly explained them.

"All right, so I suppose I can see how you might not think about innocent bystanders," Trinket said, her words more gentle than before. "But what about Booker?"

His eyes snapped to her. "What about him?"

"Did you ever consider how you were hurting him?"

Swallowing, he briefly clenched his fists. "Hurt him? How have I hurt him?"

How emotionally stunted was this man? "Booker is indeed a genius. A brilliant, scientifically minded man, like no one I've ever known. But he's an incredibly sensitive soul."

"What? That's ridiculous."

"No, it's not. He puts on the facade of being cold and unbreakable, but there is a very human heart beneath that mask. A heart that is easily wounded. A heart that constantly wonders if he's good enough for the friend he so admires. A heart that ached at losing loved ones in the pursuit of your twisted creations."

His eyebrow twitched. "The urchin girl."

"I've never seen someone react so emotionally as he did when she died. I didn't know if he would recover. For a while, I thought we had lost him completely."

Now he leaned forward, his eyes filled with earnestness. "I had nothing to do with that. I would never have hurt someone he cared for."

"And even before that. He was so determined to live up to your expectations that he tried to crush any bit of kindness and compassion inside of him, thinking it would make him more logical and brilliant. Like you. But it only hurt him. And when the facade began to crack, it made him doubt his worthiness as your rival. He's strong. I know he's strong and intelligent and amazing. But like any human, he has his weaknesses. And you, Benedict Hawk, are one of those weaknesses."

Clenching his jaw, he sat back and stared off into the distance. "I never meant to make him doubt my admiration. If I didn't think him worthy of my attention, I wouldn't have gone to these lengths to reunite with him. I thought that would have been obvious."

Oh, Lord, these stupid geniuses. "Sometimes when you're fixated on a single endeavour, you become blind to what might be obvious to the rest of the world. Or even what's sensible. Like that it's a bad idea to send out young women with venom-filled fangs into a small city."

He gave a short laugh and kept his eyes trained on the floor. After a moment, though, he cleared his throat, glancing up at her almost shyly. "You know, in my studies, I did not limit myself to science. I felt it important to understand all parts of the world."

Trinket couldn't keep a smile from her face as she muttered, "Even the mating habits of the iridescent earwig."

He furrowed his brow. "Pardon?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. You were saying?"

"Well, through my studies, I've come to the conclusion that there are many types of genius. Scientific, mathematical, literary. But then there are those who excel in subjects most would consider unimportant. Grief. Joy. Love. Hatred."

"The things that sum up the human experience?"

He smiled at her and nodded. "Yes. Things that I am willing to admit I am sorely uneducated in. As you've shown me in our brief conversation."

"The world needs all sorts of geniuses, Mr. Hawk."

"Benedict. And yes, I agree. Your genius, I believe, may be one of the most important of all."

Sitting up straighter, she narrowed her eyes. "My genius?"

"Yes. You, Miss. Trinket, are a genius of the heart. You have the uncanny ability to understand even a person you don't particularly think is worthy of understanding. Such as a madman who experiments on dead bodies and makes poor decisions that affect the lives of others."

She fidgeted in her seat. "Well, I suppose we all make mistakes in our lives. And we all deserve a chance to explain ourselves."

"Yes, we do. But not everyone is willing to hear that explanation or even consider it. You're a rare specimen. I mean, person."

He offered a gentle smile. Perhaps there was hope for this madman after all. She couldn't let down her guard just yet, though. He still presented a threat to all the progress Booker had made. But right now, that didn't matter. What mattered was finding Booker and keeping him safe. And it seemed that in order to do that, she and Benedict would have to work together.

"All right then," she said, folding her hands on her knees. "Tell me, how are we two geniuses going to save Booker?"