"Wait, the factory is this way," Trinket hissed as Benedict went in the opposite direction.

"We need to arm ourselves first," Benedict said, heading further into St. Spittel.

Reluctantly following after him, Trinket glanced about the street, surprised to find it relatively deserted. There were dark clouds gathering in the sky, obscuring the moon and stars. Perhaps the urchins and night flowers had sought shelter from the impending storm. Just as well. The fewer people who saw her and Benedict, the better.

"Where are we going?" Trinket asked, staying as close to his side as she felt comfortable.

"To my laboratory. I think I have a pistol or two in there we could use."

They came to an alley near a rather familiar building. Trinket stopped short, gazing up at the collapsed roof and crumbling walls. She knew this place. This was where she and Booker lost the Wolf the night they chased after it. And she'd been here not that long ago, the same day she saw Scales breaking down in the alley. How had Benedict been hiding here this whole time without them knowing? Booker had checked every inch of this building and discovered no sign of a hidden door or secret entrance.

"Are you coming?"

She turned back to Benedict and found that he was headed into, not the dilapidated building, but the adjacent alley. Furrowing her brow, she rushed after him. He moved further into the alley and stopped before what looked like a pile of garbage and old rags. But as he stooped forward, she realized there was a cellar door beneath the refuse, and when he pulled it open, he revealed a set of stone steps.

"But . . . how . . ." she trailed off as she gazed down the dark stairway.

"You didn't pay any attention to my message on that final map piece, did you?" he asked. "I gave rather explicit directions to my laboratory."

"But the Wolf. We chased it here."

"Yes? And?"

"And its paw prints stopped at the door of the building over there."

"Misdirection."

"What?"

Sighing, he leaned against the wall. "Misdirection. I made sure the Wolf took a more roundabout way to the alley so it would seem as though she'd disappeared into the building next door when, in fact, she came through the missing wall over here and slipped down these stairs."

"How did you manage that?"

"I put together a mixture that wolves find rather repulsive, and I regularly sprinkled it along the entrance to the alley. When I used the whistle to call the Wolf, she was compelled to obey but reluctant to cross the scent barrier. So instead, she went around it."

Trinket stared at him for a long moment, almost forgetting about their urgent mission. "And how did you learn about this scent repellent?"

With a grin similar to Booker's, he replied, "Just as any lover of knowledge would—reading and studying. Come along, we really don't have time to be standing about chatting."

He held out his hand to her, but she hesitated. Her eyes darted to the shadowy stairs. While she was quite familiar with and even comfortable in Booker's laboratory, she didn't fully trust Benedict and what horrors may lie in his workshop.

Benedict heaved a sigh, his shoulders sagging. "Trinket, please. I know you don't like me or trust me, but can we put that aside for now so that we can save Booker?"

Chewing her lip, she looked from his hand to the stairs and then back again. He was right. "Just know, if you try anything on me, I won't hesitate to stab you in the eye with a scalpel," she said as she accepted his hand.

To her surprise, he chuckled as he helped her inside. "I'd expect nothing less from Booker's fiancée."

It was pitch dark as they made their way down, much like when she and Booker attended the game nights. However, Benedict walked with confident steps, never hesitating or stumbling.

"So, do you just leave the door unlocked or something?" Trinket asked, gripping his hand tightly as the familiar scent of chemicals wafted up from the room below.

"I hired a locksmith from out of town to create a special lock for me. While the door can be opened from the outside, it requires a key to get out. And I hold the only key."

"Meaning any intruders would be trapped inside? Don't you worry they'll do damage to your work?"

"I think upon seeing what lies down here, all they'll be able to think about is escaping."

They reached the last step, and Benedict released her hand to move further into the room. "And what do you do with these prisoners of yours?" she asked, standing very still for fear of upsetting something important.

"Thus far, there have been no prisoners."

"Really?"

A match struck, filling the air with sulfur and smoke and illuminating Benedict's face. "Why would anyone want to break in? Outwardly, this place looks like nothing more than an abandoned cellar."

He lit a lantern and turned it up, chasing away the darkness. Trinket looked about the room, raising her eyebrows as she took in the simplicity of the laboratory in which she stood. There was an operating table resembling Booker's, although it was smaller and older. There weren't as many workbenches, nor were there gears and mechanical body parts scattered about. In fact, everything was rather neat and orderly compared to Booker's chaotic organization. Every tool was in its place, every surface polished clean. She caught sight of a stuffed cat sitting on a writing desk in the corner. It was black save for one of its hind legs, which appeared to be brown and not exactly feline.

"Is it as terrifying as you thought it would be?" asked Benedict as he pulled open a drawer and fetched a pistol from within.

"It's much simpler than I assumed it would be."

"I brought in only what I needed. The less attention I draw to myself, the better."

Her eyes on the operating table, she asked, "Did you bring all of this down here on your own?"

He dug through another drawer. "For the larger items, I did require some assistance. But only from outside sources and only at night."

She continued to take in the room, every shadow making her jump as she tried to decide if it was one of his creations or a figment of her own mind. "And the bodies? Did you drag them into the city on your own?"

Loading bullets into the pistol, he replied, "As you well know, I did employ the help of local resurrectionists at times. I have enough money to pay for their silence."

"Until someone threatened to unleash a flesh-eating beetle into their body."

"Is that what happened? Clever ploy. I take it the lad didn't live long after that?"

Remembering the jawbone with bright white teeth tumbling out of the burlap sack at the butcher's, Trinket shivered. "No, he did not."

Closing up the gun, Benedict approached her and raised his eyebrows. "Another death you attribute to me, I suppose?"

Guilt ate away at her as she averted her eyes.

"I'm afraid I only have one pistol," he said.

"That's fine. I don't trust myself with weapons, especially not in my current mental state."

He paused, watching her carefully. His expression softened, and he offered a gentle smile. "I'm not a great shot, but I'll do my best to protect you. Booker will have my head should anything happen to you."

After extinguishing the lantern, they headed up the stairs. Benedict unlocked the door and held it open for her. Rain had begun to fall, and distant peals of thunder echoed in the distance.

"Good. Perhaps the inclement weather will keep us hidden," Benedict said, taking her arm and leading her back out to the street.

"Does it bother you?"

"Does what bother me?"

"Booker and I?"

He knit his brows together and glanced at her as they hurried down the abandoned road. "Why would it bother me?"

"Well, I assume you started this game because you wanted to rekindle the partnership you and Booker had as children."

"And we couldn't do that with you in the picture?"

She shrugged. "I thought maybe I'd be in the way."

"If Booker thinks you're a worthy partner, then I have no reason to doubt him. Besides, he seems happy. If you're the cause of that happiness, which I'm sure you are, then why would I wish to deprive him of that?"

More guilt gnawed at her stomach. He was a better friend than she'd been.

As they turned down Primrose, Trinket's heart began to pound. The thunder had drawn closer, drowning out the voices in her head with every earthshaking rumble. Streaks of lightning ripped through the clouds, illuminating the night and pulling up painful memories of electricity coursing through her veins in Elysium.

"Wait," she hissed, grabbing Benedict's arm as they neared the factory.

He complied, glancing down at her expectantly.

"They want you," she went on.

"Yes? So?"

"So wouldn't it be foolish to walk you straight in there? It would give us nothing to bargain with. And Scales is sure to have backup. They could grab you before we even begin making negotiations."

"What do you suggest, then?"

She thought for a moment, the rain pelting her body and soaking through her stockings. Why hadn't she grabbed her other pair of boots? Never mind, she needed to concentrate. No, she didn't, actually. She knew what the best course of action would be. But it terrified her, and she knew Booker would be furious. There was no other choice, though.

"I'll go in alone," she said.

A flash of lightning lit up Benedict's face, but aside from a slight wrinkling of his forehead, his expression was unreadable. "Booker wouldn't approve of that."

"I know, but think about it. Would it really make sense for us both to go barging in?"

He frowned and gazed down at the pistol in his hand.

"Give me ten minutes," Trinket said. "If you don't hear from me by then, you can make the next move."

After a long pause, he finally sighed and nodded. "Very well. I'll be watching from across the way. But if I hear screams or gunfire, I'm coming in."

"Fair enough."

As he stealthily made his way across the street, she continued on to the factory. Every nerve in her body was wound tighter than a spring, and her heart threatened to crack her ribs with its violent beating. But she focused on each step, keeping Booker's face in mind, reminding herself why she was doing this.

"Please be alive," she whispered as she approached the front door of the building.

Nailed shut. How was she supposed to get inside?

"This way, my lady."

She inhaled sharply as a voice from the nearby alley called out to her. There was someone standing just by the entrance, waving her over. Gathering up her courage, she forced herself forward. As she drew closer, she found she recognized the man as one of the Mice. His crooked nose and missing eyebrow would have made him seem comical if there weren't bloodstains on his hands and shirt.

With a sickening grin, he pointed her further into the alley where another man was lurking by a door at the side of the factory.

She glanced up at the first Mouse, and he leaned in close. "Lover boy's waiting, girl," he hissed.

His breath stank of cheap ale and ripe cheese. Refusing to react, she drew herself up and continued down the alley. Coils was the one standing by the door, his wide-brimmed hat dripping with rainwater.

"Fancy meeting you again," he mumbled.

"Glad to see your bruise is fading," Trinket replied, noticing the black and blue mark on his face from where Frieda had hit him with the shovel.

Scowling, the Mouse pulled the door open and jerked his head towards it. "We'll see how sharp that tongue is with the boss."

Casting him one last glare, she stepped through the doorway, which led her, not into the main part of the building, but into a basement. How many dark stairwells was she going to have to walk down tonight?

Carefully steadying herself as she descended the steps, she noticed a low glow of light waiting at the bottom. Taking a deep breath, she quickened her pace and finally reached the final stair. Hurrying into the room, she was greeted by a soft click that brought her to a halt.

"Welcome, little strumpet," Scales said, his gun aimed at her chest. "So glad you could find the time to meet with me."

Swallowing hard, Trinket dared to search the room, hoping she wasn't too late. She didn't have to look long before she found Booker.

There he was, tied to a chair, bleeding and bruised but alive. A rag was stuffed in his mouth, though it didn't stop him from trying to speak. She couldn't understand any of his muffled words, and the sight of his bloody face sent her into a panic.

She took a step forward, but Scales cleared his throat loudly. He motioned to the gun that was still aimed at her and raised his eyebrows. Sucking in a breath, she went still, her hands in fists at her sides.

"That's much better," Scales said. He slowly walked over to Booker, expertly keeping the pistol trained on her as he hooked an arm around his shoulders like they were old friends. "See? I told you she would come. Now, let's see how many more fingers you'll have to lose before she'll talk."