Booker was still sulking downstairs when Trinket returned home. Worried that he could be falling into a dark place, she went straight to the kitchen and brewed him an extra strong cup of tea. Even as she descended the stairs, he remained hunched over his writing desk, working on something mechanical. Placing the cup and saucer on a nearby workbench, she turned to him and loudly cleared her throat.

He jumped and nearly fell out of his chair. Trying to hide her amusement at his bewildered expression, she waited patiently as he scooped his project into one of the desk drawers. "I didn't hear you come down," he said, avoiding her gaze, almost as if he were embarrassed.

"No, you didn't. Neither this time nor earlier."

Closing the drawer, he rose to his feet and approached her. "Earlier?"

She nodded. "Yes, I came down to borrow some opium."

His eyebrows shot up. "You borrowed opium?"

"I hope you don't mind."

"No, no, whatever you need. I just thought you were completely opposed to the idea."

Clenching her jaw, she shook her head firmly. "No. Not for me. Never for me." She would not allow drugs to control her again. She'd had enough of that in Elysium.

"Oh, right, sorry," Booker amended, taking up the cup of tea and sipping it anxiously. "So, if not for you, who was it for?"

Trinket toyed with a stray gear on the workbench. "To bribe Grace into helping me."

"Ah, that makes much more sense. What sort of help did you need?"

"I wanted to see if perhaps nine fifty-seven was an address in the suburbs. I know the numbers can often go a lot higher in those neighborhoods."

Booker pursed his lips together as he considered the possibility. "Hmm, not a bad hypothesis. So what'd you find?"

That mysterious man with the dark glasses flashed through her head, but she pushed the image aside. There was no sense in getting Booker's hopes up when the stranger could very well have been a figment of her broken mind.

"Nothing," she responded. "The numbers do go up rather high but not into the nine-hundreds."

"It was worth a try, though. Good thinking."

As he took another sip of tea, Trinket examined him carefully. The tension in his body seemed to have disappeared, but there was something about his eyes that was off. They were still distant and haunted. Scales had really riled him up.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked, leaning against the workbench beside him.

Gazing down at his tea, he let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry I acted out like that. I should've been more restrained."

"You had every reason, Booker. He was mocking you. Cruelly mocking you."

"Doesn't mean I should've reacted. It was stupid and foolish."

She rested her head against his shoulder. "You are often stupid and foolish, but I think in this case you were just being human."

"I don't have the luxury of being human. There's too much at stake."

The tension returned to his body, and Trinket knew she had to change the subject. "I'm still worried about Daphne."

He shifted slightly and turned to face her. "You mean about her cold?"

"Yes. She's stubborn. I think she might need more than tea. Maybe you should look her over to be safe."

Nodding, he drained the remnants of his tea and set the cup down on the workbench. "Grab me a candle and matches, will you?" he asked, fetching his medical bag from the writing desk.

She went to the shelves and chose a slightly used candle and some matches before collecting his teacup and saucer and following him up the stairs. Even from behind, she could see his shoulders were stiff. At least this would distract his mind, if only for a moment or two.

"Do you know where she is?" he asked as he stood by the foot of the stairs, waiting for her to catch up.

"Probably scouring the floors or beating the rugs. There's no keeping that woman down."

Booker gave a weak smile. "Much like yourself. You were always off cleaning something or other when I first hired you."

"Not very well. I had no idea what I was doing. Thank goodness Daphne agreed to stay or else the house would be a wreck," she said as they made their way to the second floor.

"I'd much rather have you by my side investigating dead bodies than tidying up the parlour anyhow."

They found Daphne in the library, carefully dusting the large table so as not to upset the many stacks of books piled atop it. She obviously wasn't expecting them and knocked over a chair in her surprise when Booker cleared his throat.

"Daphne, my dear, I thought I'd take a look at that throat of yours," he said, righting the chair and guiding her towards it. "With those additions of yours, we can't be too careful with your health. Have a seat."

As he placed his bag on the table and rifled through it, Daphne shot Trinket a confused look. Trinket just widened her eyes and nodded at Booker, hoping the clever woman would play along.

"Let's take a listen to your lungs," Booker went on as he pulled out a stethoscope.

Daphne did not argue, but rather unbuttoned her top so her chest was accessible, exposing the neckline of her chemise. Trinket marveled at the woman's lack of embarrassment. Then again, she had spent her first few days here in her undergarments while soaking in the tub.

"Breathe in deep for me," Booker instructed as he laid the circular end of the tool against her chest.

All was silent as he listened and then moved the metal piece to the other side of her chest, then down, then across. Trinket kept her eyes fixed on him, absolutely captivated by his concentration and gentleness. It reminded her of how he'd cared for her wound when they first met. What a different sort of doctor he was compared to the men who'd treated her in Elysium. Or even the doctors she'd had dealings with as a child. They were cold and brusque, not caring anything for their patients' comfort or dignity. Of course, there were times when Booker's bedside manner was lacking, but he was nothing like the rest of the medical world. He was the only doctor she could ever trust.

"All right, now I'm just going to check from the back," he said when he was through with her chest.

Daphne adjusted her top as he stationed himself behind her to repeat the process. She caught Trinket's eye, raising a single eyebrow. Trinket shrugged and mouthed "thank you." The patient woman rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.

"Doesn't sound too bad," Booker said at last, removing the stethoscope from his ears and returning it to his bag. "Trinket, if you'd light the candle for me."

She did so and then handed it to him. Kneeling before Daphne, he had her open her mouth wide. Moving the candle back and forth, he gazed inside from different angles. He furrowed his brow slightly and placed the candle on the table. With both hands, he gently massaged Daphne's neck and throat, his fingers feeling for something that was beyond Trinket's understanding. He didn't often treat patients who were ill; most who came to him were missing limbs. Or had been attacked by rogue vampires. Or wolves with iron teeth.

"There's some redness and swelling in your throat," he said, rising up and blowing out the candle. "That tea you make should do the trick, but I'd also recommend gargling with water mixed with salt. That'll help to ward off further infection."

With a very serious look on her face, Daphne nodded and got to her feet. She gave Booker a curtsey and a quick smile before flashing Trinket an amused grin as she exited the room.

Thank goodness Daphne was such a good sport. She was surely a blessing to the Larkin household.

Letting out a quiet breath, Trinket approached Booker as he closed up his bag. "Thank you, Booker," she said, entwining her arms around his.

"Not sure it was all that necessary. The woman has remarkable resilience. If she can survive infected gills, she can manage a cold."

"Yes, well, having you examine her makes me feel better. So again, thank you."

He smiled down at her and placed a kiss on her temple. "I think I may try to catch a few minutes of sleep. Need to be in good form for staking out the Clocktower tonight."

"A few hours might be more like it."

"We'll see if my insomnia cooperates."

She patted him on the shoulder. "I'll take these things down to the laboratory. Rest easy, my mad scientist."

Again, he kissed her head. "Thank you, my dear."

Gathering up his bag and the candle, Trinket watched to be sure he actually did retire to his bedroom. When she was satisfied he would keep to his word and rest, she made her way downstairs.

After depositing his supplies in the laboratory, she went in search of Daphne. It was no surprise to find her in the kitchen, but Trinket was amused to see her stirring salt into a glass of water.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," she said as she joined her at the table.

Daphne shrugged and tapped the spoon on the rim of the glass before setting it on the table.

"I just needed something to pull his mind away from our little encounter with Scales this morning."

Raising her eyebrows, Daphne nodded for her to go on.

"Scales was his usual vicious self. He basically mocked Booker about Gin, and Booker nearly attacked him over it."

Daphne gave something between a scoff and snort as she lifted her lip in a snarl.

"Yes, but if I had let Booker attack him, you know it wouldn't have ended well for us."

With a sigh, Daphne nodded and took the glass of saltwater into the scullery. As she gargled over the sink, Trinket stood in the doorway, her mind wandering back to the stranger she'd seen in the suburbs.

"So Daphne, do you recall the drawing you did of the man who attached your gills?"

Daphne spit into the sink and wiped her mouth on her sleeve as she turned to face Trinket. Tilting her head to the side, she nodded cautiously.

"Are you sure there's nothing more you remember about him? Or where he did the surgery?"

She shook her head.

"But you woke up in the slums, right? Or did you wander into them?"

Pursing her lips together, Daphne squinted a bit as she thought. Finally, she shrugged and offered an apologetic smile.

Trinket sighed and slumped against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, it was worth a shot," she mumbled.

Daphne took a few steps towards her, eyebrows raised curiously.

"I just—"

Don't, don't, don't, don't, don't!

No, if she wasn't going to tell Booker, she couldn't tell anyone else.

She cleared her throat and tried again. "I just wonder if maybe Benedict is closer than we think. Perhaps he's watching as we try to solve these little mysteries of his. For all we know, we may have passed him a dozen times in the city center and never realized it."

Raising her eyebrows once more, Daphne fiddled with the glass in her hands, her eyes distant. When she turned her gaze back to Trinket, she scrunched up her lips and shrugged.

"It was only a thought. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's not going to reveal himself until he wants to, so there's no use in wondering. I guess we have to try our best to solve this latest round of the game."

Daphne gave a smile and nodded. As Daphne returned to the kitchen, Trinket drummed her fingers against her arm. She gazed absentmindedly into the scullery, her mind still haunted by the memory of that man in the suburbs. Part of her hoped he'd been a hallucination. The idea of Benedict being so nearby set her nerves on edge. In her opinion, he was just as dangerous as Scales, especially as they came closer to finishing this game. The prospect of finally coming face to face with the madman who could take away the Booker she'd grown to love absolutely terrified her.

Would her beloved mad scientist return to his cold-hearted ways to please his old friend?