"We never finished our conversation from earlier," Trinket said as they made their way through the darkened streets of St. Spittel.

"The one about me undressing dead women?" Booker asked.

"No, the one about the placement of the corpses."

"Oh, right. So are you suggesting the possibility of a stakeout?"

She shrugged. "It's really all we have at this point. If we can at least get our hands on a body, then maybe we'll make some progress."

Booker turned them down an alley that connected to the next street over. "The real question is, will the body be human or amphibian?"

Lifting her skirts to avoid trailing the hems through a large puddle made up of rainwater and what looked like vomit, Trinket graciously accepted Booker's assistance over the disgusting hurdle. "The frogs have to be a clue. They're a connection to your childhood, a piece of history you two share."

"All that we ever did with frogs was slice them open," he said, taking a sharp turn into another alley. He paused before a cellar door and furrowed his brow. "So maybe that's what he's saying? To open up the bodies?"

"But you would've done that anyhow, even without the frogs."

"Then maybe it's some connection to the numbers." Heaving a heavy sigh, he shook his head and tugged at the cuffs of his jacket. "I can't think about it right now. There's too much to deal with. We just have to focus on the game night, and then we can consider the corpses when we get home."

Trinket nodded, and Booker turned back to the cellar. He raised a fist to the old wooden door and hammered out the code for that night: two short knocks, one long, four short. After a moment, the door swung open. A gangly young woman with dark hair tied up in a bundle of tiny braids stood in the doorway, her warm eyes darting between the two of them. When she recognized Booker, her face lit up.

"Good evening, Mr. Larkin," she said, stepping aside to allow them access. "Been a while since we've seen you sniffing around a game night."

Taking Trinket's hand, Booker led her into the dark entryway, testing each step carefully as he went. "Well, I've been rather preoccupied," he said.

The young woman snickered. "I can tell. She's awful pretty, but I bet she's a handful."

Thankfully, the door closed and plunged them into darkness before Trinket could even worry about the color rising in her cheeks. They groped their way down the stairs until they reached another door. As their guide opened it for them, light spilled over her face, illuminating a sly smirk.

"You lovebirds have fun," she said as they stepped inside.

The door shut behind them, and for a third time, Trinket found herself in a den of sin. Gambling, night flowers, alcohol, cigars, fistfights. It was everything and more that would horrify her prim and proper mother. She couldn't imagine what her mother would do if she saw the mechanical limbs and devices sported by many of the players tonight. And what would she think if she knew that the man responsible for such creations was the same man who had won her daughter's heart?

A heavy sadness settled in Trinket's chest. The truth was, her mother didn't think of her. Her father probably didn't, either. And if by some chance they did think of her, it was likely only the horrors she'd committed that came to their minds. Their memory of her was marred by how she'd ruined their quiet little life and left a blemish on the family name. If her mother ever learned she was living free with a man who loved and respected her, she'd call Elysium to have her dragged back to that abominable prison.

And maybe that's what she deserved.

It is.

Taking a deep breath, Trinket tightened her grip on Booker's arm. She wouldn't let that happen. Even if she didn't deserve this life, even if she belonged in a madhouse, this was where she was going to stay. Because Booker wanted her here. And she wanted to be here. It may be selfish, it may be wrong, but it was the decision she'd made.

"I don't see Scales just yet," Booker said, scanning the crowded room.

Squinting against the thick cigar smoke, Trinket joined him in his search. "Do you think he's the one who arranged tonight's game?"

"Well, the lighthearted atmosphere alone would suggest 'no.' I imagine if people suspected he was behind this, there would be a lot more tension."

The crowd did seem rather boisterous. Men and women were guzzling more alcohol than was probably advisable while puffing on cigars. The game tables were mobbed, and every so often, a loud cheer erupted from one of them, which either led to someone eagerly collecting their earnings or to the loser taking a swing at the winner. Already there was a short fellow passed out in the corner while two tipsy night flowers drew on his face with a stick of kohl.

"You're not playing tonight, are you?" Trinket asked as they moved through the room.

"How else am I going to win information? Don't worry, I won't start anything like I did that first night."

"I'm a bit more worried about repeating the events of the last game night."

Memories of Booker being pulled into an alley by the Mice came flooding back, and Trinket had to repress a shudder. She could almost feel the biting cold of Scales' blade against her throat. That couldn't happen again. Gin wasn't here to rescue them, so there was no telling how such a scene would end this time.

"I promise not to follow any shady characters into dark alleys," Booker said, giving her hand a squeeze. "Now, should we visit the card table or the dice table first?"

"You go. I'll keep an eye out and warn you if any Mice show up."

He hesitated at her suggestion, his eyes darting about the room. "Perhaps it would be wiser to stick together."

Trinket patted his cheek and gave him a teasing smile. "You've armed me well, Mr. Larkin. I'll be fine. You go play cards and I'll use my keen eye to look out for any suspicious activity. Let me earn my keep."

Again, he hesitated, and after a quick glance at the distracted crowd, he pulled her close and kissed her hard. It took her by surprise, and by the time he released her, she found herself quite out of breath.

"Be careful, love," he whispered.

Giving her hand one last squeeze, he headed off into the sea of bodies and towards the card table where they were just starting a new game.

Trinket laid her fingers against her tingling lips. What had that been about? Not that she was complaining. Although with every passionate kiss shared between them, that troublesome desire inside of her grew ever more restless. Her mind went back to the ring that had made her heart swell momentarily. Had he noticed her reaction? Did it make him think about their future?

Scolding herself, Trinket removed her hand from her mouth and made her way towards a less crowded section of the room. There was far too much going on to be thinking about romance. Maybe once Benedict's game was complete and things finally settled down, they could consider their future. Of course, that was assuming the game ended with Booker still wanting her as his partner.

Assuming Benedict didn't take her place.

Settling in a shadowy corner, Trinket banished such thoughts and focused on the crowd before her. She certainly didn't know all the Mice, but none of the ones she recognized were here. Although, two of the thugs she knew were already gone. How many others had taken flight once Viper was dead? Surely not all of them were keen on Scales being their new leader. But perhaps the fear of his wrath was enough to persuade them to change their loyalties.

"Miss Trinket, you came."

Turning to the quiet voice, she found Madison standing beside her, a shy smile on his lips. "I can't tell you how grateful I am to see a friendly face," she said to the young boy.

"Eh, most of these clowns ain't all that dangerous. Big-mouthed and full of themselves, maybe, but you probably don't have much to worry about."

"Does that mean the Mice aren't here?"

"None that I know. At least not yet."

"Are you playing any games tonight?"

"I might. I'm not so good at gambling, though. Gin was the pro. I'm better at picking pockets and working on jobs."

Trinket gave a sad smile. "You knew Gin for a long time, didn't you?"

Madison nodded slowly as he gazed absently at the crowd. "Pretty much forever. We grew up on the streets together. Teamed up early on and started planning robberies with the other urchins. It was lots of fun, even if it was just to survive."

The boy sighed as he leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. Trinket glanced back at the crowd and then adjusted her skirts to sit beside him. "I'm sorry, Madison," she said softly.

He shrugged, but his trembling hands made clear his emotions. "Us urchins know we ain't gonna live long. It doesn't come as a surprise when one of us dies."

"But it doesn't lessen the grief, especially when it happens to a dear friend."

Resting his chin against his knees, Madison swallowed hard. "I miss her a lot," he whispered.

An ache formed in Trinket's chest. Leaning over, she put an arm around the little boy. Unlike his stubborn partner in crime, he didn't resist the gesture, but instead curled up in her embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Madison," Trinket said, trying her best to keep the tremor from her voice. "We got Gin involved in all of this, and—"

Shaking his head, Madison peeked up at her, his cheeks wet and his nose running. "Gin knew that someday she might die trying to help Mr. Larkin. But she didn't care. If she had to die, she wanted it to be for him."

"She shouldn't have had to die."

"Miss Trinket, if you had known all the times Gin almost died and who she had almost died for, you'd understand how she felt. The people she worked for before Mr. Larkin? They didn't care about her. If she'd died doing something for them, they would've been mad at her for making more work for them. They wouldn't've cried, they wouldn't've tried to get revenge on the person who killed her."

"Why would she have worked for people like that? Gin didn't strike me as the type to put up with that sort of abuse."

"I don't think she knew she deserved better, least not until Mr. Larkin came around and made her see how important she was. Mr. Larkin was the first adult to show her any kindness. Actually, he was pretty nice to all of us, but it really hit home with her. I don't know all the details of what went on between them, but something happened to make her realize how much she was worth. And how much Mr. Larkin was worth to her. It might've started out as a chance to make money off a rich doctor, but it turned into more."

Trinket leaned her chin against Madison's head, staring off towards the card table where she knew Booker was working his charm. "Love," she whispered.

"Might've been." Sighing, he shifted a bit. "Whatever it was, I'm glad she had it. It made her happier than I'd ever seen her. She never had a real family until you and Mr. Larkin. You gave her that. So I know, even though she died, she was happy. And that's why I want to keep helping like she did. Because I loved her, too, and I want to do what would make her happy."

He flashed her a smile, dimples forming on his dirty cheeks. She smiled back and gave his shoulder a squeeze. However, the warm moment was interrupted when the door burst open. No one in the boisterous crowd heard, but it caught Trinket and Madison's attention. The young woman who had escorted her and Booker into the room now hurried through with her eyes glued to the ground as she led four men inside. Though she didn't know all their names, Trinket recognized them as Mice.

"Try not to cause too much trouble," the young woman mumbled as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Can't make no promises, little miss," said the man with the pockmarked face as he reached over and pinched her rear end.

She let out a strangled squeak, her eyes wide open. The Mice erupted into obnoxious laughter as she narrowed her eyes at them and backed out the door, slamming it behind her. Already pleased with themselves, the Mice fixed their attention on the rest of the room.

"Mice," Madison said, keeping his voice low as he pulled the rim of his hat over his eyes.

"No Scales, though," Trinket said, unable to pull her gaze away from the thugs. "Yet."

The men turned their way, and both she and Madison ducked their heads down. After a moment or two, Trinket dared to steal another glance at them. They were moving further into the crowd.

Gathering up her skirts, she scrambled to her feet. "I have to go warn Booker."

The others hadn't seemed to notice the arrival of the Mice. They continued to drink and smoke and gamble. As Trinket wove her way through the crowd, her senses were assaulted with so many smells and sounds, they began to set off her hallucinations.

People's faces morphed into twisted, monstrous masks stitched on with thick, black thread. Rats tangled themselves up in her skirts, as if trying to trip her and prevent her from reaching her destination.

She ignored them all and kept pushing through, muttering apologies until she made it to the card table. Her eyes immediately found Booker. As though sensing her presence, he lifted his gaze from his cards.

"What's wrong?" he whispered as she gripped his shoulder and crouched down by his side.

"Mice," she breathed, thankful for his arm around her waist as she tried to collect her nerves and catch her breath.

"Is Scales with them?"

"Not that I saw, but he could be on the way."

Something hit the table with a thud, followed by the sound of coins scattering to the floor. Trinket and Booker turned their attention back to the game, almost unaware of the thick silence that had settled over the crowd. There was an odd object lying in the pot of coins and bills. It looked like hair. No, a braid. A long, dark braid.

Which was still attached to a bloody, torn-off scalp.

"Play me in, boys."

Tearing her eyes away from the horrific sight on the table, Trinket set her attention on the man taking a seat directly across from Booker.

Scales met her gaze and smirked. "Consider this our rematch, Larkin," he said to Booker as he kept his stony stare on her.