Trinket stared into the sink of dirty dishes as she absentmindedly scrubbed a grease-encrusted pan. The methodical movement only encouraged her mind to wander, and the further it wandered, the more her scrubbing slowed.

A thousand thoughts raced through her head. Thoughts of the last few weeks in which a vampire terrorized the citizens of Tinkerfall. Thoughts of the dark and haunting year she'd spent in Elysium Asylum. Thoughts of all the loved ones she'd lost—some at the hands of man-made monsters, some at the hands of heartless thugs.

And one lost to her own blood-stained hands.

Her disconnected gaze returned to the water in which her traitorous hands were submerged. Thick, warm water. Dark water. So dark it was almost red. Furrowing her brow, she lifted her hands and was struck by the sharp, metallic scent of iron.

Blood.

Panic clawed at her chest, trying to drag her down into a dark spiral of fear and delusion. But she wouldn't let it. Her broken mind would not gain mastery over her. These emotions warring inside of her would not win.

Gripping the edge of the sink, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths. The aroma of blood flooded her senses until she could almost taste it on her tongue. So much blood. So much death. It surrounded her. Plagued her. Tempted her.

And then familiar arms slipped around her waist, pulling her from her episode and back into reality. They drew her into a gentle embrace, and the combined scent of machine oil and chemicals quickly replaced the phantom blood that had been threatening to drown her. She took a moment to drink in the comforting yet strangely new sensation that filled her veins and spread to every inch of her body before opening her eyes and returning fully to the real world.

"Lord," Booker groaned as he propped his chin against her shoulder, his breath tickling her ear in a most delightful manner, "I nearly forgot what it was like to be in the company of living things."

Trinket smiled despite herself. She quickly schooled her expression into cool indifference as she turned to face the eccentric doctor. "I take it you're finished playing with your frog friend?"

His hands still on her waist, Booker gave a crooked grin and moved a little closer. "If by 'finished playing' you mean 'removed every organ, muscle, vein, and nerve,' then yes, I have finished. In fact, I'm not sure anyone would believe it had once been a frog if they were to see it now."

"And? Did you find any clues?"

He shook his head and fingered a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid. "I don't think it's a clue. It's simply a declaration of the final round of the game. A reminder of how this all started."

She raised an eyebrow. "And it started with frogs?"

A soft smile played on his lips as he leaned towards her. "Well, frogs and cats, to be more precise."

He kissed her gently, and even with the dark thoughts still tugging at her mind, she found that his skin against her own felt safe. Like home. Like a future.

Could she be so fortunate?

Pulling away, Booker let out a long breath and rested his forehead against her own. "I am famished," he said, opening his eyes and smiling down at her. "Please tell me Daphne has something delectable planned for dinner."

"I'm afraid Daphne has come down with a cold," Trinket replied.

He furrowed his brow. "A cold?"

Nodding, she turned back to the sink and continued to scrub the dirty pan. "Yes, since last night. I tried to get her to stay in bed today, but you know how she is. I did manage to convince her to turn in early, though."

Booker stationed himself beside Trinket, taking up a dish towel to dry the dishes she had already washed. "Does she need medical assistance?"

"No, she took care of things herself. Drank several cups of that tea of hers. You know, the one with the vinegar?"

"You should've told me. I am a doctor, after all."

Trinket chuckled softly as she fought with one final bit of stubborn grease. "Mr. Larkin, do you realize how many days you've been down in that laboratory of yours?"

Pursing his lips together, Booker gazed up at the ceiling, as if trying to calculate how much time had passed since he'd cloistered himself downstairs. "I feel like it couldn't have been more than a day, but the fact that you're asking tells me it was longer."

She turned the faucet and ran the pan under the water. "Three days. You were down there for three days." Shutting it off again, she faced Booker, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I tried to coax you upstairs, but it was all I could do to get you to drink some tea. I couldn't even convince you to eat crumpets. How was I supposed to drag you out to tend to Daphne?"

Booker leaned against the counter and flashed her an irresistible smile. "Is this your way of telling me you missed my pretty face?"

"It's my way of telling you that you're a negligent employer," she replied, flicking her wet hands at him.

He wiped the drops of water off his cheek, but his smile remained as he followed her out of the scullery. "So if Daphne's in bed, I suppose that means we must starve and waste away?"

Running her hands down her apron, Trinket shrugged. "I could always make something for us."

"Trinket, my dear," Booker said as he wrapped his arms around her waist once more and pulled her towards himself, "while I adore nearly everything about you, your cooking leaves much to be desired, especially now that I've grown accustomed to Daphne's culinary delights."

"Oh? Then would you rather we dine on your blackened toast and burnt tea?"

Booker chuckled as he held her closer, the rumble of his laughter vibrating through her body and sending her heart racing. "I do so love when you talk to me like that."

Though she wanted nothing more than to sink into his embrace and lose herself in his blissful touch, she needed to get some sort of sustenance into his system. No matter how indestructible he thought he was, he was just as mortal as she. And since he was incorrigibly careless with his health despite being a doctor, it was up to her to take care of him.

Pulling away, she removed her apron and hung it by the dresser. "Let's be off, then," she said, heading towards the door.

"Off? To where?" Booker asked, following her into the hallway.

She glanced over her shoulder. "To the Clocktower, of course. Since you're so disgusted by my cooking, we have no choice but to dine out."

He groaned as she donned her shawl and passed him his hat and walking stick. "The Clocktower? My dear, please, have some mercy."

"What are you talking about? You love the Clocktower. I recall you being personally offended when I mocked their stew."

"The alehouse holds a special place in my heart, yes. However, after days of nothing but tea to sustain me, I was hoping for something a little more palatable."

Trinket opened the front door and gave him a smirk. "Well, maybe next time I cook, you'll be grateful for my subpar meals. Come along."

With another groan, Booker chased after her as she headed out into the dark street. Catching up to her, he took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. She smiled softly and leaned into him, letting out a satisfied sigh.

"Are you sure Daphne will be all right?" he asked as they made their way through the city center and towards the Clocktower.

"She seemed much better before she went to bed. I think with another good night's rest, she'll be back to herself."

"Perhaps I should check on her when we return. With those gills of hers, there could be added complications when she's ill."

"I really think she'll be fine. I helped her change the water in her portiums, and her gills seemed to be in perfect working order. I truly believe it's just a run-of-the-mill cold." She glanced up and tried not to smile at the worried crease between his eyes. "But I'm sure she'd appreciate your concern if you checked her over, what with your medical expertise and all."

He caught her eye and smiled, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "You humor me so well."

"I've had a lot of practice."

The Clocktower was crowded, as usual, filled with drunk servants and flirting night flowers. Trinket and Booker headed to a quiet table in the back and settled down as a serving girl approached.

"Would you care for some stew of the day?" she asked.

Trinket looked up and smiled at the plain girl. "Theo."

The serving girl nodded with a soft smile. "Hello, Miss Trinket."

"Ah, Theo, right," Booker said. "How's your arm doing?"

With a crooked grin, Theo lifted her left arm to let it catch the low light. She wiggled her mechanical fingers, drawing the attention of some nearby patrons who expressed a mixture of awe and disgust.

Booker seemed pleased by her brazen display of his handiwork. "It looks quite nice on you."

"Yes, well, it's so well made, it'd be a shame to hide it under a glove or bandages," she said as she admired the metal contraption. Her eyes flickered back to Booker and Trinket. "I thank you again for your help."

"It's us who should be thanking you," Booker said. "Without your assistance, we would never have found the vampire."

The girl's face fell, and Trinket's stomach twisted at the memory of the "vampire" who had haunted the city.

"Yes," Theo said softly. "Well, I suppose there was no other way around it, was there? She'd become a danger to us all."

"How are you holding up?" Trinket asked, trying to keep the emotion from her voice.

Theo shrugged. "I'm fine. It's not like I really knew her that well, anyhow. I just feel bad things had to end as they did."

Trinket clenched her hands beneath the table, and Booker's gaze darted to her. "Two bowls of stew would be excellent tonight," he said, returning his attention to Theo.

She gave a nod. "I'll get that for you right now."

Turning away, she wove her way through the crowd. Once she was out of sight, Booker focused on Trinket and gently gripped her hand. "Are you all right?"

Forcing a smile, she nodded slowly. "I'm fine."

"Yes, but she was your friend."

"I don't know that she was a friend, exactly. Daphne is a friend. You're a friend. But Tory? We were more like fellow inmates."

A smile tugged at the corner of Booker's mouth. "Just for the record, I certainly hope at this point I'm more than a friend."

"While I wish things could have ended differently, I realize Jewkes did what he had to in order to protect the people of Tinkerfall."

"Doesn't make it any easier to lose someone you cared about, friend or not."

"I know. But I'm managing." She turned her eyes to Booker and bit her lip. "How are you doing?"

"Me? I hardly knew the girl."

"Booker, you know what I'm talking about."

Clenching his jaw, he swallowed hard and stared down at the table. "The pain is still there. I daresay it always will be."

Trinket's heart clenched as tears formed in Booker's eyes. She reached out and gently laid a hand on his arm. His every muscle tensed, but after a moment, he practically sank into her touch.

"I miss her, too," she whispered, barely able to hold back her tears as she thought of Gin. "And I don't have half the history with her that you do. So I can't imagine what you must be going through."

He nodded and swallowed again before taking a deep breath and meeting her eyes. "Keeping busy helps. If I don't occupy my mind, the sorrow will take over."

Rubbing his arm, Trinket furrowed her brow. "But sometimes you have to let sorrow run its course so you can heal."

"Not yet." He forced a tight smile and patted her hand. "Not just yet."

"Here you are," Theo said as she returned with two bowls of stew. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, Theo," Booker said, seeming relieved to have something to distract him from their conversation.

Theo gave a short curtsey and moved on to the next table.

"Well, this looks absolutely stomach-churning," Booker said, stirring the orange stew with his tarnished spoon.

Chuckling softly, Trinket took up her own chipped spoon and scooped up a rather lumpy bit of stew. "Now, now, Mr. Larkin. If you're very good and eat all of your dinner, perhaps I'll heat up some crumpets when we get home."

A grin spread over his face. "Crumpets are well and good, but I can think of something far more tempting that I wouldn't mind enjoying as a late-night snack."

He raised his eyebrows playfully, and heat crawled up Trinket's neck. "Mr. Larkin, are you trying to corrupt me more than you already have?"

Despite her objections, she couldn't deny a slight thrill at his suggestion.

Booker laughed and resumed stirring his stew. "What I had in mind was far more chaste than you might think considering my bad behavior. Allow me to give you a preview."

He leaned in close, his lips nearly brushing against her own. But as her heart raced in anticipation of his kiss, a scream pierced the air. The alehouse went silent and still, everyone waiting. Waiting for what no one could say. But Trinket was certain they all had the same suspicion.

It didn't take long for a woman to stumble inside, panting and grasping the doorframe as she tried to steady herself on shaky legs. "A body," she managed to wheeze, her voice trembling with every breath. "There's a body out front."

That was all Booker needed to hear. Grabbing hold of Trinket's arm, he pulled her through the panicked sea of people and burst through the door. There was a small crowd gathered outside, and without any decorum, he pushed through to the very front.

Trinket bit back a gasp. It was indeed a body. Dead, of course, and though it was a sight she was becoming very familiar with since being in the employ of Booker Larkin, she still found it difficult to stomach. While this corpse was not mutilated like some of the others she'd seen, there was something off about it. She quickly realized what it was.

Carved into the dead man's forehead was a number:

957.