Booker's grip around Trinket's waist tightened, and she instinctively reached for his hand in an attempt to calm him. His gaze was fixed on Scales, and though he was managing to keep his expression free of emotion, she could see the muscles in his jaw clench.

"It's been a while since we've faced off at a card table, hasn't it, Larkin?" Scales said, finally pulling his attention away from Trinket and settling it on Booker. "And since you claim there was some dishonesty in our last game, I thought I'd offer a rematch."

"I'm not a sore loser, Scales," Booker replied with impressive control. "You can keep my money."

"Oh, I intend to. But you know that's not all I'm after."

Clearing his throat, Scales rapped his knuckles against the table. The dealer, his face drained of all color, began doling out cards. Booker paid his hand no mind as he watched Scales glance over his hand casually.

"Are you so afraid of losing that you're not even going to play, Larkin?" Scales asked, his eyes still on his cards.

Without taking his gaze off the thug, Booker reached down and picked up his cards. An eight of hearts and a three of diamonds. Trinket didn't know much about Knocks, but Gin had done her best to educate her. At the very least, she knew Booker wasn't going to luck out with an amazing hand like last time.

The player on the dealer's left knocked on the table, leaving the pot as it was. The next player did the same. Surprisingly, when Booker's turn came, he knocked as well, passing over the chance to open the betting.

This unusual move wasn't lost on Scales. "You're awful quiet tonight, Larkin."

"Caught me in a good mood, Scales."

"You're not going all domestic on me, are you?"

Scales' gaze flickered to Trinket, and her spine stiffened.

"Some of us have to grow up," Booker said, turning his eyes to his cards. "Thought I might give it a try."

Scales stared at him, slowly drumming his fingers against the table while the other players and the surrounding crowd waited for his next move. Finally, he let out a sharp breath, something between a laugh and a scoff, before tossing a handful of coins into the pot.

"Bet eleven shillings," he said.

It must have taken a lot of control for the other players to keep from groaning at the high bet. The dealer dutifully matched it and then leaned across the table to flip three of the cards set beside the pot. A queen of clubs, an ace of hearts, and a nine of clubs.

"Aren't you curious about what I've been up to?" Scales asked, tapping his cards against the edge of the table.

"I'm assuming you were busy obtaining that," Booker said, nodding at the scalp lying amidst the money.

A cruel smile pulled at one side of Scales' mouth. "You don't seem surprised."

"Why would I be? I know you, Scales. I know you'll do whatever it takes to get what you want. Whether that be wolves, dead bodies," he tossed in eleven shillings, "or a position in an upstart gang."

There was an edge to his voice that sent a shiver of panic through Trinket's body. But rather than react to the insult, Scales simply grinned. "Jealous much?"

Booker gave a sharp laugh, rearranging his cards uselessly. "Jealous? Tell me, Scales, who got the Wolf? And the corpses? What is there to be jealous of, exactly?"

"My ability to rise to the top despite the world being against me."

Slamming his hands on the table, Booker leaned forward. "You have no idea what I've risen from, Scales. No idea. Just like you have no idea what you're sticking your nose into."

"Booker," Trinket whispered, wrapping her hands around his arm.

His outburst didn't even seem to faze Scales; he continued to sit there with an easy smile on his face. "You think I don't know where you came from, Larkin? I know everything. Ask your little strumpet."

Trinket's veins filled with ice when, for a brief moment, the thug's eyes flickered to her before quickly returning to Booker.

"I know all about the orphanage and the clockmaker and the wealthy doctor who left you his fortune," he went on.

Booker's expression faltered, and he sat back a bit, every muscle on alert. "Took you long enough to figure it out."

"I've known for years. You're not as big of a mystery as you believe you are."

"So why wait so long to bring it up?"

"Because it was of no use to me. I don't care how you made your fortune or how you learned your grotesque trade."

"But you do care about the person who started all of this. The man we're both chasing after."

Scales tossed in more coins. "Raise seventeen shillings." He turned his eyes back to Booker. "See, that's where I think you're jealous."

"Jealous you're headhunting my old friend and not me? You flatter yourself."

"Jealous that your little friend might choose me over you."

The tension between the two men thickened, and without calling it, the dealer and the other players folded. Tossing their cards onto the table, they rose from their seats and disappeared into the crowd. But Booker and Scales didn't notice. Even Trinket's desperate grip on Booker's arm couldn't tear his attention away from the thug.

"Why would Benedict choose someone as uneducated and dull as yourself over someone brilliant like me?" Booker said, his tone hushed and even.

"Because why would someone as genius as a man who can replace a wolf's teeth with knives and sew gills onto a woman have any interest in someone he already knows? Someone predictable. Someone familiar. Surely such a man would be searching for something exciting and fresh."

"You underestimate our friendship."

"I don't believe that for a second. I think the fear of losing to me has been keeping you up at night. Look at the shadows under your eyes. You've been worrying about this long before I brought it up. Worrying that you're boring. Unremarkable. A disappointment."

Booker swallowed, and Scales' face lit up, knowing he'd hit a nerve. Leaning over the table, he flipped a card. The queen of hearts.

"It's why your temperament has been so explosive as of late." He paused to steal a glance at Booker before tossing another handful of coins into the pot, several of them bouncing off the thick braid. "Or maybe it's because of that little urchin girl. You really should learn to keep an emotional distance, Larkin. Getting attached makes you vulnerable and weak."

"As opposed to cold and heartless?" Booker snapped.

Scales raised his eyebrows. "Do you think you're insulting me?"

"You may believe my sentimentalities and attachments put me at a disadvantage, but did you ever consider they're exactly what's keeping Benedict interested in me? An old camaraderie spanning across years?"

"I don't think a man capable of experimenting on humans would be susceptible to such frailties."

Scales threw in more coins, never breaking eye contact with Booker.

"What do you want with him, Scales?" Booker asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tapping his fingers on the tabletop, Scales stared at Booker as a smile slowly spread over his face. He then leaned in close, the lapels of his jacket brushing against the bloody scalp.

"Remember who you're dealing with here, Larkin," he whispered. "I'm not like the Mice that have come before me. I know better than to give away my hand. And, unlike you, I know how to keep my emotions in check."

"So you admit to still having emotions?" Booker asked.

"Of course he does," Trinket interrupted. She fixed her gaze on Scales. "Just ask him about his sister."

His face fell and instantly twisted into some hideous expression she couldn't name. He reached for the last card, turning it over to reveal a king of clubs. The look of fury and disgust melted into pure satisfaction as he sat back in his chair.

"Remember, Larkin," he said, laying his cards out on the table.

A jack and a ten of clubs. A Straight Kin. Though she couldn't recall every top hand, Trinket knew this one was good. Very good.

He smiled up at them both. "I always win."

Booker slammed his cards facedown on the table and rose to his feet. "Congratulations on the promotion, Scales," he said, putting his arm around Trinket and leading her away from the crowd. "I hope it doesn't take too long to scrub the blood from your hands."

"I'm not too worried," Scales called after him as they made their way to the exit. "It goes well with your little urchin's blood."

Squeezing Trinket's waist tightly, Booker threw the door open and stormed up the stairs. Even once they were outside, he didn't speak a word or loosen his hold on her. When they were a safe distance from the gaming room, she finally dug her heels into the road and pulled at his arm.

"Booker, would you please talk to me?"

He spun around, his eyes wild and enraged. "What were you thinking?"

She fell back a step, not expecting this response. "Me?"

"Why would you speak to him like that?"

"Like what?"

"Bringing up his sister. Mocking him. How could you do something so stupid?"

Every inch of her bristled at his sharp tone. "This isn't the first time I've spoken to him, Booker. In fact, I'd dare to say I've had more private conversations with him than you ever have."

His eyes went wide with disbelief, and he grabbed her by the shoulders. "Trinket, are you daft?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you realize how foolish that is? Never mind speaking to him, but to do it alone? You could've been killed. You could be dead, Trinket. Dead. Are you really that dense?"

"Me? Dense? Says the doctor who has on countless occasions taunted and baited the very same man."

"Yes, and you've seen how that worked out. Gin is dead because of my stupidity, and you'll be next if you keep on with this ridiculous recklessness."

Shaking him off, Trinket stormed past him and continued on home. He let out a sound between a groan and a growl. She could hear his footsteps chasing after her, so she quickened her pace until she was practically running. She made it to the front door first and was greeted by a drunk passed out on the steps.

Although, he was awful stiff for a drunk.

And wasn't breathing.

And was missing his entire scalp.

The door flew open, and Daphne came rushing out, fluttering her fingers over her chest as she motioned to the body and shrugged. She pointed inside and made several more gestures. Trinket was too flustered to understand. All she could see was Hiss' corpse at her feet until Booker appeared by her side.

"Lord, of course he left it here," he muttered, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She tensed under his touch and roughly shrugged him off. "I'm sure that's my doing, what with all of my foolish talk," she said as she skirted the body and made her way into the house.

As she raced up the stairs, she heard the front door slam closed. Footsteps followed after her, and before she could open her bedroom door, a hand came down on hers, keeping her from turning the knob.

"Do not just walk away from me."

"You have no say over my actions, Booker Larkin. Let go!"

His grip on her hand tightened briefly, then loosened and fell away. She glanced up at him and almost regretted her harsh words when she saw the hurt flash across his face. But there was still a fiery rage building inside of her that would not be so easily doused. Pulling open the door, she slipped into her room and slammed it shut.

She waited, her back pressed against the door as she listened for his retreating steps. There was a soft thump on the other side, and for a moment, she wondered if he was going to wait in the hallway all night. But then the sound of his hurried pace got farther away as he undoubtedly made his way downstairs to his little laboratory to sulk.

Sliding down to the floor, Trinket gathered her knees to her chest and released a shaky breath. Without any warning, she burst into tears. Hysterical, uncontrollable tears. Covering her mouth with both hands, she desperately tried to get ahold of herself but found she was unable.

You're pathetic.

Worthless.

You deserve this.

You deserve worse.

Lying piece of rotting scum.

Why don't you just die already?

"Shut up, shut up," she whimpered, curling up into a tiny ball as the voices continued to harass her.

Worthless.

Pathetic.

Repulsive.

Stupid, foolish girl.