A few days later, Daphne joined Trinket on a trip to the city center to purchase a shawl. While the mornings and nights were still decidedly chilly, the days themselves had become warmer, and Trinket's winter coat was too much to bear as the temperatures rose.

"The women of Tinkerfall seem to be very fond of gold fringe," she said as she looked through piles of shawls in the tailor's shop, almost all of them decorated with sparkling gold trim.

Daphne let out a little squeal, pulling Trinket's attention away from the shawls. She was holding up a beautiful black top hat adorned with peacock feathers and sea green ribbon.

Smiling, Trinket nodded. "I think it would look lovely on you."

Daphne shook her head and pointed at her.

"Me? No, I don't need any hats."

Refusing to back down, Daphne plopped it on her head and turned her towards the mirror. It was very pretty, and she couldn't deny that she quite liked the way the colors brought out her eyes. But she still shook her head.

"I came here for a shawl, not a hat I don't need."

Daphne rolled her eyes but did not push her any further.

Taking off the hat, Trinket placed it back on the stand where Daphne had found it. As she turned to resume her shopping, her eyes caught on someone on the other side of the store: a young blonde woman who looked vaguely familiar. But in the blink of an eye, she was gone. Brushing it off as another hallucination, Trinket returned to Daphne who was picking through the shawls.

"I do think you would look splendid in that hat," Trinket said.

Her gaze still fixed on the shawls in front of her, Daphne waved the suggestion away. Her eyes suddenly went wide as a smile spread over her face. Turning to Trinket, she held up a lovely cerulean shawl with fringe that faded into a darker blue. It was a simple fabric with no extra bits to attract attention, but it was sturdy and thick enough to keep out the early spring chill.

"That's perfect," Trinket said, smiling up at her. "Thank goodness I have you here to help me. If it weren't for you, I'd still be lost in a sea of gold fringe."

Daphne bowed her head and returned her smile.

The tailor eyed Daphne's high collared cape as they made their way to the register, and for a moment, Trinket worried that he had noticed the portiums. However, he quickly set his gaze on the money she held out to him and then went to work wrapping the shawl. She let out a slow breath and turned to share a relieved smile with Daphne when she again saw the blonde woman. This time she got a good look at her pale face.

A memory stirred:

A dirty, stuffy kitchen.

A pot of thin, watery gruel.

A girl with wild eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat as she went to call out to the young woman. Nearly choking on her unspoken words, she ignored Daphne's concerned expression. Trinket's eyes were glued to the blonde girl who was weaving her way through the displays and heading towards the door. Panic took over, and Trinket attempted to call out to her again, but before she could, the blonde girl slipped out the door as a well-dressed couple walked in.

Trinket stared after her. Had she really been there? Was she another hallucination? Or just a memory? Again, the images of Elysium played through her head, as if mocking her. Or perhaps threatening her.

A drug-induced stupor.

Spiders crawling up the walls.

Cold and heartless hands gripping her arms.

Electricity tearing through her body.

And a young woman who somehow found the ability to laugh off her imprisoned state.

Birds of a feather do flock together. Wouldn't be a surprise if she was attracted to the same scumhole as you.

Trinket swallowed. If she were truly here in Tinkerfall, she had to find out.

Breaking away from Daphne, she raced towards the door and burst out into the busy center without any thought of how rude or attention-drawing her sudden exit would be.

There was a significant crowd bustling along the muddy street. Vendors were shouting over each other, and customers were haggling prices. Coaches crashed into holes in the dirt road, and ladies and gentlemen complained about the filthy puddles ruining their fine shoes.

Her head was swimming from the combined noise, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the blur of faces passing by.

Blinking hard, she tried to steady her senses, focusing on the traits she could recall. Wild eyes and blonde hair. What color were her eyes? And what length was her hair? What if she had gotten it cut? Or what if it had grown out in the months since she had last seen her? How tall had she been? Did she have scars? Cuts on her arms? Wait, had she actually been blonde? Was she remembering this right?

Fail, fail, fail, fail, you're gonna faaaaaiillll.

She shook her head to calm her racing thoughts. Concentrate. She had to concentrate.

Searching the crowds again, she moved swiftly through the street, examining each and every face that passed by.

Too old.

Too tanned.

Not a woman.

Possibly a woman? Or not? Still, not her.

Too much facial hair.

Where had all these flies come from?

Cursing under her breath, she swatted at the pests, too fixated on finding the girl to care that she was likely swatting at empty space. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Except for—

A flash of blonde.

Trinket's heart leapt into her chest. Her eyes. What did her eyes look like?

A surge of bodies came between her and the young woman, blocking her from view. Panicking, Trinket pushed past them, not even bothering to utter an apology. She couldn't lose her. She had to find her. She had to know if she was real. She had to know why she was here. She had to—

A horrifying scream filled the air, pulling her out of her head. She stopped just short of crashing into the large person in front of her. Her mind was so muddled that it took her a moment to realize who it was.

The Ape Man.

No. He was part of the Dead Mice now. Now he was known as Squeeze.

Run, run, run, run, run!

Terror gripped her heart as his cold, angry gaze darted in her direction. His meaty hands were clenched into fists, and when he caught sight of her, his eyes narrowed and his forehead wrinkled, as if he recognized her but could not remember why. Oh, how she wished she could do the same. But there was no forgetting him.

The mountain of a man who had lurked about the halls of Elysium, watching over the inmates, ready with a firm hand and a sadistic grin if any of them stepped out of line.

This was the man responsible for her escape. And no matter what Booker said, she was not convinced he didn't still hold a grudge against her for causing him to lose his job. With such cruelty and sheer strength as his, there was no telling what he would do to her.

Of course, that was only if he remembered her.

Before the rusted gears in his head could even begin to turn, she ducked behind a couple with a rather generous girth as they passed by. She glanced over her shoulder only once to be sure Squeeze had not seen where she had gone. He was gazing about as if in a daze, scratching his tanned, bald head. It didn't take long for him to shrug his wide shoulders and turn back the way he had been going before their encounter.

Letting out a relieved breath, Trinket continued to follow the couple, reluctant to leave the safety of their stature. Once she had a moment for her senses to settle, she remembered the scream that had pulled her away from her search. Where had it come from? What had caused it?

A single glance at the crowd answered the first question. Everyone was rushing towards one of the apartment buildings, and based on their wide eyes, she assumed someone was either injured or dead. More likely dead. Having become accustomed to corpses usually being connected to Booker's old friend, she made her way to congregating throng, rubbing her shoulders to rid herself of the chill that the memories of Elysium had brought on.

She muttered apologies as she gently pushed her way forward, and she couldn't help but notice that the closer she got to the front, the more horrified the expressions of the onlookers became. Whispers carried through the eerie quiet that had settled over the area. She was only able to catch a few words, but none of them were very reassuring.

Monster.

Demon.

Evil.

Dreading what ungodly creation Benedict had released on them this time, she finally managed to make it to the front of the crowd. Her eyes quickly fell upon the scene that had silenced the normally excitable and gossiping citizens of Tinkerfall.

She could not stifle a gasp. Throwing a hand over her mouth, she tried not to draw any more attention to herself. She carefully scanned the pale, still body lying before her. As horrendous as it was to see blood pooling out of every orifice of the old man's body—nostrils, mouth, ears, eyes—what sent a wave of ice through her bones were the two puncture wounds on his neck.