Hours passed before Trinket thought to go check on Booker. In an attempt to silence the voices that continued to mock her, she threw herself into cleaning the house. She had only just finished with the washroom when she realized how long it had been since she'd left him. Fearing he really would pass out from lack of sustenance, she put her rag and bucket of lye aside, wiped her hands on her smock, and made her way towards the door.

Booker came rushing out of the library before she could step out of the washroom. When he caught sight of her, his eyes lit up and he quickened his pace. "The spotted tree hopper," he said, not even waiting to reach her.

"The what?" she said, falling back a few steps out of surprise.

Now at her side, he opened the book clutched in his hands and pointed to a page with an illustration of a thin snake with large eyes and an egg-shaped head. Above the picture were the words "Spotted Tree Hopper." The page opposite it was filled with facts about the creature, but she was too tired to concentrate on the tiny print.

"It's a snake found throughout the South, from coastal thickets to dense rain forests," Booker explained. "It spends most of its time in trees during the daylight hours, feeding on lizards, birds, and small rodents. It's a shy and reclusive creature, striking only when threatened."

"And it's venomous?"

A smile tugged at his lips as he nodded. "Oh, is it ever venomous. The hemotoxin that secretes from its fangs disrupts the coagulation of blood and can cause inflammation and deterioration of the internal organs of those injected with it."

"In terms I can understand, please."

"It causes its victim to bleed profusely from every opening in their body."

Her eyes traveled back to the illustration. It didn't look like a very large or threatening snake. How could it possibly cause so much damage with a single bite?

"If it's from the South, how did Benedict obtain the venom?" she asked.

Booker snapped the book shut, startling her. "That is indeed the question," he said, tucking the tome under his arm. "A wolf isn't quite so difficult to get one's hands on. But an exotic, venomous snake like this?"

"Do you think he traveled all the way down to the South?"

He shook his head. "I doubt it. It would take months to get from here to there and back again."

"Could he have gone before starting the game?"

"That's a possibility, I suppose."

She leaned against the doorframe of the washroom, furrowing her brow in thought. "Why do you think he chose to start this game now? Why not when you first moved here? If he's as clever and resourceful as you say, surely he knew you were here right away."

Booker lifted his eyebrows. "That is a very good point. Perhaps he didn't have the means to do it until recently."

"Where did he go when he left the orphanage?"

"Noxbury. That's where Mr. Goodfellow was from, the doctor he studied under. But he's no longer there. I've checked. Folks say the doctor became somewhat reclusive and pulled up roots without telling anyone."

"That's rather strange. Why would he do that?"

"I can only imagine he and Benedict had begun to dabble in some ungodly medical practices that he worried those around them would disapprove of. Fear forced him to go into hiding."

"Would a doctor truly have approved of such questionable work?"

"Some would. Mr. Goodfellow was drawn to Benedict's shocking experiments. I think he was eager to try his hand at them. Benedict was a lucky chap to find such an open-minded teacher."

She wasn't sure she would put it that way. "So you weren't able to track them to wherever they moved?"

Booker shook his head. "No one knew where they had gone. Slipped away in the middle of the night. Although, I suppose there's also the possibility they simply went into hiding in Noxbury. Whatever the case, I have no idea where they are."

There was a long silence as they stared down at the floor. A thought suddenly came to Trinket, and though she hated to even make such a suggestion, she spoke it nonetheless. "Since the Wolf came from Broadfall, you don't think that Benedict may have connections there, do you?"

Broadfall, Broadfall, Fallbroad, Brallfoad—

Tilting his head to the side, he let out a thoughtful hum. "It's possible."

"And perhaps his connections to Broadfall could be where he obtained the snake venom?"

Broadfall, Modfall, Codfall, Broadfull—

He snapped his fingers. "Astute observation, my dear. Corpses are easy to come by. Exotic animals, though? They're a little more scarce. Not everyone collects them. So why wouldn't the snake venom have come from the same place that the Baron got the Wolf?"

Spinning on his heel, he hurried down the stairs. "Where are you going?" she asked as she chased after him, ignoring the voices as they continued their nonsensical chanting.

"Broadfall. I need to snoop around and try to find out who Benedict's source is," he said, throwing on his jacket and grabbing his top hat.

Panic clawed at her chest. Was he going to ask her to come? What excuse could she use without giving anything away?

Wadfall, Scodfall, Quadfall, Bro—

"Quiet," she hissed at the voices.

"If you could hold down the fort, I'd be much appreciative," Booker said as he turned to her. "Just in case something exciting happens here. I shouldn't be gone too long, but it only takes a few hours for chaos to ensue around these parts."

Her shoulders relaxed. "Of course. I'll keep my eyes and ears open."

"Thank you, my dear," he said, offering her a smile. However, it faltered after a moment, and he leaned towards her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he gave it a light squeeze. "And do be careful. With Scales after this latest creation, there's more to worry about than snake venom and vampire lore."

His touch made her muscles go tense again. "I'll watch my back. And my neck."

She flashed a teasing grin, and he returned it. Giving her shoulder one last squeeze, he turned to the door. "I should be back by tomorrow night. Shall we discuss our findings over dinner at the Clocktower?"

"Sounds splendid."

He glanced back at her as he stepped outside, a soft smile on his face. "It's a date, then."

A fluttering warmth filled her stomach as Booker closed the door. She stood there on the stairs for a moment, trying to still her pounding heart. It was no use. The fluttering and the pounding would not cease.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Broadfall stupid.

Stupid in Broadfall.

The voices laughed hysterically at their own insults. Taking a deep breath, she made her way back upstairs to fetch her cleaning supplies and distract herself from her broken mind and rapid pulse.

~

That afternoon, Daphne helped Trinket drag the carpets out into the backyard to give them a good beating. Clouds of dust and ash filled the warm spring air, as well as Trinket's lungs. She coughed into the crook of her elbow. When was the last time the rugs had been given a thorough cleaning? Had Booker's former servants lasted long enough to consider it?

As she used the rattan carpet beater to whack the dried dirt out of the ornate carpets, she recalled the times she had seen the servants in her own home perform the same task. Their faces were still clear in her memory. Not that much of a surprise; it hadn't been that long ago that she'd been sent to Elysium. Only just over a year now. But it felt like she hadn't seen home in forever.

Did her family remember her? And if they did, was it a fond remembrance, or was it filled with resentment? Were they still in Broadfall? Did she even have anything to fear about Booker visiting her hometown? Perhaps her parents were no longer living there. Maybe they had left to forget her and all the damage she had done. Even so, would her neighbors recall what had happened? Did the neighbors know? If Booker asked around, would he discover the sins of her past?

No one will ever forget what you did.

You're a stain on society.

"Say, Daphne?" she said, trying to pull herself out of her head.

Daphne peeked out from behind the carpet she had hung on a clothesline.

"Do you ever worry that your past will come back to cause you trouble?"

Pulling her mouth down into an uncertain frown, Daphne wobbled her head from side to side and shrugged.

"You don't think the people who left you for dead will realize you survived and return to finish the job?"

Another shrug, followed by raised eyebrows as she nodded at her.

Hesitating, Trinket turned back to the carpet. "Well, we all have things from our past we'd like to leave behind, right?"

She concentrated on beating the rug, but she felt Daphne's gaze on her. Finally, she lowered the carpet beater and turned her attention back to the silent yet insightful woman who was watching her with gentle understanding. Her eyes were warm and inviting, and it was as though her comforting manner pulled the words from Trinket's lips.

"I hurt someone," she said carefully. "Someone very dear to me."

Hurt?

Is that all we're calling it now?

"And in doing so, I ruined my family's life. They sent me away. I was only recently employed by Mr. Larkin. Even after all these months, I fear that somehow my past will come back to find me and ruin the life I've made here."

Recounting her past, even in vague details, brought back all of those horrible emotions. The memories that she had desperately tried to keep locked away in the cage deep in her mind were now raging against their prison.

Her breathing became labored as the memory of blood and anguished cries dragged her into a familiar darkness. A heavy weight settled in her chest, and she felt herself disappearing into the same old despair.

What right did she have to be happy here? What right did she have to be with a man who made her feel brilliant and wanted? To have friends who made her feel loved and valued? She didn't have the right. Not when Merrill couldn't enjoy the same happiness and love.

Because of her.

Because of what she had done.

She didn't deserve to live a happy life.

She didn't deserve to live at all.

She didn't deserve this.

She didn't deserve any of this.

Just die already.

Die, die, die, die, die, die—

She gasped as a gentle touch brought her back to reality. Daphne was standing beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. Her gaze was filled with a motherly affection Trinket had never known, not even as a child. Warmth and empathy had not been her mother's strong suits. Perhaps that's how she'd been raised by her own mother. Showing affection to a healthy, normal child likely would have been difficult for her, never mind one who heard voices and saw things that weren't there. She never really blamed her mother for the way she had handled the situation, but that warmth was something that had been sorely missing from her upbringing. And to see it now in this woman standing before her—a woman who herself had been through more ordeals than she would ever tell—affected her in a way she hadn't expected.

Tears leaked from her eyes as she whispered, "I haven't told Booker about why I was sent away. I'm afraid that if he finds out, he'll make me leave. Or worse, he'll bring me back to Elysium."

Speaking her fears aloud was too much for her, and a sob burst from her lips. She covered her face with her hands while Daphne drew her into an embrace, coaxing her to sit on the thawing ground. The sharp, dead grass poked through her stockings, but she didn't care. She sobbed into Daphne's shoulder. The woman gently stroked her hair and held her close, allowing her to cry for as long as she needed.

When at last she was able to collect herself, Trinket backed away, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that."

Daphne gave her a reassuring smile and patted her knee. She then tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Trinket said, trying to figure out what she was asking.

Looking about the yard, Daphne spotted a small stick. Taking it up and holding it like a pen, she wrote something in the dirt between the tufts of brown grass.

Elysium?

A heavy dread came over Trinket when she realized she had indeed let that slip during her emotional outburst. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she met Daphne's curious gaze. While she was certain this secretive woman would understand if she chose not to tell her about her condition, she felt almost guilty after having fallen apart in front of her. It was like she owed her the truth.

Taking a deep breath, she folded her hands in her lap. "Elysium is an asylum," she said, keeping her voice low in case anyone happened to be lurking around nearby.

Daphne's eyebrows went up. Clearly, she had not been expecting that answer.

"Mr. Larkin is aware of my having been there. I have a condition that causes me to see and hear things. Most of the time it's animals or insects, sometimes people. Every so often, though, it's monsters."

Nodding her understanding, Daphne waited for her to continue.

"When I see such monstrous creatures, I tend to lose touch with reality. And that's when I become dangerous. It's how I hurt—"

She stopped and glanced up at Daphne who was still watching her with endearing patience and insight. She was someone who could be trusted. And not just because she couldn't speak Trinket's secrets to someone else, but because she was genuinely a good person. This secret, though? It was too much. No one could know about this. Not her, not Gin, and especially not Booker. Not now.

Maybe not ever.

"It's how I hurt someone," Trinket continued, erring on the side of vagueness. "And that's why my family sent me away. I was in Elysium for a year before I escaped and found my way here. Mr. Larkin took me in and gave me a job and a home. He found out about my condition when I attacked him in the midst of one of my dark episodes. For some strange reason, he sees my condition as a strength. Or rather, he finds the observational skills I've developed due to my condition to be a strength. That's why he made me his assistant."

Strength? Nothing about you is strong.

"Despite his apparent acceptance of my broken mind, I worry if he ever finds out that I . . ." She swallowed down the word "killed" and met Daphne's eyes. "That I was sent away because I hurt someone, I worry he'll no longer trust me. I don't think I could bear to lose his trust."

Daphne nodded as she rubbed Trinket's shoulder gently.

"I beg you, please don't tell him. Please, let's keep this between us."

Giving a smile, Daphne pinched her thumb and forefinger together and ran them across her lips before turning them like a key and tossing said invisible key behind her.

With a soft laugh, Trinket forced a smile. "Thank you. I didn't mean to spill all of this on you. But with Mr. Larkin going to my hometown again, my fears took over and I couldn't control myself."

Daphne pulled her into another embrace, and Trinket's muscles relaxed at the woman's tender touch. She let out a long breath and closed her eyes. Her body felt lighter, like a weight had been thrown off of her. Yes, she still carried the guilt and shame of what she had done, but having someone to talk to about what had happened—someone who was gentle and understanding and did not blame her or resent her. It helped to ease her fears.

Still, there was a niggling doubt in her mind about how Booker would react if she ever told him the truth. Even with all of his questionable activities and declarations that not all who have killed are bad, she couldn't help but believe that she was exceptionally horrible. Maybe not as horrible as Scales, but certainly worse than any of the other citizens of this seedy city.

The worst.

The worst of the worst.

You're scum.

Lower than scum.

You belong in the ground.

Right next to Merrill.

She squeezed her eyes shut. No. She couldn't tell him. If she told him, she could lose him.

And she absolutely could not handle losing him.