Tossing the arsenic onto the stairs as she burst through the front door, Trinket rushed down to the laboratory where Booker was still staring at the snake. When she reached the bottom step, he glanced up at her with an excited grin.

"Ah, you missed it," he said. "I caught one of the mice and threw it into the jar. The snake went right for it, just struck it and—"

"Booker, the shopgirl is dead."

His smile disappeared as he stood up. "The one we treated?"

She nodded.

Heaving a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair. "Can't say I'm surprised. Like I said, snake bites are difficult to treat."

"Jewkes wants you to do an autopsy on the body to see if you can pick up on any clues."

"Must be killing him to have to come to me for help. Well, let's be off, then. Don't want to keep the officer waiting."

Leaving the snake behind, he followed her up the stairs and out the door. They huddled under the umbrella, but it was a bit small for two people. Booker, being the taller of the two, took hold of it and tilted it so that it mostly covered her. Seeing this, she snaked her arm around his waist and pulled him closer. He looked down at her in surprise and nearly dropped the umbrella in a mud puddle.

"Won't do you any good to catch a cold," she said as they continued on. "You have work to do."

He nodded, turning his eyes away. "Right, right, of course."

They were well on their way to the station when they heard a commotion over on Nightingale Lane. A large crowd had gathered in front of one of the apartment buildings despite the miserable weather. Most looked as though they had come from the neighboring buildings and shops, very few of them dressed for the rain.

"What's all this?" Booker said, leading her in the direction of the excitement.

"You think this is where the shopgirl lived?" she asked.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Jewkes' voice bellowed over the noise and the crowd parted to let him through. He was holding something long in his arms, wrapped up in a stained quilt. Trinket's stomach dropped, imagining that it could only be one thing. The sobbing girl from earlier followed behind him, the tears on her cheeks mixing with the rain.

"Need a hand, Jewkes?" Booker asked as the officer drew closer.

The constable's lip twitched, but he nodded nonetheless. Trinket took the umbrella from Booker as he grabbed hold of one end of the body. She watched, ready to jump in and assist if needed.

The crowd was beginning to disperse, whispering anxiously about the incident. As they returned to their homes and shops, Trinket glimpsed a familiar face. It took her a moment to place it, but then she realized it was the girl she had seen in front of the old man's apartment building, the one with blood smeared around her wrist. The look of terror now on her face echoed her horror at the scene of the last murder. But seeing her amongst a sea of faces made Trinket realize there was something different about this girl's horrified expression. Unlike the other onlookers, her eyes held more than terror. They held recognition. Panic. Anxiety.

Guilt.

Trinket's grip on the umbrella tightened, and she looked back at Jewkes and Booker who were arguing about who should walk which way. "Booker, I need to check on something. I'll meet up with you later," she said.

His brow furrowed for a moment, but he nodded and returned his attention to the task at hand. She turned back to the dwindling crowd, hoping the girl hadn't already disappeared.

There. Beside the woman with the frizzy hair. The girl's head was down, her arms folded over her chest as she hurried through the street, the rain drenching her ash-colored hair. She was just turning at the bend, about to fade from view.

Hurrying after her, Trinket muttered apologies as she wove her way through the small crowd of people still lingering and murmuring about the dead girl. She got to the end of the street and looked left, then right, trying to find the girl. If only she had something distinguishing about her. Bright red hair, a scar, a limp. Anything. But no, she was incredibly average and blended in with the crowd.

Somehow, Trinket caught sight of her before she turned down another street. Trinket splashed through puddles and nearly slipped in some muddy carriage tracks as she chased after her. When she reached the street, she saw the girl slip into an apartment building and close the door behind her.

"Blast," Trinket mumbled

Still, at least she now knew where she lived. She made note of the street and apartment building, storing the information away for later. As she examined the area, she realized this was the same spot where the old man's body had been found. Had they been neighbors? Or relatives? That fearful look in the girl's eyes suggested that she knew more about these deaths than just the local gossip. She was connected to this mystery. Trinket was sure of it.

Taking one last look at the building, Trinket heaved a sigh and turned to head to the police station. As she did, she crashed into a passerby and was nearly knocked off her feet. She managed to stay upright and reached out a hand to be certain the other person did not topple over as well.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

Her heart leapt into her throat as she met the eyes of the girl in front of her. Wild eyes framed by ragged blonde hair.

A hundred memories flashed through Trinket's mind:

Cooking watery gruel over a roaring fire.

Trembling violently after hours of being submerged in ice-cold water.

The burning pain from the Jar that lingered days after her treatment.

But despite all these memories, it was a single name that escaped her lips at that moment. "Tory?"

The girl had been trying to pull her arm from Trinket's grip, but when she heard her name, she stopped and stared. She squinted at Trinket, as if trying to remember how she knew her. A flicker of familiarity passed through her eyes. Tilting her head, she looked her up and down, still seeming slightly unsure but vaguely interested.

"Saw the little tart go this way," came a voice from the other end of the street.

Trinket glanced over her shoulder and saw two men approaching them. Their faces were obscured by both the rain and the distance, but it didn't take long for her to recognize the larger of the two.

Squeeze.

Her breath caught in her chest, and she looked back at the wild-eyed girl. "We have to get out of here before he sees us," she said, pushing the girl towards the alley between two nearby buildings.

Before the girl could speak a word of acquiescence or objection, another voice called out, this one deeper and slower. "Hey, is that her? Why's there two of her?" Squeeze said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Trinket saw the lout pointing a meaty finger at them. "It's two different people, moron," said his companion. "Come on, we just need Larkin's girl."

The two men broke into a run, and Trinket's panic took over. She turned to the girl and yelled, "Run!"

The girl obeyed, and they ran towards the end of the street, away from the Mice. When they reached the main road, they split in opposite directions, Trinket towards the police station, the girl towards the slums.

"Which one is she?" Squeeze shouted from behind. "They both look so familiar."

"It's the tart in the nice clothes. Come on, don't let her get away."

Their voices were much too close for comfort, and Trinket pushed herself to go faster. The mud and divots in the road made it difficult to keep an even pace, and when she dared to glance over her shoulder, she found that the Mice were gaining ground. Searching for some way to lose them, she darted into one of the alleys.

She snapped her umbrella closed and leapt over broken furniture and scraps of old food until she made it to the end. By some miracle, she managed to squeeze through the crumbling bricks that had once been a dead end and stumbled out onto the other side. This back alley was more disgusting than the first, smelling of sewage and mold and rotting animal parts. Despite her exhaustion, the faint voices of her pursuers on the other side of the wall urged her onward.

Picking her way through shards of glass and splintered wood, she found a rusted gate blocking off one of the alleys. She tossed her umbrella through the bars and onto the other side before hoisting herself up. Slowly and clumsily, she reached the top of the gate. Careful not to catch her skirts, she eased herself onto the ground. However, her foot hit a particularly slippery spot, and she ended up on her back. Her head hit a stray brick, and she winced as a splitting pain ran down her spine.

Rubbing at the sore spot, she listened for the sounds of the two Mice but heard nothing. Daring to hope that she had lost them, she let out a long breath and remained on the ground so that she could catch her breath and gather her thoughts.

Her mind returned to the street just outside of the apartment building where she had run into the wild-eyed blonde girl. She hadn't been a figment of her imagination. She had really been there. In the flesh. The Mice had seen her, too. Had Squeeze recognized her? His comments seemed to suggest as much. Had seeing the two of them together triggered a connection in his brain? Would he remember who they were? Would he finally decide to take vengeance on them?

Can't run forever.

About time your sins caught up to you.

Pushing those old fears aside, she turned her thoughts back to what was really important: the wild-eyed girl. She was here. She was here in Tinkerfall. And if Trinket's deductions were correct, she was very likely the vampire. But how? More importantly, how had she escaped from Elysium? How was she even here?

And did she remember who Trinket was?
A shaky breath shuddered through Trinket's lips as she stared up at the cloudy sky, the rain pelting her face and running down her cheeks like silent tears.

"Tory," she whispered.