"It still looks awful," Trinket said, gently brushing her fingers over Booker's black eye as they walked down the street.

He winced. "It still feels awful."

"Then are you sure this can't wait? Maybe you should heal a bit before diving right back into work."

"Please, it was only a knock on the head."

"Face."

"Even better. I don't need my looks to be a proper doctor. Although, I do worry it could affect your attachment to me."

"Oh, yes, because I'm only interested in you for your devilish good looks."

"Well, my personality certainly leaves something to be desired, so my looks are really all I have."

Her lips curled into a crooked grin as she tightened her grip on his arm and leaned in closer. "Someone has to put up with your dark humor and morbid mind, right? Might as well be me."

Giving a chuckle, he laid a kiss atop her head.

The city center was buzzing with gossip as they made their way to the police station. Even though Tory's body had been removed the night before, people had heard the commotion take place and had gone to investigate. The news spread quickly after that, and now everyone was spinning their own version of the tale.

"They had to stake her through the heart," a nearby woman whispered to her companion. "And when they did, she turned to dust."

"I heard they put a silver bullet in her brain," a young urchin told his friends. "And when she was screaming from the burning pain, they lopped off her head."

The young boy made a chopping motion at his own neck and let his head fall onto his shoulder, eyes rolled back and tongue hanging out. Trinket grimaced while his friends laughed at his theatrical demonstration. Opening his eyes, he flashed a toothy grin as the others applauded. Despite the morbidity of his performance, a warm glow grew in Trinket's chest. He reminded her of Gin with the way he was able to demand the rapt attention of his audience.

A tight ache quickly replaced the warmth in her chest as she considered all she had lost in only a few short days.

Gin.

Tory.

Any good feelings she may have had about Booker's friend.

All gone.

"Are you sure you're all right doing this?" Booker asked, drawing her attention away from the urchin. "Because I can go by myself. You don't have to be involved."

She shook her head. "No, it's fine. We need to finish this mystery."

"But not at your emotional expense."

True, her emotions had been spent quite a bit, but so had his. Though he tried to hide it, she saw the same warm sadness in his eyes as they passed by the urchin boy. He'd hardly had time to mourn Gin before being forced back into the game. It didn't feel right to send him off to do this alone. And besides, Tory had been her friend, or as close to a friend as she could find in Elysium. She owed it to her to be there for her. Even in death.

Smiling up at Booker, she gave his hand a squeeze. "I'll be fine. Trust me."

He nodded uncertainly as they approached the police station.

Jewkes was waiting at the back door and motioned for them to follow him inside. As with the times before, he led them down the creaky wooden stairs and into the cold depths of the mortuary.

"You certain you're in a stable enough condition for this?" he asked as he brought them to one of the covered tables, furrowing his brow at Booker's swollen eye.

"Everyone is so concerned with my face," Booker said. "It's not my only good attribute, you know."

"I wasn't aware you had any good attributes."

Trinket swallowed as she glanced down at the table. The long, white sheet draped over it clung to the body underneath, giving a rough outline of the person. Dread filled her heart at the thought of seeing Tory again, and it only grew worse as she imagined Booker cutting her open and pulling out her insides.

"All right. Let's get to work," Booker said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. He turned to Jewkes. "If you'd be so kind as to excuse us."

Jewkes raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"No, excuse us. I need no distractions during this procedure, and I just don't think I could focus with those stunning eyes of yours watching my every move."

"You had no problem with me here before."

"Yes, but this time we're dealing with a potential bloodsucker. I can't let an innocent bystander be at risk. It would break my heart if the monster were to suddenly revive itself and come after you, its murderer. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I allowed that to happen."

The officer stared at Booker for a long while before rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh. "I've had too many night shifts to deal with this." He set his gaze on Booker again and pointed a stern finger at him. "Don't do anything I'll have to arrest you for."

Placing a hand on his chest, Booker feigned surprise. "Me? Do something illegal? I laugh at the mere suggestion."

Jewkes glanced at Trinket. "Keep him in line, will you?"

She nodded. "Of course, Constable."

Shooting Booker one last glare, Jewkes retreated up the stairs, each step whining in protest until the door slammed shut.

Trinket looked at Booker with a disapproving frown. "Do you really have to provoke everyone you meet?"

He laughed and held his hands up innocently. "He makes it so much fun." His expression became more serious as he lowered his arms. "But this time it wasn't just to aggravate him. I did it for you."

As he faced the covered body, Trinket knit her brows together. "For me? What do you mean?"

Glancing back at her, he gave a sad smile. "This was your friend. I didn't think you'd want other people standing around as you watched her being dissected."

Her stomach twisted at the thought, but Booker's consideration brought a smile to her face. "Thank you."

He nodded and then turned to the table. Gripping the sheet, he prepared to pull it away. Trinket held her breath. She had seen many dead bodies since meeting Booker, as well as pieces of dead bodies. But this one felt different. It was more like seeing Gin's lifeless body. Well, maybe not quite the same. Tory had been a companion within the hellish walls of Elysium, but Gin had been so much more. She had been a real friend, someone Trinket loved dearly. Losing her compared to only one other loss she had experienced.

Merrill.

A loss for which only you're to blame.

Swallowing down her guilt and panic, she forced herself to focus on the body. Which was still covered with a sheet. She peered at Booker and raised an eyebrow. "What are you waiting for?" she asked.

He hesitated, his eyes flickering to her. "Are you certain you're up to this?"

"Are you sure you're up to it?"

"My face is—"

"No. I mean because of . . . well, you know."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and his grip on the sheet tightened.

"You haven't had much time to mourn," she continued. "Are you certain you're ready to cut into a dead body?"

His eyes fixed on the covered body before him, he shook his head slowly. "Like you said, she wouldn't want me to give up."

"Right, but—"

"I can't, Trinket." He met her gaze with desperation. "I can't dwell on it. Not now. Not yet. I need distraction. And this is as good a distraction as any."

Sucking in her lips, she relented. "Very well. If you're up for it, so am I."

"But Trinket, this is your—"

She gripped his arm. "I'm not leaving your side."

Heaving a sigh, he finally pulled the sheet away to reveal Tory's stiff body. Seeing her friend on that metal table sent a certain ache through Trinket's heart. Though the body was lying face-up, the damage from the bullet that hit the back of her head was still visible. The memory of Tory's body going limp flashed through her mind, and she had to pull her eyes away to keep from reliving the moment over and over.

"Do you need a minute?" Booker asked softly.

She looked up. His attention was on her rather than on the dead body in front of him. The compassion in his expression was so different from when she had first begun to work with him, back when he prided himself on his cold indifference. But this look suited him much more. He was never meant to be a heartless scientist. He was all feeling and passion. Why he ever wanted to beat that out of himself, she didn't know.

But she had a guess.

Benedict Hawk.

Her gaze returned to Tory's stiff body. It was Benedict Hawk who had done this. Booker's long-lost friend, rival, and catalyst. He was the one who went to an asylum to find a broken psyche that he could twist and manipulate in order to continue this mad game of his. If she had still been a patient at Elysium, would it be her lying on this table with Booker poised to cut her open? Possibly. All in the name of science and progression.

What a farce.

Setting her jaw, she shook her head. "No. I'm ready. Let's get started."

As their main interest in Tory's body revolved around her teeth and the unknown source of venom, they kept their focus on her head and jaw. Booker began by opening her mouth and examining her teeth. There was an open wound filled with pus where the missing fang had been. He prodded the area with a scalpel and revealed the tip of what looked like a hollow tube.

"Interesting," he muttered to himself.

He nudged it a few more times before setting the scalpel aside and picking up a small knife. Carefully, he cut into the gums around the remaining fang, prying at it here and there until he finally managed to pull it out. There was a tube attached to the root of it, similar to the one on the other side of her mouth. He stooped forward to take a closer look, and as he poked at the tip of the fang with his scalpel, a stream of liquid came out.

His eyebrows went up. "What the—"

After prodding the tip several more times, he finally cut the fang away from the tube, and a steady trickle of liquid poured from the severed end. Trinket joined him as he examined the metal tooth. It was open at the base where the tube had been attached. He tipped it over and shook it. A tiny metal ball landed in the palm of his hand.

She squinted and stooped closer. "What is that?"

Furrowing his brow, Booker glanced between the tiny ball and the fang several times before something seemed to click in his head. "Of course," he said, more to himself than to her. "There's a small hole in the tip of the fang that allows the venom to flow through. But if it was left open like that, the venom would pour out all at once. So he used a tiny ball bearing to plug it and keep the venom inside until she bit someone. When she did, the ball bearing would be pushed up, allowing the venom to seep into her victim. Brilliant."

It was clever, but she wasn't about to laud the madman who had created it.

"Which must mean that this," Booker said, setting the tooth aside and fidgeting with the tube, "leads to the source of the venom."

He picked up a small saw and positioned it over Tory's jaw. Trinket's heart leapt into her chest, but right as he was about to cut into her friend's flesh, he pulled back. He faced her, his eyes darting to the body before returning to her.

"Ah, I need to open up her jaw," he said, glancing at her nervously. "It's . . . well, it's going to be rather gory and gruesome."

Letting out a slow breath, she nodded. She took one last look at Tory before turning her back on the scene. Seconds later, the sound of metal against bone filled her ears. Closing her eyes, she tried not to picture her friend being torn to pieces. Her mind brought forth images of the Resurrectionist's jaw tumbling out of that bag as the police removed parts of his body from the butcher shop. Her stomach lurched at the thought of Tory meeting the same fate.

But no, it wasn't Scales or the Mice cutting her up. It was Booker. And Booker was different. Booker was a doctor. Booker was caring. Booker was—

"Absolutely amazing," he muttered behind her.

She nearly spun around to see what he had discovered but remembered the state Tory was likely in. "What is it?" she asked, keeping her back turned.

Footsteps padded across the ice-cold floor, and Booker appeared by her side. In his blood-covered hand was a tiny leather pouch attached to a small tube. Trinket furrowed her brow as she leaned closer to get a better look.

"Was that inside of her?" she asked, glancing up at Booker.

He nodded. "Inside a sinus cavity just under her eye. I'm guessing there's another one on the opposite side."

"So that's where the venom was coming from?"

"Seems to be."

Straightening up, she ran her hands along her waist and swallowed down her revulsion. "How did he get it in there?"

Turning the pouch over in his hands, Booker gave an impressed grunt. "Clearly Benedict had sharpened his surgical skills. Combine them with his father's healing mixture, and you get this." He waved back at the corpse behind them. "Although, even with all his talent, she likely had some unpleasant side effects from it all."

"Such as?"

"Headaches, I'd assume. Possibly infection down the road."

Trinket recalled how Tory had often winced and pinched the bridge of her nose. Now it made sense. "So is that it, then?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "This round of the game is over?"

Still fidgeting with the pouch, Booker nodded. "Seems to be. For now."

"What's next?"

He heaved a sigh and went back to the body. "First, I think I should clean this mess up. After that, I suppose we'll just have to wait for Benedict to give us a sign. Considering how quickly he's done so in the past, I doubt it will take long."

She stared at the floor and chewed on her lip as he got to work sewing up Tory's body. What might the next round of this heartless game be? Would more people die? Most likely. Did Benedict even care that innocent folks were dying because of his little game of cat and mouse? Or was the loss of life justified in his twisted mind? What would happen to Booker when he and his friend were finally reunited? Would Benedict's influence again cause him to set aside his compassion and conscience? Would he join the madman in his gruesome experiments?

An arm snaked around her shoulders, and she let out a gasp. But it was only Booker. He gave her a sympathetic smile, and she caught the distinct scent of alcohol on his damp hands as he gently squeezed her arm.

"You all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "Are you finished?"

"Yes. It's safe to look now."

She turned back to the table and found that Tory was again concealed by the white sheet. Booker's tools had been returned to his bag, and the pouch and tube and fang were nowhere to be seen.

"Hopefully Jewkes is too daft to notice a few missing pieces," Booker said with a sly smile as he patted his bag.

"You don't give him enough credit," she said, gazing down at the covered table. "He's smarter than you think. And kinder, too."

There was a long silence as she ran her eyes down Tory's shrouded body. What had her friend been like before Elysium? Based on their limited interactions, she imagined she had been a funny, charming young woman. Would her family ever know what had become of her? Would her beau? Did they even care? Probably not. Elysium was where you sent people you wanted to forget. But Trinket wouldn't forget. She wouldn't forget Tory, and she wouldn't forget who had done this to her.

Benedict Hawk.

Booker leaned his head against hers and sighed. "Shall we head home, my dear?"

She nodded, and he steered her towards the stairs leading back to the station.

As promised, Jewkes was waiting in the hallway. He lifted his eyebrows as they approached, and Booker dipped his head respectfully. "I thank you, Constable, for indulging my scientific curiosity."

"Anything to report?" the officer asked, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall.

"According to my superior medical knowledge, I can guarantee that she was not a vampire, but rather a mentally unwell girl. Considering her behavior, my guess would be hallucinations and paranoia."

Jewkes reeled back slightly. "That would make her bite people? And what about her victims bleeding to death?"

"Coincidence, I'd wager. Perhaps they were indulging in a certain euphoria. You still haven't caught the individual creating those ultra deadly drug concoctions, have you? Maybe that was the cause of the deaths."

Though he seemed unconvinced, Jewkes nodded slowly. "It's possible. I suppose I'll have to look into it further." His eyes darted to Trinket. "And are you doing all right, miss? You weren't harmed in last night's altercation, were you?"

She forced a strained smile and shook her head. "No, Constable. And thank you for your help. I am truly appreciative."

"Well, someone has to protect you." His gaze returned to Booker. "Lord knows your employer is no good for that."

"I'll have you know, Constable, that my assistant is more than capable of taking care of herself. Not to mention keeping me from certain death."

"You're lucky to have her, Larkin, you know that?"

Booker smiled down at her, and the warmth in his gaze filled her heart with unspeakable joy. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"All right, you're making me sick," Jewkes said, nodding his head towards the door. "Get out of here before I change my mind about arresting you."

Trinket and Booker laughed softly as they followed him to the door. He saw them out and bade them farewell with a tired grunt before returning to the station. They made their way back into the center, which was still buzzing with gossip and excitement. But the outlandish stories faded into the background as Trinket thought about her poor, butchered friend. No matter what people said, she knew the truth. She knew who had done this. And though she knew how much Booker cared for his old friend, she wondered if she could ever forgive Benedict for what he'd done.

Booker released a long sigh. "Thank you, Trinket. You've been a tremendous support to me over these past few months. With my work, with this game, with—" His voice hitched, and he swallowed hard before looking down and whispering, "With Gin."

She leaned into him, tightening her grip on his arm. "I'm more than happy to do it."

"You're so good. I don't know what I did to deserve you."

You? Good? Hilarious.

Her stomach dropped, and she turned her eyes away. "I'm not that good."

"Yes, yes you are. You are the best, Trinket. The best assistant, the best friend. I am truly blessed to have you in my life."

Every kind word from his lips only twisted the guilt deeper into her gut, but she pushed the pain away and offered him a gentle smile. "The feeling is mutual."

His grip on her tightened, and they exchanged a pleasantly warm look as they approached the house. However, Booker's focus strayed from her face, and his expression fell. She followed his gaze and found that there was something on the front door. Something organic. As they drew closer, she realized what it was.

A frog.

They stood there on the steps and stared at the dead animal that had been nailed to the door. The nails had been driven through its four webbed feet that were splayed out on either side of its slimy body. And stabbed through its belly was a scalpel.

"Benedict," Booker muttered. He reached out to take the scalpel. "This was his father's."

Trinket watched as he stared at the tool in disbelief. "You recognize it?"

"Of course. It was the first one I'd ever seen."

She took a deep breath. "So that means this is another clue from him? A new game?"

He looked up at the frog, his eyes distant and unfocused. "More like a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"Of how this all started."

Tearing his gaze away from the door, he turned back to her. There were a thousand emotions in his cognac eyes.

Excitement.

Anxiety.

Curiosity.

But there was only one emotion tying Trinket's stomach into knots: utter dread.

"I think this is the final round," Booker said. He returned his attention to the dead frog, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It's time to finish this game."