A strong gust of wind blew the body against the lamp post, spinning it around so that its back was turned to them. It looked to be a man dressed in shabby, patched-up clothing. There were cuts on his bare feet, and upon closer inspection, it was clear the toenails had been torn off.

"Do you think it's another experimental corpse?" Trinket asked Booker.

Shaking his head, Booker craned his neck to try to see the man's face. "I don't think so. It doesn't seem like there are any added body parts."

Lifting his walking stick, he nudged the dead man and successfully got him to turn towards them. As his face became visible, Trinket was not surprised to find that she recognized him.

Mr. Wotton.

The Mice had clearly made good on their threats, and she couldn't deny being impressed at how quickly they worked. However, their violence and speed only made her worry for Mr. Wotton's poor little girls.

What she hadn't been expecting when the corpse turned towards them was for it to be missing its eyeballs. Even from so high above and in the thick snow, it was clear from the dark sockets that the eyes had been removed.

"The Mice," she said softly.

Booker glanced over at the building they were standing in front of, and she followed his gaze. The flower shop. "Seems to be the case," he said.

Returning her attention to the hanging corpse, she couldn't help but feel a little pity for the foolish man. His thin, white hair blew about as another gust of wind sent flurries of snowflakes circling around his dead body.

"Why did they remove his eyes?" she asked.

Booker shrugged. "As a warning, maybe? Or even just as a form of torture."

"You think they did it while he was still alive?"

"I'm certain they did. Why pass up a chance to inflict more pain on a debtor?"

Despite his logical tone, he looked down at her and twisted his mouth into something between a sneer and a wry smile. Without a word, they continued on home. The cold air seeped through her coat, and she could not get the image of Mr. Wotton's eyeless face out of her head.

What a terrible way to end one's life.

Getting ideas?

As their front door came into sight, Trinket noticed something hanging from the doorknob. When they were close enough, Booker detached it and lifted it up for them both to see. It was a small sack. Exchanging a bewildered look with her, he unlocked the door and ushered her inside.

Once they removed their coats, she followed Booker into the parlour and sat on the settee beside him. They stared at the sack in silent anticipation. Booker carefully untied the red ribbon that held it shut. Then, rather than put his hand inside, he dumped the contents onto the low table in front of them.

Trinket inhaled sharply but managed to keep from gasping out loud. Two eyeballs plopped onto the table like overripe grapes. She stole a glance at Booker. His expression was unreadable, but his jawline was tense, his lips pressed into a thin line.

She knew it was a stupid question, but she asked it anyhow. "Those are Mr. Wotton's, aren't they?"

He nodded but did not speak.

"Why did they leave them here for you?"

He gazed at the eyes for a moment longer before folding the sack and placing it on the table. "I assume as a warning. Or a threat. Telling me to watch myself or something like that." He turned to her and flashed a carefree grin. "They're a creative bunch, I'll give them that."

His sense of humor did not quell the sudden panic seizing her heart. She had dealt with brutish asylum workers, wolves with metal teeth, and even the monsters created by her own mind. But something about the Dead Mice terrified her.

"Booker, what if they come after you? What if they try to get revenge on you for having caught the Wolf before them?"

Shrugging, he leaned back and rested his head on his hands. "As I said before, I'm a bit of a staple here. If I were to disappear, the city would be greatly affected, and not for the better."

His pride was infuriating. "I'm serious, Booker."

"So am I."

He turned his eyes to her, and they wandered back and forth as he studied her expression. She tried hard to look unaffected, but her heart was pounding in her chest as she thought of what horrible things the Mice might have planned for him.

"I've been walking a thin line with them for years," he went on. "From the moment I stepped foot in Tinkerfall, they took an interest in me. And if the Mice take an interest in you, it's as good as a death threat. And yet I'm not dead. They may be clever, but I am far more so. I can beat them. I'm always one step ahead."

Gripping her skirts, she clenched her teeth and leaned forward. "Why do you have to be so arrogant?"

"I'm not being arrogant, I'm just stating the facts."

She gave a rueful laugh. "You're brilliant, Booker, you really are, but you're being stupid and naïve. These men are vicious. They're violent and cold-blooded—"

"Is that a pun?"

She glared at his teasing smile. "I saw the way Scales looked at you during that card game. And the way he spoke of you yesterday. There is murder in his eyes, Booker. Why are you so intent on making an enemy of him?"

Apparently her anxiety got through to him. Lowering his hands, he turned his body to face her. His expression had softened, and there was almost a warmth behind his cognac eyes. Though she had never tasted the drink, she believed that gazing into his eyes was just as intoxicating as the liquor. Her pulse was racing again, although not with the same fear as before.

With something more. Something different . . .

"I understand your concern, I do," he said gently. "But this is not just about beating the Mice. This is about passing the tests that have been set in place for me. The Mice are the ones sticking their noses where they don't belong. These clues, this game—none of it was meant for them. These bizarre events were set into place for me and me alone." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "And now you, but I think my friend would appreciate the value of a good assistant. After all, he had me."

For some reason, she found she could not break eye contact with him. "I'm just afraid something terrible will happen to you."

His smile grew. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to have something in place to keep you off the streets. You've been a reliable partner. I won't let you fall into destitution."

She scoffed and shook her head. "I'm not worried about my wages, Booker. I'm worried about you."

Her words must have amused him, as he raised an eyebrow, and his smile became teasing once more. "So you would miss me if I was gone. I thought I was flattering myself earlier?"

A soft smile tugged at her lips, and she turned away to avoid letting him see that he had managed to lighten her mood, lest the success go to his head. "I'd best clean up these body parts before they attract mice or roaches."

As she moved to leave the settee, Booker grabbed hold of her wrist. She sat back down and looked at him inquisitively. His expression had turned serious, and she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"While I'm not all that concerned with my own well-being," he said, "I must admit to worrying about your safety."

Her eyebrows went up. "My safety? Why, did you hear something in Kineworth?"

Fear that Elysium was searching for her made her stomach twist, although she wondered why they would waste their time on a single escaped patient.

Booker shook his head. "No, not them. I think you're safe from any quack doctors. I'm talking about the Mice."

Tilting her head, she wrinkled her brow as she tried to understand what he was suggesting. "The Mice? You mean because I'm involved with you?"

"Something like that. I just worry that they may use you to get to me, and I wouldn't put it past them to employ violent methods in order to do that. I only ask that you be more careful than usual, especially since Scales has recently approached you."

"Why would they think they could use me to get to you? I'm only your employee. Surely they realize that."

He turned his head away and shrugged nonchalantly. "I mean . . ."

He was still holding her wrist, and she couldn't ignore the warmth from his surprisingly soft and delicate hand. His touch sent a tingling sensation throughout her entire arm. Why? Wasn't it only months ago that he had caressed her bare leg while stitching up the wound she had received from the Wolf? Then why now was this innocent touch making her feel as if she were sitting too close to the fire?

At last, he turned to face her. The intensity of his gaze made her feel like one of the experimental corpses he was so eager to get his hands on. It made her want to shrink back or run away, but his hold on her wrist tightened. He parted his lips, and just as he was about to speak, the bell went off.

The sound broke the spell between them. His expression sobered, and he released her. Clearing his throat, he rose to his feet and dusted off his jacket. Trinket remained seated, rubbing her wrist self-consciously. It felt so much colder now without his touch.

Booker made his way to the front door while she stayed on the settee, trying to gather her jumbled thoughts. However, when she heard him speak Gin's name, she quickly left the parlour to join him in the hallway.

The little urchin was standing in the doorway, a satisfied grin on her face. Her eyes flitted to Trinket as she approached, and the grin grew. "Boy, do I have a surprise for you two."