Panic clawed at Trinket's chest the closer they got to Primrose Street. Again, she was reminded of the police station nearby and how easy it would be for someone to call the authorities should this caper go wrong.

"You're not going to faint, are you?" Booker teased.

She shot him a glare as they slipped through the shadowy streets. Gin was in the lead, confident in her steps as they neared the apartment building. Trinket had never picked a lock before and did not even know where to begin. Daphne admitted that her skills were subpar at best. So instead, Booker called on Gin to help. She seemed to have forgiven him for abandoning her earlier that day when Trinket had feigned her faint, and she was now ready to use her abilities to once again assist Booker in less-than-legal activities.

And breaking into a person's home was most certainly illegal.

Someone stumbled out of one of the buildings to their left, and the three of them sank into the shadows. But it was only a drunk vomiting in a bush. After a few seconds, he passed out in the melting snow. Trinket let out a trembling breath as they continued on their way.

"Don't be so worried," Booker said. "We aren't going to get caught."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because we're all very clever people. Besides, if we do get caught, I doubt our friend will call the police. Snatching bodies is just as illegal as trespassing. If anything, he'll only try to kill us. Which, I might point out, is also very illegal."

"That is not as reassuring as you think."

He gave a soft chuckle and tightened his grip on her arm.

The apartment building came into sight. It looked bigger than before, looming over her like a beast in the night. It was no different from the other apartment buildings scattered about the city, but the knowledge that they were about to break into it and potentially anger a man who had viciously broken a tea shop girl's hand made it seem far more menacing.

The front door was open, and they walked in without a fuss. It was quiet, which made sense considering it was two in the morning. Still, Trinket was on high alert, knowing that this city never truly slept. The walls were whitewashed, and even in the dark, she could see a number of stains, likely from the water that was dripping from the roof, creating a small puddle in front of the stairs. Booker closed the door slowly and motioned for them to go up.

The steps creaked loudly, and the three of them froze for fear the sound would alert those in the rooms nearby. But it became clear after a few seconds that no one paid any attention to the noise outside their rooms. They continued on until they reached the third floor. There were several doors facing them, though none were numbered. Trinket turned to Booker and raised her eyebrows. He cleared his throat quietly and paced over to the first door. He held up one finger as he passed it, a second upon reaching the next, and then stopped at the third, flashing a smile and three fingers.

Gin wasted no time getting to work. She pulled out a set of pins and began fidgeting with the lock, her fingers moving expertly and her eyes focused.

"What if he's already in there?" Trinket whispered to Booker as they watched Gin.

"Good. Then we'll tie him up and get the information out of him."

There was a click from within the lock, and Gin pushed the door open. It let out a whiny creak as it revealed a pitch-black room. Trinket took a deep breath and held on tightly to Booker's arm. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before leading her inside.

It was a closet of a room. There was hardly space for the cot in the corner and the washstand beside it. Trinket was relieved to see that the cot was empty. In such a small area, she doubted there was anywhere someone could be hiding.

The door creaked, and both she and Booker jumped. They turned to find Gin closing it as she stuffed her pins away. "What're we looking for?" she whispered.

Booker looked about. "Anything that can give us an identity."

They searched every possible place they could think of—the bed, the window sill, the loose floorboards. But they only found spiders, cobwebs, and suspicious mold growing on the walls. There didn't even appear to be a change of clothes stashed away. Whoever this man was, he had few if any possessions, and he kept them on his person.

"Now what?" asked Gin as she surveyed the room once more with her hands on her hips.

"I suppose we could wait here until he returns and then take him by surprise. Or—"

Booker stopped, his eyes widening. Trinket opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but he held up a finger to silence her. Slowly, he made his way over to the door, careful to keep the floor from creaking under his weight. His eyes narrowed as he strained to listen for something outside.

Silence.

Silence.

And more silence.

He turned back to Gin and Trinket, letting out a relieved breath.

And then the door flew open.

Someone swung a long, heavy object at Booker's head. He ducked just in time, but the object made contact with the washbasin, knocking it to the floor with a loud clatter. The attacker continued to swing, and Booker dodged each assault until the person swung low and hit him squarely in the abdomen. Booker fell back with a grunt. Trinket caught him but nearly toppled over at the force with which he had been thrown. Gin helped to right him as the person prepared for another attack.

"Get back, go!" Booker said, pushing both Gin and Trinket out of the way and distracting the attacker by running further into the room.

The attacker followed him, leaving Trinket and Gin to scurry towards the door. Gin's eyes were wide with horror, and Trinket's heart pounded as she watched the attacker raise his weapon once more. In the dim moonlight coming through the window, she could see it was a shovel caked in dirt. It cut through the air with a heavy rush, and Booker blocked it with his walking stick. However, the attacker was much stronger than he was. Booker's knees began to buckle as the two stood in a trembling stalemate.

Gin charged, attacking the assailant from behind. She clung to his neck and beat him with her fists. Her blows had no real effect on his muscular body, though that didn't stop her from trying.

"No!" Booker called out.

Still, her attack had caused the assailant to let up slightly on Booker, allowing him to scramble away and search for something to use as a weapon besides his walking stick. He went to dive for the fallen basin, but the attacker, who had succeeded in shaking Gin off, swung the shovel once more. Booker managed to roll away as the rusted metal slammed into the floor where his head had just been. Again, the assailant lifted the shovel to attack, and Trinket could see that Booker would be hard-pressed to get away this time. Her mind raced as her eyes darted between Gin curled up on the ground and Booker struggling to get to his feet as the attacker advanced on him.

And then she remembered that she herself was in possession of a weapon.

Racing over to the attacker, she grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Clearly taken by surprise, he offered no resistance and looked confused when he saw her standing before him. She took the opportunity to pull out her faux perfume. He stared at her for a moment before a grin broke out on his face, revealing the whitest teeth she had ever seen, obviously amused at her attempt to frighten him with a beauty product.

And then she released two squirts of the concoction inside, aiming directly at his eyes.

His agonizing scream echoed through the room. Doors were thrown open outside. Shouts and murmurs carried up the stairs. Trinket watched in shock as the young man before her dropped his shovel and clawed at his eyes. They were swelling and tearing up, making it impossible for him to open them.

Booker was the first to move. He scrambled to his feet and scooped Gin up into his arms. Rushing to the door, he grabbed Trinket. "Come on, come on!" he said, dragging her into the hallway.

The voices were coming up the stairs, and Trinket could see the flickering shadows against the wall as the neighbors downstairs carried up candles to investigate the commotion. Booker skidded to a halt and glanced about desperately for another way out. Someone hissed his name. They turned to find a girl poking her head out from behind one of the doors.

"Get in here, quick!" she said.

They didn't have time to think as the voices drew closer. She ushered them inside before closing the door and locking it tight. She then dragged a chair over and jammed it under the doorknob. Satisfied with her work, she brushed her hands off and focused on them.

"I should have known you'd be trouble," she said, her voice vaguely familiar.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" Booker asked between gasps for breath.

Retrieving a match, she struck it against the wall and lit a nearby candle. She held it up so that the light illuminated her face. Dark hair framed her hollow cheeks and nearly hid the long scar trailing from her left ear to the corner of her mouth.

She gave a lopsided smile as recognition dawned on their faces. "For such a smart doctor, you sure are stupid."