The darkness of the night hung on the world around us, casting shadows only slightly more daunting than the task in front of us. I heard Oliver sigh next to me as the last light faded from the Gadgeteer's house. He stood, stretching his arms above his head and pushing in the small of his lanky back. "That's the last light, so he must be heading to sleep now."

"Do you actually have a plan you feel like relaying to me, or must I come up with one? I refuse to run into another mess for every piece we find," I felt the need to clarify.

He tossed his head over his shoulder to look back at me, the moon's light alighting only the side of his freckled face. "Little Miss Logic needs a plan, does she?" He looked forward again at the house, his voice becoming more serious. "Fine. From what we saw before, his house is cluttered. Our main issue isn't getting in, but not being caught once we're in there. If we can avoid tripping or setting off anything that could make noise, then the next step is to find where he would keep pieces. There doesn't seem to be a set workroom though. It's almost as though his whole house is meant to be the workplace, so that's another difficulty."

"Not particularly," I responded, to which I sensed his curious eyes on me, urging me to continue. "No one in their right mind would construct anything in their own kitchen or lavatory. The bedroom doesn't make much sense either. He might not be the neatest fellow, but this appears to be a very small house, without even an attic. So he either works in the room we sat in before, or he has a cellar. Either way, it shouldn't take long."

"That makes sense. So, shall we head out?" My eyes widened as he extended his hand towards mine to lead me towards the house.

I took it, raising a thin eyebrow at his gesture. "If you wanted to dance, all you needed to do was ask," I said with a smile.

"And if I wanted to steal?" He sent back as the door to the house loomed before us.

"Then you don't need to say anything at all."

It should have been given that the man would be distrusting enough to not leave his door unlocked, but I tested the handle anyway. After having it seized up twice in my hand, I gave up, inspecting the lock. I sighed. "Well, it's your turn, Ragamuffin."

In response, Oliver rolled his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that, and what exactly do you expect of me?"

I glanced back at the keyhole. "Isn't it obvious? Pick the lock. Don't you know how to do that?"

"Oh sure. I suppose you think every thief can do that." He glanced at my face, before realizing that was exactly what I thought. He sighed. "No Eva... I specialize in pickpocketing. Reaching in pockets and slipping behind counters. Fake smiles and charisma, not entering people's homes in their sleep! Besides, you already dumped out my belongings the other day. There were no lock picking tools in there." He crouched down and peeked at the keyhole again. He paused for a moment, before looking at me, but I could only shrug. It certainly wasn't my specialty.

"This is ridiculous! A world of keys and keyholes, and that's what's going to be the thing stopping us now!" I felt my cheeks puff up with air, as tended to happen when I became frustrated, and I blew it out forcefully into the cool night air.

"Hold on," I finally heard Oliver speak, and he opened up his suitcase and pulled out the box of hair dye once again. "This might work."

"You want me to blow a hole in the door? Do you understand how loud that is? It will ruin our cover entirely!" I whispered fiercely. Whatever is he possibly thinking?

I watched him open up the box. It was empty. That's right! I realized. I used the bottle to make the explosion. There isn't anything left of it. However, he began to fold open up the sides of the box, folding it until it became a flat net. He held it up, not to the keyhole, but the crack of the door itself, bending it around the molding until it was firmly wedged in. With a push, I could hear the spring of the lock pushing against its will until it was out of the door frame.

"Wow..." I whispered as the door opened to reveal the dark room before. "To sound like a certain someone, you're a bloody genius!'

I heard a confident laugh beside me as Oliver reached up to scratch his nose. "I know."

Stepping ahead, I squinted my eyes to try and make out the shapes before me. Boxes and bundles of wire lay carelessly on the floor as well set as any trap. A clicking noise kept repeating somewhere in the background, but I couldn't tell what it was coming from. Making our way around the room, I sought out shelves, desks, tables. Anything that would have pieces spread out on it, but each one I found only contained more tools or materials for the many other projects I supposed he did. I heard Oliver gently step over to me, before whispering, "I don't believe this room has anything we're looking for. Let's try the next one."

The living room was clearly the main room in the house, exiting out to a hallway that led left to two rooms, and then right to what appeared to be the kitchen, lavatory, and one last door.

"I say go left," I announced. "The two rooms give us more of a chance in finding it than the one." Oliver nodded to this, taking a few steps towards the first one in line. Pressing my ear against it, I could hear the sound of snoring, along with the ticking I had heard before. I shook my head, and we moved down to the next. With no lock, it swung open to reveal a bedroom, all blue, and the walls lined with paper recipes. This time Oliver shook his head, so we quietly made our way to the right.

I put my hand on the final door, and pushed down, but it seized up the same as the door did. Once again Oliver tried to slide his box along the edge, but it was stopped every time, no doubt by a deadbolt. Removing it, he began to tap his foot impatiently. "Well, what now. He can't possibly not have the pieces, if he constructed all those Automatons, and it has to be in here, by process of elimination."

I thought for a moment. He's right. The pieces have to be here, and they have to be in that room. The only thing stopping us from being in that room, is the lock. The lock can't be picked, or pushed aside, which means the only option left is to...

"-Remove the lock," I finished.

"What?"

"We can't pick the lock, so we have to get rid of it."

"You say that, as though that makes it any more possible. How are we supposed to 'get rid of it'? Are we supposed to blow it up again?" Oliver threw up his hands in frustration.

"What is it with you and being set on blowing things to smithereens?" I shot back. "No. There has to be something else we can do." I looked at the lock. It was metal, appearing to be zinc, or perhaps magnesium, with its uncorroded silver sheen. I tried to think back to when I found my father's notes on heartsmithing. The interesting thing about those two metals was that they were never used for heart pieces, as being born a ZincHeart or MagnesiumHeart wasn't possible, nor were they even truly words. That was a good thing though, in the grand scheme of things, as they were very susceptible to acid, and heartburn would become very literal, and therefore dangerous...

"That's it!" I whispered, almost to myself.

"What is it? Can we actually get rid of the lock?" Oliver asked, eyes shining up at me.

"Yes, with any luck," I answered. "Are you aware that there can never be a Zinc or MagnesiumHeart, since the metals are very weak to acid?"

"You want me to upchuck on the lock?" It was almost a shout in disbelief.

"Shhh! And no, that's disgusting! If I can, I'm going to make a different acid, one that's much quieter than trying to empty your stomach. Now, help me find a matchbox, I need to see something."

Within a few minutes, Oliver had managed to find a few matches, and handed them to me. I accepted them with a simple thanks as I headed to the lavatory.

"You aren't going to use them to see?" I heard him asking, but I shook my head.

"I'll be using them to see, but not in the way you think." With that, I stepped into the lavatory. I sniffed the air, but of course, what I needed I wouldn't be able to detect as simply as that.

"Oliver, do you remember what made the Luftsturm as dangerous as it was?" I asked, taking hold of one match, ready to strike.

"Of course. It floated using this really light air, but the air was supposedly very liable to catch on fire. If the slightest thing went wrong, it would be gone in an instant," he muttered.

"Correct, and that air had a very specific name..." I struck the match, watching the flames spring up happily, reaching almost a full foot in the air before dying down as I blew on the source.

"Hydrogen."

Hello. It is I, the author. Due to peer pressure, I have made my own discord, where we talk about  books, writing, and memes. We even have custom emotes of Oliver and Eva created by yours truly. If you're interested, feel free to join the link below. Other than that, thanks as always for reading!

Link: https://discord.gg/R3mGd7JhKU