The morning had started off so uneventful. Not a single customer in shop to purchase our wire-wrapped jewelry or mechanical wonders, and hardly a soul on the streets. At least it gave me time to work on one of my more difficult projects. I sat behind the counter, a screwdriver in my hand as I tightened a wire around a peg. A small tug shaped the wire upwards, enough to put itself between two cogs, and another pulled the remaining wire out of the casing I had designed around the machine's insides before I snipped off the end. A few twists with a pair of pliers turned the copper string into a decorative knob, quaint on the eye and smooth on the finger.

"Perfect," I whispered aloud. "Now I can turn it on and off."

"Turn what on and off?" The croaky voice almost startled me out of my seat, and I pathetically attempted to hide the box in my skirts.

"Evangeline. You wouldn't be trying to invent again, would you?" my father raised a mothy brow.

I sighed, before pulling out my project so that he could see it. "It's excellent craftsmanship darling, but as you know, they call it craftsmanship for a reason. You know I'd much rather you devote yourself to mending or reading."

"But Father," I pleaded. "I find it unfair that you can spend a good amount of your time building. Whether it be the machines we sell, or the smithing of others' hearts, you get to create and build, while I only get to maintain what already exists."

"You think I like being a Heartsmith?" and I could hear the anger begin to rise in his tone. "I hate having to work illegally, working with shady upper class characters. I despise having to steal the parts of other people and recraft their lives so it's exactly how they want it!" He then calmed a bit. "But I do it for you. It's dangerous, but I take every order we get, whether I like the customers, or not, because I want you to live a fuller life. So please, the least I can ask of you is to use that gift of life properly, by living it as you're supposed to, rather than take after a criminal."

"I understand Father." There was no way that I could explain that I would feel like I was living a "fuller life" by having both skills in my arsenal, so I simply dropped it.

He turned away to his own table, the lump in his back becoming more obvious as he hunched over his work, and I placed the box under the counter, in hopes that I could possibly retrieve it later without his noticing.

"I'm sorry. It's just that the last customers left a very bad taste in my mouth."

"Well, the man..."

"Henry," my father filled in.

"Henry, seemed very kind." Father hummed in agreeance. "But his fiance seemed like an awful match for him. I can't understand why they would want to be together."

"I have no clue myself, but some people just hate the idea of having a soulmate. That mankind isn't God. I'm just glad we could get the fluid vessel."

"That's true." My chest still hurt from the surgery, and I didn't feel any different, but at least I was a step closer to being a fully-functioning adult. "They would have been married by now, right?"

"I believe I heard that a week ago, over the radio broadcast. It was a big ceremony, with him being the district's minister and all."

My response was interrupted by a harsh knocking on the front door of our shop.

"Do people not see the Open sign on the door? So rude these days..." he muttered. "Be a dear and go let them in, whoever they may be."

However, I only got a step in when a call sounded from outside. "Cliffton Foster, we know you're in there. Open up in the name of the law!"

"On second thought, I'll open it."

"Father, wait!" I whispered harshly. "What if they arrest you?"

"They couldn't possibly suspect me for being a Heartsmith. I lay low, and nothing looks more suspicious than me ignoring the Mits. I'll just see what they want with me. You stay out of sight."

Ducking behind the corner, I could hear the door open, chiming the bell once again.

"Hello gentlemen. What so kindly brings you to my shop today?"

"Cliffton Foster. You are wanted for suspect on the murder of 'enry Bolleman, and under the alleged act of smithing his 'eart."

Murder? I couldn't believe that the name, so lively only two weeks ago, was suddenly gone, and my father had been here the whole time...

"Wait!" I picked up my skirts, hurrying into the room.

"Evangeline..." my father warned, but I ignored him.

"Please, you can't take him. He's been at home for weeks. He couldn't possibly have murdered anyone!"

"Well, 'e didn't wield the knife, but the woman who did said 'er 'eart was smithed by this man, so it'd be 'is fault. So we gotta take 'im and search the 'ouse, if you don't mind."

Search the house... but... Then it dawned on me. I had never taken the time to clean up my father's supplies. I had been so infatuated with working on my project that the artery pipes and pressure valves were still out in the open, and that wasn't to mention all the pieces to be found by further investigation. I caught my father's eye, and he seemed to understand, while I looked away in shame.

"I'm sorry sirs, but I'm afraid you'll have to run your investigation another day," he concluded.

"What?" the talkative Mit answered. "You can't just-" With a slam, he shut the door, starting to move his way down the multitude of locks, one by one.

"Don't just stand there! This won't hold them off forever!"

"What should I do? Go clean the rooms?"

"No! They suspect me too much already, and this just sealed the case. Do you have your key on you?"

"Of course." I always kept it on a chain around my neck, as I often needed to be wound up more than most.

With that, he dashed off to the backrooms. I glanced around, unsure of what to do. The door pounded next to me to the calls of 'Open up!', and my mechanical heart made to match the rapid succession of knocks. I backed away from it in terror, then took off to follow Father, locking each door behind me for extra protection.

Though I knew exactly which room he did his work in, it was strange to walk in without being prepared for surgery or cleaning. It almost felt new, with its shifting shadows and strange, ticking noises, almost as if it were living its own life, created by the Heartsmith. "There you are. We don't have much time. Here!" He thrust a large amount of supplies in my arms.

"What is all this? Father? Explain what's going on. What am I supposed to do?"

"This is the diagram of your heart. It's how I know what pieces you'll need, without having to constantly open up your scar. You still need seven more. Oh, and this will probably help." He pulled the chloroform he used to sedate his patients off of a high shelf and shoved it into a brown leather pouch.

"What will I need this for? Won't you be fixing my heart, why do I need all this?" I believed I knew the answer, but he couldn't, wouldn't just...

"Evangeline. They're going to arrest me for the murder of Henry Bolleman. I can no longer fix your heart. You'll have to do it yourself. You'll have to get the pieces on your own."

"But how? I'm no Heartsmith. I can't simply..." I tried hard to keep the tears prickling in my eyes from falling. And what will happen to you?

"Hush. You're the best craftswoman that I know. If I can trust anyone else with your life, it's you." He drew me into a quick hug, and I felt a steel knife press against my back. He pulled back. "You'll also need this. It's my best knife. Use it well."

The sound of wood splintering and men yelling echoed in the main room, and my father pushed me away from him, making his way towards the door. "Now go! Leave through the back door."

"You can't just give yourself up!" I cried, taking hold of his hand.

"I can and I shall. They have no reason to take you, and as the man said, I'm responsible for this. Go before you get hurt."

He shut the door behind him, locking it from the other side before I could stop him. I heard him cry out as he was taken by force, while footsteps came closer to the room I hid in.

I burst through the back exit, not even bothering to lock it behind me as I made my way down the flowery hillside. Bushes and twigs tore at my skirts and arms, and mud splashed unto my shoes, but I kept running, trying to make my way back into town.

Most people gave me a look of disdain as I ran along the streets, most likely looking like a ragamuffin.

"Excuse me, Miss. Do you need some sort of help?" My wrist was taken hold of by a tall boy, looking no older than nineteen. Two eyes as green as a cat's peered out from beneath a mop of scruffy auburn hair.

"Oh yes please!" I begged. Then I stopped, wondering what kind of help I needed, and what I could really accept. After all, I could not explain that my father was a recently arrested Heartsmith. I had no food, or a place to stay... but what respectable woman asked that out of someone she just met? I looked down at myself, and the mess I was. I certainly didn't come across as a respectable woman. Fine then."If I could please borrow some food, that would be lovely. I'd hate to ask for anything more." And I'll keep it as simple as that.

"Anything for a lovely dear such as yourself." I noticed that his voice was smooth as silk as he wrapped one arm around my trim waistline, and pulled me off the mainstreet, away from those judgemental eyes, and into a quick sidestreet alone.