Gin watched from behind a barrel, keeping her eyes open for her target. It was barely dawn, but there were still people wandering about—shopkeepers opening their doors, street sellers readying their wares.

And her urchins set up along the road.

Of course, no one who passed by would notice them. They blended in with the filth scattered everywhere. Some were huddled together, trying to stave off the cold of the early winter morning. Others feigned sleep in dark alleys. And some, like herself, were hiding in the shadows.

Watching. Waiting.

And then it came. A wagon filled with boxes and crates, rolling along faster than it should've been considering the holes in the frozen dirt road. The fellow who delivered to the general store had a reputation for whipping his horse up into a frenzy towards the end of his route, eager to get home after his long trip. Tinkerfall was always his last stop, which meant he arrived in the city with heavy eyelids and a careless manner, faults that Gin had every intention of exploiting that morning.

Her eyes flitted to the alley across the street where a figure in a flattened top hat waited, his head down and his arms crossed over his chest. But when her gaze fell upon him, it was as if he sensed her attention. Madison looked up. Gin gave a small nod, and he returned it with a nearly imperceptible one of his own.

Holding her breath, she watched as her friend darted out of the alley and ran towards the street. The wagon continued on at full-speed, the man in the driver's seat unaware of his surroundings, including the urchin boy who was just crossing paths with his horse. For the briefest moment, a surge of fear pulsed through Gin's body as the urchin and the large creature met.

And then there was a blur of confusion.

A wild cry from the horse.

The wagon crashing to a halt.

The driver shouting over the screams of the nearby passersby.

And Madison lying still on the ground, red liquid trickling from his head.

But Gin didn't have time to dwell on the horrifying scene. Setting her sights on the wagon, she hurried to the back where her fellow urchins were already gathered. One of the boys handed her a long metal bar, and without a moment's hesitation, she hopped onto the wagon and began prying open the crates and barrels. Other urchins joined her and tossed the goods inside the crates down to those waiting on the ground.

In a matter of seconds, they'd taken a decent chunk of the wagon's goods. When there were no more pockets to fill, Gin jumped down and carefully peeked around to where the driver was standing by Madison's still body. He was making a terrible fuss, insisting that the urchin had appeared out of nowhere. Another man in a bowler hat hurried to the scene, kneeling before Madison and feeling his arms and legs.

Oh, no. A doctor.

They had to end this thing fast. Biting her lip, Gin took a deep breath and darted out into the street. She ran by the doctor and slowed down just enough to snatch the hat from atop his head. Thankfully, this managed to snag his attention for a split second, and as he looked over his shoulder, ready to shout after her, Madison leapt to his feet and bolted away.

"What the—" the driver said as he watched the urchin run.

"You bloody moron," the doctor said, rising to his feet and preparing to chase after Gin and his hat. "It was a set-up. Hey, you! Get back here!"

But she was already veering into a nearby alley, squeezing between the iron bars before the doctor of generous girth could see where she'd gone. Still, to play it safe, she continued to run a twisted and dizzying course until she reached St. Spittel. Without batting an eye, she slipped through the broken basement window of an abandoned building and landed expertly on her feet. Madison was tearing down the stairs when she arrived.

"Good save," he said, removing his flattened top hat and scratching his lice-infested mop of brown hair.

"Who'd've thought a doctor would be out at this hour?" she said, slumping against the wall.

"Probably trying to get home before his wife finds out he was with a night flower."

"Sounds like an upstanding gentleman to me."

"All doctors are, right?"

Gin's grin faltered as she caught sight of the red liquid still trickling down Madison's head. She approached him slowly, and as she reached out to wipe it away from his dirty skin, her heart squeezed tight. It only relaxed when she rubbed the sticky substance between her fingers and reassured herself of what she already knew.

"Waste of good food," Madison said, holding out his hat to show her the mess of strawberry preserves inside.

"Sure did look real from where I was standing," she said as she wiped her hand on her trousers, still slightly shaken from having seen her friend bleeding on the road, even if it had all been a ruse.

He rubbed his arm. "Some of it was."

Grabbing his wrist, she pulled his sleeve up and discovered a massive bruise forming below his elbow. As she looked closer, she found a number of scratches and cuts as well. "Dangit, Madison, this was supposed to be a fake accident," she said, releasing him.

He shrugged. "Comes with the territory. Besides, we got a good haul, didn't we? So it was worth a few scrapes."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "It was pretty good. Put a decent dent in his shipment."

"And you got a nice hat out of it."

Madison leaned forward and gave the rim of her bowler a tap. She smiled as she adjusted it slightly to keep the oversized hat from falling in front of her eyes. "It is kinda fetching, isn't it?" she said.

"Almost as fetching as those silly ribbons you like to hoard."

Scoffing, she turned her nose up dramatically in imitation of the gentry women she always saw in the market. "I wouldn't expect someone so uncultured to understand true fashion."

A snort of a laugh escaped from Madison's lips, and Gin broke character as she joined in on his laughter. "So where're the others meeting up?" Madison asked.

"The old brothel."

"Should we go join them?"

Gin heaved a sigh and turned back to the window. "You go. I got another job to do."

She reached for the sill and was just barely able to brush her fingers over the edge. "Ford? Really?" Madison said as he followed her. "You're still working for that moron?"

"Course I am," she said, straining to get a grip in order to pull herself up.

"Why?"

"Cuz I can't afford to stay alive without him."

"He hardly pays you anything, and he's always finding some excuse to pay you less and less."

Letting out an exasperated sigh, she glared at him. "Would you stop your yapping and help me up?"

Though he rolled his eyes, he cupped his hands together and gave her a boost. She wriggled her bony frame out the window and into the alley, and when she had dusted herself off and fixed her hat, she turned back to Madison. "Make sure the others split it up fairly. Some of them are sneaky," she said.

"I know, I know. Be careful, all right?"

"As if I ever get into trouble."

They exchanged amused grins, and then Gin took off towards the Clocktower.

~

For the early hour, there was a considerable crowd in the alehouse. She wasn't sure if they'd come first thing in the morning or if they'd been there all night. It didn't matter, though. None of these drunks were who she was looking for.

She made a beeline for the stairs, treading so lightly that she didn't draw a single bloodshot eye from the crowd. Careful to avoid the creaky steps, she made her way up to the rented rooms. The hallway was dark and relatively quiet. There were a few groans and thumps from behind one or two of the splintered doors, but for the most part, the patrons were still passed out, either from exhaustion or alcohol.

As the numbers on the doors jumped into the double-digits, her heart began to beat a little faster. Fourteen. That was the room number Ford had given her. A pit of dread settled in her stomach when she reached the door bearing the faded number, but she pushed her fear aside and pulled out her tools. They were nothing more than a collection of hatpins and nails that she had bent and shaped to fit her needs. Still, they'd been reliable and had gotten her into places she was not supposed to be for a couple of years now. At only eight years old, she was one of the best lockpicks in the city.

And Ford knew it.

But as she worked the lock with a hatpin, she couldn't help but wonder if her skills were really the only reason he'd sent her on this job. She remembered the look on Hopscotch and Toad's faces when Ford had briefed her on the assignment. It had been something between guilt and pity. Not Cloyd, though. He'd looked more pleased than ever. Which made her worry that this task was more dangerous than Ford had let on.

The familiar click from the lock alerted her to her success. She set aside her reservations and tucked the tools back into her pocket. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the doorknob and pulled it upwards as she slowly pushed the door open, knowing the Clocktower's reputation for its poorly maintained rooms. Thankfully, the hinges kept silent long enough for her to open the door a crack and slip into the dark room.

The stench of sweat and vomit hit her first, almost strong enough to make her eyes water. The room was a mess. Of course, the wallpaper was peeling and there were mysterious stains on the curtains and blankets like in all the other rooms. But besides that, there were clothes strewn across the floor and over the end of the bed. She was careful to sidestep a woman's tattered corset, and from the looks of the laces, someone had torn the undergarment off of the unfortunate lady who had been wearing it. In addition to the clothes, there was also broken furniture scattered about the room. A chair had lost a leg, and a small writing desk had been overturned. And the bed was lopsided, one of the legs having been broken off. There was even a dent in the floor where the heavy frame must have landed.

And in the broken bed was a snoring man. His beefy, hairy arms were wrapped around a woman who was asleep beside him. There were bruises all about her neck and what looked like bite marks on her bare breasts. And was that dried blood under her nose?

The man's snoring faltered for a moment, and Gin flinched, expecting him to bolt upright and come at her. But no, he simply smacked his lips together and tightened his grip on the woman who winced slightly but did not stir as his snoring grew louder.

Relief flooded Gin's chest, and she stopped lollygagging and got to work. Stooping over to examine the trousers on the floor, she kept one eye on the thug in the bed and the other on the contents she pulled out of the pockets. Nothing but coins and cigarettes. She pocketed these and moved on to his boots but found even less success there.

Grimacing as she crouched by the foot of the bed, she fixed her eyes on the sleeping brute. It must be on his person. Made sense. She had just been hoping not to have to get close to him.

With a trembling breath, she rose to her feet and tiptoed to the side of the bed, taking care to avoid any floorboards that looked particularly squeaky. As she gazed down at the thug's bloated, scarred face, Hopscotch and Toad's worried expressions flashed through her mind. She had no idea who this man was, but if those two louts were afraid of him, he had to be bad. And judging by the night flower's injuries, he was strong, too. And brutal. If he woke up and found her rifling through his things, there was no telling what might happen to her.

She shook her head and set her jaw. What did it matter? Living on the street, she wasn't likely to have a long life anyhow. This was a fact she'd come to accept at a very young age. Might as well go down fighting. Still, dying for the likes of Ford was not all that appealing. But she really had no choice. It was either risk potential harm from this stranger or risk certain harm from Ford.

Leaning over the slumbering man's body, she tried to catch a glimpse of his fingers. His left hand was gripping the night flower's shoulder, but those fingers were bare. Continuing her search, she found that his right hand was buried between the woman's breasts. She stifled a curse as she glanced about the room, trying to come up with some way to get him to move his hand. Her eyes snagged on a feathered hairpiece amidst the piles of clothes. Scooping it up, she approached the bed again and steeled herself for potential disaster.

With the slightest tremble in her hand, she brushed the feather over the thug's nose. His snoring faltered, and she fell back a step as her breath caught in her throat, almost sending her into a coughing fit. But she managed to hold it back, and the man continued his snoring. Clenching her teeth, she repeated the action, and this time, the man's snoring ceased. He pulled his right hand away from the night flower's chest and swatted at his nose, mumbling under his breath before letting his arm hang over the side of the bed.

And there it was. The ring.

Placing the hairpiece back on the floor, Gin slowly crawled towards the dangling hand. The ring was quite gaudy. It was a thick, gold band with an ugly face at the top with diamonds for eyes. Something about the face seemed sinister and mocking. It was no wonder Ford wanted it back. It was practically his twin.

Very carefully, she tried to slip the ring off the thug's finger. Unfortunately, his fat finger was swollen around the metal band. Casting a wary glance at the bed, she found he was still snoring heavily. She took several deep breaths before returning her attention to the task at hand. Grabbing his wrist as tightly as she dared, she tugged at the ring and nearly tumbled over as it came off of his finger.

She smiled down at her prize, pride swelling in her chest. Part of her thought Ford had given her this job just to see her fail. The fact that she hadn't and was now able to throw her success in his face made her momentarily forget where she was. All she could think of was how high Ford's stupid eyebrow would go when she came to him with this ugly ring.

Something grabbed her shoulder and violently jerked her back. She almost fell over as she was spun around to face the no-longer-sleeping thug. His lips were curled into a snarl, and his sausage fingers tightened on her shoulder when he caught sight of the ring in her hand.

"You thieving rat," he growled, throwing her to the ground.

Despite the dangerous situation she knew she was in, she squeezed her fist around the ring as she tumbled to the ground. Her head hit the floor hard, and her hat went flying off her head. Briefly, her vision dimmed. But then it was back, just in time to see a large, hairy foot with a blackened big toe coming at her face. She was too slow, and it collided with her nose, resulting in a sickening crunch.

"Teach you to steal from me," the thug growled as he grabbed her shirt and hauled her to her feet only to shove her into the wall.

The force knocked the wind out of her, and she nearly dropped the ring in her panicked attempt to regain her breath.

"Stop!" cried the night flower from the bed. "She's only a child!"

The thug swung his fist at Gin's jaw, knocking out several teeth and sending her flying to the floor once again. "She's a bloody thief, is what she is," he said, his voice muddled and distant as Gin's ears filled with warm blood.

"You're killing her!" came the desperate plea from the night flower who was still cowering in the bed.

Killing her. She was right. This thug was going to kill her. She was going to die. And what for? For Ford.

Lord, this was not the way she wanted to go.

As the thug turned to fetch the broken chair in the corner, Gin wiped the blood from her eyes and rolled towards the pile of clothes nearby. Grabbing the boots, she quickly tied them together and waited for the thug to come back. As he moved to finish her off with the chair, she tossed the shoes towards his feet. His eyes were fixed on her, so he didn't notice his own boots right in front of him.

She could've sworn the room shook as his massive body fell to the floor, landing on the chair in his hands. The chair splintered beneath his weight, and the look of surprise on his face was strangely satisfying. But Gin didn't have time to bask in her success. Gritting her teeth, she scooped up her hat, scrambled to her feet, and stumbled towards the door.

"You little—"

He reached out and caught her ankle, nearly tripping her. But she had reached the doorknob and held onto it with all her might, knowing that if she went down again, there'd be no getting up.

And then a soft ting-ting caught her attention.

She looked down. The ring had fallen from her hand and was rolling in circles just inches from the thug. His eyes darted to it, and she realized this could be her chance to escape.

But there was a strange sensation in her chest at the thought of leaving the stupid piece of jewelry behind. She could imagine that smug look on Ford's face when she proved him right about her worthlessness by returning empty-handed.

No. Ford wouldn't win this one. If this job killed her, she wouldn't be dying for him.

She'd be dying for her pride.

As the thug released her ankle to grab for the ring, Gin's hand shot out and scooped it up just as his fingers brushed against the metal band. Another growl escaped his lips, and he turned to catch her leg again, but she quickly opened the door and slipped into the hallway.

"You blasted, little—"

She slammed the door on him as he was pulling himself to his feet. Tucking the ugly ring into her pocket, she willed her screaming muscles to move, and before the thug could even stumble into the hallway, she was already scurrying down the stairs.

Her head was throbbing and her vision and hearing were going in and out as she rushed through the crowded Clocktower. She wasn't sure if she drew any attention to her beaten, bleeding self, but she was too focused on moving to notice. If she didn't keep going, her body was sure to shut down. And she couldn't stop. Her job wasn't done. Not yet.

Somehow she found her way to Ford's hangout. Practically falling down the stairs, she hung onto the railing and tried to catch her breath, her lungs aching with every inhalation.

Toad and Hopscotch saw her first. They gasped at the sight of her and nearly rushed over to help before they froze and turned their eyes to Ford who was sitting at the table with Cloyd. Their leader hardly looked up from his cards to acknowledge her presence.

"Took you long enough," he mumbled, taking a long drag on his cigar. He turned to her as he let out a puff of smoke. "So d'you get it?"

More sweat and blood had dripped into her eyes, and she wiped it away before limping over to the men. The two toadies stared at her with slack jaws, and as she approached the table that Ford and Cloyd were sitting at, she was surprised to see genuine concern in Cloyd's expression. Digging a hand into her pocket, she pulled out Ford's stupid ring and slammed it on the table, right by the small pot of pennies and tobacco.

Ford scooped it up and gave it a lazy once-over before slipping it onto his finger. He admired it for a moment and then pulled a pathetic handful of pennies from the pot and handed them to her. "Next time, don't bleed on it," he said, his teeth still clamped on his cigar as he played his next card.

She wanted to throw the coins in his face. She wanted to tell him she quit. She wanted to slice open his thick, dirty throat.

But she was no fool. She was a poor, unloved, unwanted street rat. If she didn't take Ford's money and jobs, she'd never make it. And neither would the urchins she worked so hard to help.

Stuffing the coins into her pocket, she turned away without a word and limped back up the stairs.

"Boss, don't you think—"

"I don't like being told what to think."

"Ford, the girl looks bad," Cloyd said.

"Stop coddling her, you blasted meaters!"

Their voices disappeared as she shut the door behind her and continued on into St. Spittel. She had to keep going. If she stopped, so would her body. And she refused to die in the presence of those cads.

She didn't know how long she'd wandered through the slums. She just remembered feeling hands on her arm and a familiar voice in her ear.

"Gin? Gin! Blast it all, what happened?"

She was pulled into a nearby alley where her legs finally gave out beneath her. But she didn't crash to the hard, dirty ground. Gentle arms were around her, and they eased her down until she was sitting against a brick wall. Blinking through the thick fog in her brain, she looked up and found Madison kneeling beside her.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice nearly a whisper as he dabbed at her bleeding nose with his sleeve.

"Just a little complication with the job. Nothing serious."

Blood dribbled down her chin as she spoke, and she spit out a mouthful of it before attempting a smile.

"We need to get you to a doctor," Madison said.

She scoffed. "How're we gonna afford a doctor?"

"You need help. If you—"

"I just need to rest. Stop being such a nag."

Madison clenched his jaw, his eyes wandering back and forth as he considered her for a long moment. Finally, he released a long breath and removed his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. "Can't believe you got beaten this bad but still managed to hang onto your hat," he said as he settled down beside her.

A weak smile pulled at her mouth. "Hey, couldn't let a nice hat like this get away from me, could I?"

He looked up at the morning sky. "How long're you gonna be so loyal to that jerk?"

"I ain't loyal to him."

Madison stole a glance at her. "You nearly died for him today."

"No, not for him. For me. For my pride. I wasn't gonna let Ford be right about me being a failure."

"What does it matter what he thinks?"

"It doesn't."

But it did. Even though she despised Ford, he was all she had, really. Even if he showed her absolutely no affection or concern, there was something that kept her tied to him. Maybe it was the fact that he was the only person she'd known since before she could remember. Maybe it was because he was the only adult who'd ever noticed her. Whatever it was, some invisible string tethered her to that revolting brute no matter how much she hated him.

And she had no idea what could break that attachment.

"Hey, Madison?"

The boy turned his attention to her. "Yeah?"

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Tell me again about your family?"

"My family? Why d'you wanna hear stories about ghosts?"

"Cuz I'm delirious. Just do it."

He didn't argue and started to tell her the same stories she'd heard a thousand times on cold, winter nights as they tried desperately to keep from freezing to death. Tales filled with warmth and love that ended in heartbreak and tragedy. And even though revisiting his past always brought tears to his eyes, Madison had no idea that she would give anything to be able to look back on her own life and have someone to miss. Someone who loved her. Someone she loved.

Someone she'd be willing to die for.

Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine what it must be like to have a family. A family that loved her and cared for her and appreciated her hard work. A family that smiled and teased and laughed. A family that would actually protect her instead of trying to send her to her death.

Would she ever know that kind of warmth?