The sun was just beginning to rise when Gin's eyes flew open. She could barely hide her smile as she scrambled to her feet and raced through the slums. She darted across the streets and wove her way around night flowers and drunks stumbling over snowbanks.

There was already a crowd waiting for the steam engine at the station. She ignored the locals and instead searched for any out-of-towners. None. Blast. She'd have to stick around for the engine to drop off a new slew of folks.

Luckily, it didn't take long. As the steam engine rolled in, the people lingering outside the station climbed into the cars while a wave of passengers came streaming out. She scanned each and every one of them, quickly registering any familiar faces and promptly ignoring them. For each stranger, though, she checked to see if they had a newspaper in their hand.

Three. There were three papers. Two clutched in the hands of gentlemen who looked to be of good breeding and another stuffed in the back pocket of a young woman who was hauling a bag of goods over her shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, Gin went for the young woman. It took her only a few seconds to lift the paper from the woman's pocket and stuff it into her own coat. Next, she set her sights on the gentleman whose paper was tucked under his arm. Pulling her hat over her eyes, she broke into a run and crashed directly into his long legs. In an attempt to steady himself, he dropped his paper only inches from her feet.

"Watch it, you little street rat," he growled, dusting off his coat.

"Sorry, mister," she replied, snatching up the paper and running off to find the second gentleman.

Fortunately, he'd been stalled by a night flower who was playfully running a finger up and down his chest. She stood on her toes to whisper something to him, and based on how red his ears and neck got, it must've been awfully randy. Her hand trailed down his chest again, but this time it went further. The gentleman dropped his paper, and Gin swooped in to grab it, quickly taking her leave to avoid seeing what exactly the night flower was doing.

With all three newspapers in her possession, Gin ran back to St. Spittel. A warm glow spread through her chest when Booker Larkin's house came into view. Picking up speed, she practically crashed into the front door as she stumbled up the stairs. She paused to straighten her coat and hair. Then, letting out a long breath, she rang the bell.

After a moment, the door swung open. She couldn't keep a delighted grin from her face at seeing the odd doctor standing before her, especially when he was sporting a pleased smile of his own.

"Ah, Gin, my dear," he said, leaning against the doorjamb. "Fancy seeing you here so early in the morning."

"Prime hours for pick-pocketing," she replied, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet.

He chuckled softly, and she thought it was the best sound in the world. "What can I do for you today?" he asked.

"More like what can I do for you?" She pulled the three papers from her coat and handed them over to him. "Snatched 'em up fresh this morning."

He raised his eyebrows as he glanced down at the papers. "Didn't the steam engine just come in?"

She nodded. "Yep. A few minutes ago."

His eyes flickered to her, and he gave another soft laugh. "You are something else," he said as he dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. "Excellent work, my dear."

Accepting the money, she stuffed it into her coat and casually examined her dirty fingernails. "It was nothing, really. They didn't know what hit 'em."

"I have no doubt."

"So, uh," she peered up at him through her lashes, "why're you so interested in newspapers?"

A half-smile pulled at Booker's mouth, and he tapped his head with the papers. "Research."

She raised an eyebrow. "Research? I thought you were a doctor."

"Yes, and a good doctor is constantly striving to improve upon his talents through research."

"And newspapers help with that?"

"Well, I'm also a scientist, so my interests do sometimes stray beyond medical discoveries."

Gin bit her lip to keep from prying any further. She didn't want to get on his bad side or give him reason not to trust her. Thus far, he'd shown a lot of faith in her for only having known her a few months. He didn't get angry when she asked questions, and he didn't resent her sarcastic retorts. In fact, he seemed to love them. But she always tried to keep her distance for fear she'd overstep her place. After all, he was a rich doctor and she was an insignificant urchin. He could drop her in an instant if she did something to displease him.

And for some reason, even the thought of that happening made her chest ache.

"Well, I'll keep my eye out for any out-of-towners toting around papers," she said. "Is there a particular town or city you're interested in?"

Booker gazed down at her for a long moment, those warm, curious eyes assessing her from her stolen bowler hat down to her holey, oversized boots. She panicked. Had she gone too far? Had she crossed the line? Was he going to drop her already?

There was a shift in his stare. Glancing about the street cautiously, he leaned down closer to her. "Actually, there is," he said, his voice low. "Can you read, Gin?"

Her heart sank. "Not exactly. But I can recognize the letters if people show them to me and tell me what they mean," she said quickly, hoping she could keep from losing this sudden confidence.

He nodded slowly and glanced about the street again as he asked, "Would you care to come in for a cup of tea?"

Come in? Into his lavish house? While the exterior looked like the other run-down buildings, she'd seen the men working on the interior before Booker moved to Tinkerfall. They'd carried all sorts of fancy things inside. She was certain the house was as spectacularly beautiful as the man who owned it.

That last thought drew her brows together. Spectacularly beautiful? What the heck did that mean?

Pushing her confused feelings aside, she glanced up at Booker with a lazy grin. "I could use a pick-me-up, I suppose."

Jerking his head towards the inside of the house, he gave her a warm smile. "Come on in."

She entered and found herself in a foyer. It wasn't overly fancy, but there was a coat rack by the door with a well-tailored coat and top hat, as well as a walking stick that was certainly worth a pretty penny. A flight of stairs was in front of her, set off to the right and leading up to the second floor. She couldn't see too far beyond them, but she wagered a guess that's where Booker's room was. And likely guestrooms, too, based on how many beds she'd seen the men carry in.

"Please, make yourself at home," Booker said as he led her into a parlour and motioned to an elaborate settee. "I'll go brew us some tea."

He exited through a door towards the back of the room, leaving her to take in the decadence around her. She'd never been inside a proper home before. Aside from the dilapidated buildings she often took shelter in, the only other places she'd been in were the Clocktower and the shops in the city center.

None of them held a candle to this place.

The walls were red and gold, decorated with mirrors of every size, as well as strange, colorful paintings. A fireplace crackled at the end of the room near the door that Booker had disappeared behind. Various ornaments and figurines were scattered over the mantle, each sinister and dark yet strangely beautiful.

She ran her hands over the silky red settee on which she sat. It felt the way she imagined the fancy dresses of the gentlewomen in the market felt. She worried she might ruin the material just by sitting on it. There were creepy faces carved into the dark wood frame that seemed to be mocking her. One particular face reminded her of Ford, and she could almost hear his voice echoing in her head:

Bloody, filthy street rat. Who do you think you are tryin' to replace me with some fancy doctor? Yer nothing without me. Nothing.

"Shut up," she mumbled, covering the leering face with her hat.

"All right, then," Booker said as he returned with a silver platter filled with tea things. He set it on the low table in front of the settee and sat beside her. "How do you take your tea?"

She wrinkled her forehead at the question. She'd never actually had tea before and wasn't even sure what one put into it. "Ah, however you make it is fine."

He handed her a cup and took the other for himself. She sniffed at it as he pulled a pen and a piece of paper from his pocket. "So," he said, balancing his cup on his knee while he wrote something on the paper, "I'm particularly interested in any newspapers from Noxbury."

Holding the paper up, he revealed to her messy, scraggly handwriting. She squinted at it for a moment, trying to recognize the letters. "That says Noxbury? It looks like a lot of scribbles."

He turned the paper back to himself and frowned. "Sorry, my script is a tad unreadable at times, depending on how distracted I am."

As he set his cup aside and wrote out the word more slowly, Gin took a sip of her tea. Her lips puckered at the bitter taste. Why did rich folks find this so appetizing? She tried another sip and nearly scalded her tongue on the piping hot liquid. Tea apparently had more bite than gin.

"There we are," Booker said, holding the paper up to her. The letters were no more recognizable, but the handwriting was a bit neater.

She looked the word over and over as she slowly mouthed "Noxbury." After a while, the letters seemed to combine and take on meaning. "All right, I think I got it."

"Excellent." He took up his steaming cup and raised it to his lips without even flinching. "I've put some ears out over in Noxbury as well, so hopefully something will come up."

Running a finger around the rim of her cup, she stole a glance at Booker. "What exactly are you looking for in Noxbury?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but other than that, he didn't let on that the question had thrown him. He cast her an easy smile and replied, "When I find it, I'm sure I'll know."

She deflated a little. So he didn't think she was completely trustworthy. But he had let her into his home. And given her tea, as disgusting as it was. And just letting her know about his interest in Noxbury was something. Maybe with time, he'd trust her even more.

Her gaze strayed to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, and her eyes went wide. "Oh, blast, is it really that late?"

Placing the teacup back on the table, she jumped to her feet and ran for the door. "It's barely past dawn," Booker called after her. "How can it be late?"

"I have another appointment."

As she pulled the door open, he leaned against the doorjamb and smiled down at her. "Should've known someone as talented as you would be in high demand."

His praise sent a wave of warmth through her entire body, and she had to turn her face away for fear a blush would rise in her cheeks. "Yeah, but, you know, I have priority customers."

He chuckled softly. "Then I'll have to work hard to become such a customer."

Her heart pounded as she tipped her hat. "Until next time, Mr. Larkin," she said, heading out into the street.

"Stay safe, Gin."

That strange, warm sensation stayed with her even as she ran through the slums and hurried down the stairs to Ford's hangout. However, it quickly disappeared when she heard screaming and crashing coming from the other side of the door. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the doorknob.

"Ford, would you calm down?" came Cloyd's voice over the ruckus. "You're destroying the place."

"This is the third time. The third time that little scobberlotcher hasn't shown up. That lying piece of scum. After all I done for her, this is how she repays me?"

Another crash and the sound of splintering wood. She winced, imagining the scene—broken chairs, shattered bottles, spittle flying out of Ford's flapping gums as he raged. If she stepped foot in there now, she'd be a goner.

"She's not worth it. She's just one flea-bitten street rat. Would you settle down?"

A smash and a string of curses.

"Blast it all, Ford, you nearly gave me a shiner!"

"I'll give her worse than a shiner when I get my hands on her."

That was more than enough to convince her. Stepping away from the door, she quietly made her way back upstairs and into the slums. Once outside, she hurried off to the city center. She needed to lie low for a while until Ford calmed down.

If he calmed down.

"Gin, what're you doing here?" Madison asked as he emerged from the alley between the butcher shop and the bakery. "Don't you have a job to do for Ford this morning?"

Hooking her arm with his, she dragged him towards an alley across the street. "Yeah, no way I'm dealing with him right now. Might bite my head off."

They plopped down on the hard, snowy ground. "Were you late again?" Madison asked, rubbing his arms against the cold.

She sighed and drew her coat closer. "Yes."

"Because you were with that doctor?"

"His name is Booker Larkin."

"Gin, you're going to get yourself killed."

"I've stayed alive this long."

"You can't keep working full-time for both of them. It just isn't gonna work. You gotta drop one."

"I'm not dropping Booker," she snapped.

Madison drew back at her sharp response. "I didn't say you had to. But do you think you can cut ties with Ford?"

"Without dying?"

Running a hand down his face, he let out a long breath. "I wanna see you happy. But I also wanna see you alive."

She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "It's too early for me to think about this right now. I'll deal with Ford later, when he's not foaming at the mouth."

An arm went around her shoulders, and when she opened her eyes, she found Madison smiling softly at her. "How 'bout some breakfast?"

Furrowing her brow, she echoed, "Breakfast?"

He pulled out a loaf of bread from his pocket and held it out to her. "I may have been practicing my lock-picking over at the bakery."

A grin pulled at her lips. "That door's been picked so many times, it's practically useless. I think it may be as old as Scales."

"Older, probably." Madison pulled the loaf apart and handed her the slightly larger half. "But it makes for an easy breakfast."

Forcing the offered piece back into his hands, she grabbed the smaller portion and took a bite. "And good company."

She flashed him a smile, and he chuckled before digging into his piece of bread. But despite the good company and warm breakfast, she couldn't shake the dread in the pit of her stomach as Ford's rage-filled words echoed in her head.

~

Gin checked the station every day. She'd practically memorized the schedule, hoping that the more often she went, the more likely she'd be to find something worth Booker's praise. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't beat down that odd, warm sensation she felt whenever she thought about him complimenting her skills. She couldn't wait to see that charming smile again, especially if she was the cause of it.

It was near midnight, and the last engine had just taken off, leaving only a handful of passengers behind. They were all locals, though, and none of them held any newspapers. Cursing under her breath, she shuffled her way back to St. Spittel to settle down until morning when the next engine would come in.

The city center was eerily quiet, even considering the hour. Everyone was probably trying to beat the chill down at the Clocktower. She couldn't blame them. It was bitterly cold, too cold for it to snow. There were plenty of frozen snowbanks lining the hard dirt road, though. Pulling her worn coat tighter around herself, she tried to ignore the frosty tendrils of air seeping through her old, beaten boots. It was no use complaining. She was lucky to have any boots at all. Still, they hadn't saved her toes from frostbite, and by the feel of it, a few more were bound to turn black by the end of the night.

When she rounded the corner, she was met by a dark, hulking figure. She staggered back, her heart leaping into her throat. Her eyes darted about in search of an escape, but the stranger had backed her into a wall. She turned to the figure, and as it stepped into the moonlight, Ford's ugly face came into view. Her shoulders sagged in relief until she noticed the calm rage burning in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile. "Hey, Boss," she said, attempting to keep the tremor out of her voice. "I was actually just on my way to see ya."

He responded with icy silence.

"I kept meaning to talk to you sooner. I feel bad about missing the last few jobs. I had a real awful cold. Didn't wanna pass it on to ya, so I thought it'd be safer to keep my distance."

Still, he continued to glare at her with that uneasy stillness.

"But, as you can see, I'm well and dandy now." She gave a nervous laugh as she silently prayed for a way out. "So, got a job for me? I'm all yours."

After staring at her for a moment longer, Ford grabbed her around the throat and lifted her off the ground. His thick fingers squeezed tight, quickly cutting off her air supply. She gasped for breath but found none at her disposal. Panic seized her chest, and she clawed at his arms with no success.

Letting out a guttural growl, Ford threw her into the brick wall behind her. Her head hit it with a sickening crack, and a sharp pain raced down her neck. But she could breathe now, and she greedily took in large gulps of air before he could grab at her again.

"You little roach," he hissed between clenched teeth, lifting his leg.

Still weak from the lack of air, she wasn't able to avoid his massive boot as it swung for her belly. It hit her straight on, sending her skidding back into the wall. She doubled over and gave a sharp cry, but she refused to let tears spill from her eyes. Crying would blind her and put her at more of a disadvantage.

"Who do you think you are?" Ford continued, kicking her again. "Standing me up like that? You're nothing! You're scum."

His third kick landed on her nose. There was a dull crunch and a burst of pain that spread from her nose to her eyes. Blood poured from her face, and a ringing in her ears made it difficult to hear what other horrible things Ford was saying about her. The blood, the ringing, and the pain were all she could focus on as he kicked her over and over and over.

And then it stopped. Well, the kicking did. Squinting through the blood and the tears that had finally escaped from her swollen eyes, she found that Ford was on the ground beside her, blood trickling from a cut on the back of his bald head. Standing over him was another figure, though it was hard to make the person out through her fuzzy vision.

"Gin."

Wait. She knew that voice. Why did she know that voice?

The mysterious figure knelt before her, and up close, she recognized the man's handsome face, even as it was scrunched up in concern.

"Booker Larkin," she mumbled.

A nervous smile flickered across his lips. "At least your memory is intact," he said. "Though I am unforgettable, so it might not count."

He ran his hands over her, quickly but gently. She winced when he got to her nose, and he pulled away. He glanced over her body once more before tucking his walking stick under his arm and carefully scooping her up.

"Where're we going?" she asked as he stood up.

"To take care of your nose."

"I'm gonna bleed all over your fancy coat."

A short, breathy laugh tickled her ear as he held her closer. "You are certainly worth more than a silly piece of clothing. But I would recommend not bleeding too much, for your own sake."

"Can I actually control that?"

"If anyone could, it'd be you."

He rushed her back to his house where he laid her down on his fancy settee and then disappeared. She stared up at the ceiling, marveling at how even it was beautiful. Everything about this place was beautiful. The furniture, the wallpaper, the paintings.

And especially the man who called it home.

"All right, then," Booker said as he came back to the parlour. "Let's start by fixing that nose."

He placed a leather bag on the table and opened it to take out a rag and a bottle of liquid. Wetting the rag, he proceeded to wipe away some of the blood on her face. When he got too close to her crooked nose, a sharp pain pulsed through her face, and she couldn't hold back a wince.

"Sorry," he said, setting the rag aside and pulling out a clean one along with another bottle. "Just wanted to be able to get a better look."

"What's that stuff?" she asked, watching as he poured a tiny amount of liquid from the second bottle onto the clean rag.

"Ether. It'll help to dull the pain when I set your nose."

She shook her head. "I'm no stranger to pain."

"Yes, but I don't want to inflict any more pain on you than I have to. Now, breathe deeply."

He gently pressed the damp rag to her nose and mouth. Despite her objection, she obeyed and took deep breaths. It smelled rather nice. Almost sweet. And it made her feel light and happy. She was disappointed when he removed it from her face.

"All right, this still may hurt a tad," he said as he positioned his thumbs on either side of her nose.

With one swift motion, he snapped it back in place. There was a sharp pinch, but it was nothing like the pain from earlier. He gave her face a quick once-over before taking up the first rag again and cleaning off the rest of the blood.

"I'll check for any serious damage, though, from what I can tell, nothing too vital was injured," he said, gently dabbing at her dirty face.

She watched him for a long moment, still enjoying that light-headed sensation from the ether. Was that what was making her feel so warm and happy despite the cuts and bruises? Or was it because of the gentle but slightly unhinged doctor kneeling in front of her?

"How did you find me?" she asked.

"Pure luck," he replied, finishing up with her face and turning to the rest of her battered body. He placed firm hands on her belly and pressed down. "Tell me if there's any sharp pain."

"Nothing but bruises."

"You're sure?"

"Trust me, I know what bruises feel like."

His eyes flickered to her but then quickly returned to his work. "Who was that man?"

He moved from her belly to her ribs. There was a tiny ache when he added pressure to her side, but he let up as soon as she winced. "Just a drunk," she said.

"That seemed like more than a random attack from an inebriate. It came off as a bit more personal," he said as he felt her ribs once more, taking care around the sore spot.

"I might've done a job for him once or twice. Mustn't've liked my work."

Booker finally turned his gaze to her and smiled that smile that sent warmth through her entire aching body. "I can't imagine anyone being displeased with you, Gin," he said.

The warmth only grew at his praise, and she was surprised to find tears pricking at her eyes. Not tears from the pain. No. These were happy tears. Had she ever shed happy tears before?

Well, tonight certainly wasn't going to be the first time. Not in front of this brilliant doctor. Shaking her head, she turned away and examined her dirty nails. "I should probably get out of your hair before I bleed all over this fancy furniture of yours."

She made to get up, but Booker pushed her back down. "Not so fast. You need rest."

"I can rest just as well in the abandoned brothel, thank you very much."

Again, she tried to leave, but he wouldn't let her. "You need rest indoors with a trained professional monitoring you."

Heaving a sigh, she crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at him. "Trained professional?"

He grinned. "What, you think I'm making all this up as I go along? Of course I've had training. Now, wait here while I clean up and make you some tea." Gathering his supplies, he headed out of the room but turned around and gave her a firm but humored glare. "No running off. Promise?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. But only this once."

With one final smile, he disappeared, leaving her alone once more. She did consider slipping out while he was occupied, but breaking a promise to Booker Larkin made her stomach uneasy. So she stayed put like she said she would, and within a few minutes, he returned with a tray of tea and something mechanical.

"I've been meaning to give this to you, and I think now's as good a time as any," he said as he took a seat beside her and handed her the mechanical object.

Brow furrowed, she stared down at the device. It was small, fitting in the palm of her hand. It looked like a bird. More specifically, a crow. It was made with tiny pieces of metal and gears. The detail was remarkable. She almost expected it to open its beak and caw at her.

"This is for me?" she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

He smiled. "Something I've been tinkering with. Thought you'd get more enjoyment from it than I would. Here, let me demonstrate."

Taking the tiny bird, he twisted the little winder under its tail several times and then held it out in his hand. A whirring sound erupted from the mechanical beast, and the wings began to flap. Then a small propeller rose from the bird's back, and the toy took flight. It buzzed about the room like a mad fairy, nearly crashing into mirrors and furniture.

Gin's eyes widened as she watched the mechanical bird's wild display. She'd never seen such a thing before. Even the local tinker wasn't able to create anything this delightful. For a brief moment, she stole a glance at Booker. He was watching her rather than his creation. When he caught her eyes, he raised his eyebrows playfully. Why would such a genius doctor make something so whimsical?

The buzzing of the crow sputtered, and the toy started to lose height and speed. Booker rose to his feet and caught it before it fell to the ground. Returning to her, he smiled and placed the mechanical creature in her hand.

"You could sell this," she said. "Are you sure you really wanna give it away?"

He sat back down beside her and took up a cup of tea. "I don't exactly see it as 'giving it away.' It's more like a gift of appreciation for my very hardworking and loyal associate."

A gift? She looked down at the toy again, but it seemed different now. Brighter, larger, even. That warmth spread throughout her chest once more as she gently fingered the bird's brass wings. Ford had never given her anything other than black eyes and nosebleeds. In fact, no adult had given her a gift before.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she swallowed them down and carefully closed her hand over the bird before glancing up at Booker. "Thank you."

A gentle smile spread over his face as he took another sip of tea.