Trinket's breath caught in her throat.

Booker pushed her towards the stairs and pressed something hard into her hand. She glanced down at it. Boris' whistle.

"You wait here," he whispered. "I'm going to open the door. When I give you the signal, blow."

She tried to protest, but he hurried back to the door before she could utter a word. With her heart hammering in her chest, she retreated several steps back and sat down, leaning into the railing so she could get a better view of the doorway.

Booker's hand was on the doorknob, gripping it tightly. He met her gaze and held it for a brief moment before slowly pulling the door open.

Swallowing hard, she fixed her eyes on the black void of the night, waiting for a flash of those metallic teeth. But there was nothing. Was the Wolf still there? Or had it run off? Had they missed their chance?

She returned her attention to Booker behind the door. He pointed at her, eyes wide with excitement. Fingers shaking, she lifted the whistle to her lips. It tasted bitter on her tongue. Like blood.

His blood.

Pushing the voice aside, she blew into the whistle.

Silence.

And then a whine.

Her heart skittered as two gleaming yellow eyes appeared in the dark.

The Wolf stepped into the light, ears pricked and alert. Booker signaled for her to blow again. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her lips around the metal whistle a second time and blew.

The Wolf let out another whine. It limped forward, nose quivering as it sniffed at the air. Its tail wagged, and she could have sworn the beast actually smiled. It looked eager. Happy. Like it was somewhere good. Somewhere familiar.

Her heart clenched.

No. Someone familiar.

Boris.

Did the Wolf detect the scent of its loving caretaker in the house? Is that what led it to their front door? Was it expecting to find him here? Did it think that he was the one blowing the silent whistle? The whistle that the poor creature connected to a friendly face?

Guilt washed over her as the Wolf met her eyes and gave a sad whimper.

How could you?

You really don't have a heart.

Monster.

The door slammed shut, and both she and the Wolf jumped. They turned to find Booker aiming the sleeping gun, his movements quick and precise.

But the Wolf was quicker.

It revealed its luminous grin in a vicious snarl. The syringe launched forward. The Wolf dodged it, and the needle stuck in the rug that ran down the center of the hallway. Booker was swift to reload, but the Wolf seemed privy to his plans.

Without hesitation, the beast fled.

It flew through the hallway and veered into the kitchen. Booker was on its heels, Trinket close behind. With the door to the dining room shut, it had nowhere to escape to but the scullery.

Crashes from pots and pans echoed throughout the room. The Wolf leapt onto the counter. The sink. Back to the floor.

Booker chased after it but did not shoot.

Trinket watched from the doorway. Her eyes darted between the two, uncertain of what to do, how to help. The Wolf pushed past Booker and bounded towards her. She gasped and jumped away. It skidded into the dresser. Glass shattered as a jar of tea burst into pieces. Booker emerged from the scullery just as the Wolf dashed into the hallway.

It rounded the corner. Crashed into the front door. Made a quick turn towards the staircase. And shot up the steps.

Booker leapt over the banister, taking the stairs by twos. Trinket followed, her skirts bunched in her hands to keep from tripping.

The Wolf escaped into a guest room, jumping onto the bed, throwing the blankets into a tangled mess, leaping at the windows. It pulled down the curtains and became twisted up in them, trapped momentarily.

Booker aimed his gun, but before he could shoot, the Wolf slipped between his legs. The curtains caught around his feet, knocking him to the floor.

The beast sprinted towards the door where Trinket was standing. She stumbled back and hit the wall as it barreled towards her.

The Wolf snarled, long strings of spittle dripping down its chin, ears laid flat against its head. She remained motionless, pulse pounding in her ears. Her vision flickered, and for a moment, she was back in the alley, snow pelting her bruised body, blood seeping from her wounded leg.

This is how it was supposed to end.

You should never have made it this far.

You can't run from fate.

"Trinket!"

Her attention snapped to Booker as he stumbled out of the guest room, freed from the curtains. He raised his gun at the Wolf and fired.

But the Wolf bolted. The syringe struck the floor, inches from Trinket's feet. She released a shaky breath, and Booker raced past her, chasing the Wolf down the stairs. She pushed herself away from the wall and went to follow after them but froze when she saw the scene down below.

Booker and the Wolf were back where they had started. In the foyer. Both panting. Both trembling. Neither moving.

Booker aimed his weapon.

The Wolf bared its metal teeth.

Trinket took a sharp breath and gripped the railing. Watching. Waiting.

Booker's trigger finger twitched.

The Wolf lunged, closing its jaw around the gun and destroying it in two swift bites. Letting the ruined weapon crumble from its mouth, it turned its attention to Booker.

It jumped at him. He raised his arm in defense, and the beast sank its ungodly teeth into his flesh.

"No!" Trinket cried out, nearly tumbling down the stairs as she leapt forward to help.

The Wolf lost its grip on his arm, and Booker took that opportunity to grab the fur around its neck, pushing it away from him as it snapped its teeth dangerously close to his throat.

A cold panic ran through her as the world slowed and blurred. She smelled blood. Thick waves of it. Where was it coming from? Oh, please, not from Booker.

Screams. Were they his? Or hers?

Laughter. The voices. Mocking. Mocking her. Mocking her helplessness.

He's going to die.

And it's all your fault.

No! She would not let him die. She could not let him die.

She searched for something, anything she could use to help him. Oh Lord, why had she been so stubborn about the gun earlier?

She gasped. The gun!

Her eyes locked onto the weapon, just feet away from the stairs. It must have fallen out of Booker's jacket when the Wolf attacked him.

Not wasting a single second, she grabbed for it and stepped back, fumbling with the weapon as she tried to remember what Booker had taught her.

"Keep your feet apart."

She slid them into position like he'd shown her.

"Aim the barrel."

With trembling hands, she lifted the gun.

"Focus on the target."

She fixed her gaze on the Wolf's thrashing body.

A tremor ran through her as a memory stirred.

Darkness. Scraping. A wolf.

No. An ungodly monster.

She blinked hard, desperate to stay in the present. No. This wasn't the same as then. This wolf was real. It was real.

But how can you be sure?

Can you take that risk again?

After all, you've nearly killed him once already.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage as doubt crept into her mind. What if they were right? What if this was another hallucination? What if she shot at a wolf that wasn't there? Was she about to repeat her sins from that terrible night?

Was she about to kill another innocent man?

Booker let out a strangled cry, pulling her back to reality. Giving her head a shake, she tightened her grip on the pistol and squared her shoulders.

No. This was different. This was real. It had to be.

She couldn't make the same mistake twice.

Oh, yes you can.

"Take a deep breath," she whispered, repeating Booker's instructions out loud.

She inhaled.

"Hold it."

She sucked in her lips, eyes focused on the silver hide of the Wolf.

"And pull the trigger."

Her body shook from the momentum of the bullet leaving the pistol. But she quickly recovered and kept her attention on the Wolf as she squeezed the trigger a second time.

And a third.

And a fourth.

And again and again, until the gunfire was replaced by a hollow clicking.

Lowering her weapon, she blinked against the smoke curling up from the hot barrel. There was no movement in the foyer, and for a terrifying moment, she feared she had shot Booker. But then there was a groan, and with great effort, the mad scientist lifted himself up as much as he could with the weight of the dead wolf on top of him.

She dropped the gun and sank down onto the stairs, her entire body seized with trembling. He was alive. He was alive. Thank heavens, he was alive.

Another groan came from below. She tried to force herself to move, to go help him, but her muscles wouldn't cooperate. Instead, she clung to the staircase and met his eyes.

He held her gaze, and something flickered behind his eyes. Something warm and tender. Giving up on trying to free himself from the Wolf, he let his head fall back to the floor with a grunt. Eyes still on her, he let a soft smile spread over his face.

"Thank you, my dear," he sighed.

Her body deflated with utter relief. "Of course," she replied, her lips twitching into a tired smile. "As your assistant, keeping you alive is one of my top priorities."

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement and gratitude. "And you are by far the very best assistant a scientist could hope for."