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“Harrow,” I said in frustration, breath collecting in short, sharp gusts.

“Ah, yes, the girl from Scurry.” His eyes dragged over my sullied clothes and smudged face. He shook his head and said. “I barely recognize you.”

“And I, you.”

We stared at each other for a long time, both of us trying to piece back together a version of the other that had only existed before the world made us mean and full of fault.

“Youleftme,” I told him, my voice heavy with old pain. “Youbroke us. And you may have come to regret it, but I do not owe you sympathy for whatever pain you feel now.” I did not cry for him. I had purged him from my heart years ago. “If you want to hurt me, then—”

“Do you love him?” Theo asked, his voice quaked. “I heard you, in the tunnel. Have you honestly fallen in love with him?”

“I—I have a job to do,” I said. “That’s all.”

But whatever Theo saw on my face told him otherwise. He nodded, laughed dryly, trembled. “He’ll kill you, Nina,” he told me. “And when the barrel of his pistol is pressed between your eyes, you’ll wish you’d listened to me. You’ll wish you’d never discarded what we had.”

I remembered those last weeks in the Artisan school, clutching desperately to his fading promises while he did his best to ignore me. “We were only children, Theo. I hardly remember what we had.” Blood pulsed in my ears. “But I bet you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to forget.”

I watched Theo’s eyes bulge, watched a delicate puce climb his neck and mottle his face. I watched him kick a dustbin as he passed it and stalk away into the dark. I watched him until he became dim and distant.

I exhaled in a gust. Clutched my sides.

“Don’t think any man could ever recover from that,” said a voice, and I turned to find Patrick in his coat. He leaned against brick render, his arms crossed at the chest. “Might as well’ve run him through with a blade.” It was said casually, but his eyes were assessing. I could feel them peeling back my layers.

My stomach fluttered. “You were listening?”

“Only to the finale,” he said slowly. “I promise.” He came toward me slowly, hiding his hands in his pockets. “You all right, Scurry girl?”

I nodded, somewhat weakly, and closed my eyes. “Will you take me back to Colson’s?” Tears choked the column of my throat.

“Whatever you want, darlin’,” he said. He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. “Always.”

CHAPTER 54NINA

I disentangled myself from Patrick’s arms long before dawn.

The day had seemed endless and mottled, and though I’d spent much of it in Patrick’s embrace, I could not ignore the sensation that I was shackled to a train track, a steam engine thundering closer and closer.

Find the Alchemist, I told myself.Find him, and it will all be over.

So, I did not sleep. While Colson & Sons curled in on itself, I rose in the frigid night.

I slipped through the unguarded door and descended the stairs. I made it to each landing with barely a creak.

The pub was dark and devoid. It was simple enough to tiptoe around its bar to the other side, to slip behind the counter and wrap my hand around the doorknob.

It would not turn. I tried uselessly once more before ceding. There must be a key somewhere. In Patrick’s pocket, perhaps?

At that moment, the doorknob rattled of its own accord. It pulled inward. Light flooded my feet from within.

I shrunk sideways before it could open completely, sinking to the floor beneath the countertop, just in time for Tess Colson to appear.

She came into her bar slowly, rubbing her eyes. Already there was an apron around her waist. She coughed soundly into her fist, then wiped hermouth with a handkerchief. For a moment, she simply stood and caught her breath, her eyes closed. Then, she collected a tray of crockery on the counter before her and turned on her heel, carrying it back the way she’d come. I listened for a snick of a lock, but none followed.

When my heart had dislodged from my throat, I crawled out of my hiding place. I tentatively pressed my ear to the door and listened.

But there were no sounds on the other side of the door. No clashing of dishes. No belching boilers or shoes on the tiles. It seemed there was no presence at all. Either Tess had walked into the kitchen and ceased all movement, or she’d left via a back door. I decided to bet on the latter.

I pushed the door in on a fully lit kitchen. There was indeed a boiler, a stove, an industrial clay oven, but none were lit. The room was large and lined with counters. An ice chest dominated half of one wall, and along the other were wooden shelves, lined to the ceiling in corked amber bottles, sealed vials, jars, and, in some cases, unmarked cans.