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“Been waitin’ for you!” Sam greeted him, and he pressed the envelope into Patrick’s hand. “The water Charmer asked me to give you this.”

“Theodore?”

“Said it was important you get it tonight,” Sam nodded. “Gave it to me outside the scrapyard.”

Suspicion surged. “The scrapyard, you say?”

“Aye. Scottie says he weren’t in the tunnels today, like he was s’posed to be. No one’s seen him. Gunner and Donny are out lookin’ for him now.”

Patrick’s stomach hollowed.

“Do you think he’s taken off?” Sam asked, rocking lightly from heel to toe.

Patrick looked down at the envelope in his hand. It was sealed unevenly. “Thank you, Sam,” he said. “Get out of the cold.”

Sam nodded. “?’Night, Pat.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and strode away.

Patrick frowned at the letter for several moments before opening it. The lamps above offered an aura with which to see.

He recognized the bulletin immediately. He’d seen it a hundred times in towns all over Belavere Trench. A likeness of Nina, her aliases written above, the reward for her capture below.

It was old and faded. Its crease lines were deeply entrenched, as though the paper had been opened and refolded many times over. Perhaps carried in the pocket of someone who badly sought the person portrayed on it.

Along the borders was a frenzied ink scrawl.

Patrick read the message once, twice, a third time, his heart seizing in his chest with every pass.

Colson,

It isn’t you she wants.

It’s the Alchemist.

Long live Belavere.

His knuckles turned white.

But by the fourth pass, he was sure that the words were desperate, hysterical. The grand finale of a man turned inside-out by jealousy. Of course he would throw in one last wrench before departing.

The water Charmer was running. Sore hearts could fracture loyalties, and Patrick should have seen it coming. He cursed.

By now, Theodore could have taken a tunnel headed in three different directions. He would send Scottie, or Otto. They were the quickest underground. They’d bring him back one way or another. And if Theo had made it onto some distant train or narrow boat? Well, Patrick had enough contacts throughout the brink. Enough people who owed him a favor.

The boy knew of their plans. And they needed Theodore if they were to break through the Gyser. Even if Patrick had to drag him, Theodore Shop was coming back.

Patrick took his lighter from his pocket and considered burning Theodore’s last words. The man was riddled through with jealousy. He’d say anything to come between them.

He let the flame hover just beneath a corner for a moment. Two moments.

But he didn’t burn it.

He closed his eyes and saw Nina’s likeness, watching him curiously. He thought of her mother, locked away in Belavere City. He thought of the strangled quality in Nina’s voice when she’d begged him to just give up Domelius Becker, concede the Alchemist in exchange for their loved ones. Had she thought him callous, to dismiss the idea so thoroughly?

Nina trusted him. She had chosen him.

“She trusts me,” he repeated, trying to let go of the rotten tendency in his gut that made him only ever see the world coldly, that made him believe the worst in people.

He crumpled the bulletin and shoved it into the breast pocket of his waistcoat, against his pounding heart.