“I’m guessing you need a forged declaration of death,” Mr. Sorokin said. “And, so you can find yourself work under whatever name you assume afterward, some forged letters of reference.” He had done this kind of work often for people needing to create new identities; it’s why she’d sought him out.

“The death declaration needs to be dated about three weeks from now, giving me time to earn enough coin for making the jaunt away from London.” And time enough to see, one last time, if there were any chance of something deeper growing between her and Baz.

“I have a press I can use,” he said. “It’ll take me a few days, maybe a week. Maybe more.”

She nodded her understanding.

“You’d be taking too great a risk coming here again. Not only might you be recognized, there’s a chance someone would see you and find us. It wouldn’t be safe for these children to be moved any sooner than is necessary.”

“What did the children do to earn the Mastiff’s wrath?”

“It wasn’t anything they did. It’s that they are associated with someone who did not bow to his threats.”

“And they’d either be bait or indiscriminate casualties.”

Mr. Sorokin nodded again. “He threatens poor people into doing his bidding and blackmails influential people into hurting each other and punishes anyone who stands up to him. He’s gained power quickly and is using more tactics than we can keep track of.”

The little boy approached with near-silent steps, though Gemma heard him. She looked in his direction, as did Mr. Sorokin.

“Miss Gemma,” he said, his dust-sprinkled brow tugging low. “Are you really one of them Kincaids?”

There was no use denying it. “A right shame, i’n’it?”

“People are afraid of the Kincaids. More than they used to be.”

The girl approached their table as well, watching Gemma with a knowing look and an expression too tired for someone so young. Poverty and pain did that to children on the streets of this city. It had done it to Gemma by that age.

“I was out fetching us food the other day”—the girl looked quickly to Mr. Sorokin—“real carefully, like you said.” Her gaze returned to Gemma. “The Kincaids is looking for someone. No one knows who, but that family—your family—don’t stop when there’s something they want.”

The little boy nodded his agreement. Mr. Sorokin asked him something in slowly spoken Russian. The boy answered in the same language. The children were shooed away, and when Mr. Sorokin looked back at her, his gaze was even heavier.

“They’re looking for me, ain’t they?” she asked.

“As soon as you have these papers, Gemma, get out of London. Your family has more power than they used to. You won’t be safe from them for long.”