"Everyone is in place, Sergeant."

Abberline stepped from the carriage to the muddy stones of the alley, straightening his tie. "Then let's begin."

He stood back as his men breached the doors of the factory, Constable Burke barking, "Metropolitan Police! This is a raid!" Officers filed inside. "You have—er—" Burke trailed off, and beyond him his fellow officers' invasion slowed, then stopped. "What the hell?"

Over their heads, Abberline could see the problem. A mess of dead Blighters framing their equally dead foreman, inventively hanged from the gangway by his own scarf. And past them—milling about on the far side of the vast factory—workers, Rooks, and a solitary figure in black.

Abberline sighed. And because that didn't feel like quite enough, he sighed a second time. "Burke, Hodges, you stay here and take care of the bodies. The rest of you can go back to Scotland Yard." He dug his pipe out of his pocket, knowing he'd need a soother to get through the rest. "I'll talk to the Rooks about how to use legal channels to deliver justice."

As he crossed the factory floor, the Rooks finally took notice of police presence and started to stir, murmuring to each other and to their boss. For his part, Jacob Frye seemed unconcerned by the police's arrival at a murder scene he'd coordinated. He was crouched in front of a young girl—no doubt one of the child laborers Abberline's men had come here to free after weeks of evidence-building. They were playing a clapping game, Jacob's big hands meeting her small ones gently.

"Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold,
Pease porridge in the pot, nine days old."

Jacob matched her clap for clap, word for word. He wore a smile the whole time, but it looked far less wicked and far sweeter than what Abberline was used to.

"Some like it hot, some like it cold,
Some like it in the pot, nine days old."

Looking down at them, Abberline cleared his throat and said, "Frye."

Jacob spared a split-second glance up at Abberline before catching the girl's hands and whispering something to her that made her giggle and trot away. Abberline was about to ask what he'd said when Jacob stood up—fluid, abrupt, and far too close. He could practically—no, he could definitely smell him. Leather and gunpowder and sweat.

"I like it hot, personally," Jacob said, smile gone from kind back to wicked.

Abberline gulped. "Come again?"

"Pease porridge. And porridge generically," Jacob supplied, tilting his head. "Do you think anyone likes it nine days old, or is impossibility the consequence of children making up rhymes?"

"Frye," Abberline began again. He took a step backward, where the man's hypnotic powers weren't quite so potent. "Care to explain what happened here?"

Together, Jacob and Abberline looked back across the factory. And right on cue, Hodges lost his grip on the foreman's body and dropped it on directly on top of Burke. Burke yelped, Hodges called, "Sorry!" and Abberline took a stabilizing breath.

"We liberated a factory," Jacob said, plain.

"You murdered a bunch of men."

"Oh, a couple of women too," Jacob pointed out.

Abberline pinched the bridge of his nose. "For God's sakes, Frye…"

"What? They weren't innocent…"

"Innocence," Abberline interrupted loudly, "is to be determined by the justice system. Not by you and your bloody gang!"

Jacob crossed his arms with an incredulous scoff, like he'd never heard anything so ludicrous. "These people were running their factory on the backs of children!"

"And we were here to arrest them!" Abberline replied.

Jacob lowered his eyes, and for a foolish moment Abberline thought he'd finally led him to reason. Then, shaking his head, Jacob murmured, "It's not enough."

"Come again?"

"These bastards," he said with a sweeping motion at the factory, "would never land in prison, and you know it. Besides, this goes higher than either of us can reach. Dismantling production is the only way to get results in time to save more kids from this life."

Jacob waved off his men who, unnoticed by Abberline, had begun looming protectively on the edge of their conversation as its volume increased. They went, and Jacob advanced back into Abberline's space. The man's clever gaze was difficult to hold at any distance, but this close? It was like staring at a bloody eclipse.

"We have an arrangement through Greenie," Jacob reminded him softly. "We provide you bounties, and you look the other way while we conduct our business. I'm happy to negotiate with you on most aspects of the deal, just—not this."

Jacob had dipped his head to try and follow Abberline's gaze, and giving up on that, he reached forward and tipped up Abberline's chin. Warmth spread from Jacob's fingertips over Abberline's face, then through the rest of him. Knitting his brows, Jacob said, "Please?"

"Yes," Abberline said, slapping Jacob's hand away. "Fine."

And just like that, the look of earnest concern melted from Jacob's face and was replaced by his usual setting: smugness. "Attaboy, Abberline!" He started for the door. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you!"

The workers had gone, and the remaining Rooks closed ranks behind Jacob, hiding him from view as they strode off into the night. Abberline watched them go, touching his chin where Jacob had, curious.