*Jay*
Esma was correct about the weather. The wind picks up in the late afternoon, and the rain begins to fall. We are enclosed in the house. Following dinner, the three of us retire to the front parlor, the she-wolves with their needlework and me with the journal.
Although I am reading Elisabeth’s words, I can clearly see Esma in each of them… gathering seashells, feeding the seagulls. And I see things that aren’t written. I imagine her running barefoot to greet their father when he returns from town. I can see her chasing chickens and laughing on a swing.
“How did you come to work for the Alpha agency, Mr. Swindler?” Eden asks, never lifting her gaze from her needlework.
“I would report those who committed crimes in the rookeries, give the policemen descriptions so they could arrest
