𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 ❀ ᴛᴇᴡᴋᴇꜱʙᴜʀʏ₁

❀𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭❀

When we arrive back at the hotel, Tewkesbury turns his nose up in disgust.  Immediately.

"Is this how you're living?" He frowns, surveying the cracks in the walls and the mice droppings on the floor.

"I suppose you just rented a room at the Ritz, hm?" I smile.  He wrinkles his nose, which is a very good look for him.  Posh is all he's grown up with, and it fits him oh so well.

Why am I thinking about this? There's other tasks at hand, and I can't even take my eyes off this boy's face. Get a grip, Elowyn.

"Well, I afforded myself a bit more comfort than this," he replies.  Enola opens a window a fraction, and turns back to us.

"The woman I boarded off assured us this was a fine room," my sister claims.

I snort quietly. "The woman we boarded off lied."

Tewkesbury- or Alex now, I suppose, laughs at my feeble attempt at a joke.  He takes off his jacket. I suppose it is hot in here, even though Enola cracked open the window.

God, I'm only distracting myself, and I know it.  I'm looking everywhere in the room except directly at him, and I'm sure it is totally obvious. Enola stifles a laugh beside me, and I know she knows what I'm doing.  I can only hope, ahem, someone else doesn't notice.  I feel eyes on me, and my sister moves to clear some things away.

Enola breaks the silence. "There is only a single bed that the two of us have been sharing, so.."

"She means to say you're sleeping on the floor," I help, allowing my eyes to meet his. He grins over at me, holding eye contact.  I smile a little bit back, but shortly after turn my eyes back to my sister.

He grabs something off the bed. "You keep old newspapers?"

My sister moves quickly over.  I sit down next to the boy, with just enough space that it isn't awkward. "Be careful with that.  I haven't finished reading that yet," mutters my sister.

"Look, I'm in this one!" Alex shows me the page emblazoned with his name and photo.

"I suppose you are."

"But look!"

"We've been seeing this for weeks. Your face is everywhere in London."

"Really? How haven't I been noticed?"

"Hello, your spectacular hairdresser over here?"

He laughs.  Enola sighs and walks over to the small mirror lying on the windowsill.  She fidgets around with her hair, the front still pulled back.

"And why do you keep all these old newspapers, Elowyn and Enola Holmes?"

That feeling when he says my name first is still there.  It's nice, I suppose, for someone to think of me first, for a change.

Enola hesitates, before speaking. "My mother.  I'm waiting for her to leave me a message.  She hasn't yet, but I-"

"Message? What..." 

"She likes ciphers," I inform him. "Coded messages that need to be deciphered."

"And why would she leave you a message?" The boy queries. Perhaps he is thinking the same thing I am...

"Because she left me.  And I thought she meant for me to find her, but I'm not sure she did now."

Enola has finally come to the same conclusion I have.  And if both of us thought the same thing, then I suppose it must be right.  Scratch that- if Enola thought that, I suppose it must be right.