May 23, 2020
Rubbing his fingers over the handle of the switchblade in his pocket made Regulus feel safer. More secure. Like a child with a security blanket or a fierce stuffed animal to protect them. Logically he doubted that anyone would care enough to say anything to him that was less than kind, it was London, there were more people there than anyone could fathom. No one would pick him out of a crowd. But he carried it with him anyway. Even in Bloombury’s coffee, he sat, working on homework with one hand, though mostly drawing in a notebook instead, and rubbing his thumb over the blade in his pocket.
