The Sharpest Jewel |Alfie Solomons|

~ Chapter 13 ~

Camden, London 1813.

The early morning mist clung to the ground like a soft veil, the air cool and damp with the remnants of the night. Florence stood alone in the small cemetery, her breath coming out in small clouds in the chill air. The rising sun had only just begun to peek over the horizon, casting a pale light over the graves and making the dew on the grass glisten like a thousand tiny diamonds.

She stood before the simple headstones of her mother and father, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. A small bouquet of wildflowers, gathered from the fields near the cemetery, lay at her feet. It had been a years since their passing—years since the world had been turned upside down, since she'd had to learn how to keep going without them. The ache of their absence never truly went away; it was a dull, constant presence in her life, like a shadow that followed her everywhere.

Florence knelt down, her fingers tracing the etched names on the stone. The silence was comforting, a reprieve from the noise of Camden Town, from the pressures of the bakery, and the complications of the life she had built for herself. Here, she could just be—no expectations, no demands, just her and the memory of the two people who had meant everything to her. "I miss you," Florence whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet of the morning. "Every day."

She took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. She had always been strong, always been the one to keep moving forward no matter what life threw at her, but here, in the solitude of the cemetery, she allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. She paused, her fingers still tracing the letters of their names, grounding herself in the moment.

Her voice trailed off as she thought of Ollie. Their paths had crossed in ways she never could have imagined, tangled together in a web of fear and power far beyond their control. Despite it all, he'd been there for her, trying his best to shield her from the worst of it. But there was only so much he could do.

"Sometimes I wonder if I should have walked away," she said softly, "from the bakery, from Camden, from all of it. Started fresh somewhere else. But I couldn't. This place... it's home. And as long as I can make it through, I'll stay." Florence stayed there for a while longer, the quiet allowing her a moment of peace. She talked to them as though they were still with her, filling the silence with words of comfort, of reflection, of hope. The sun rose a little higher in the sky, warming the earth and beginning to dispel the mist. Birds chirped softly in the distance, and for a moment, everything felt still—almost as though the world had paused just for her.

Finally, she rose to her feet, brushing off the dampness from her dress. She gazed at the headstones one last time, a small, sad smile on her lips. "I'll be back soon," she promised, and with a final look, she turned and made her way out of the cemetery. The path ahead of her stretched out in the soft morning light, and she walked it alone, her steps steady and sure.

Florence walked through the empty streets of Camden as the sun climbed higher in the sky, the warmth cutting through the morning chill. The town had changed, though the signs were subtle—more buildings, more faces, and more shadows lurking just out of sight. Even though she had been born and raised here, there were times when Camden felt like a stranger to her. A year ago, life had seemed simpler, though she hadn't known it at the time. Now, it was like the ground beneath her feet had shifted, the world growing darker and more unpredictable.

She continued towards the bakery, her steps slowing as she approached the familiar door. The comforting smell of bread was already wafting into the street, but the bakery was quiet, not yet open to customers. Val and Betsy had likely started early, preparing for the day, and Florence knew she should be there to help. Yet something inside her hesitated, a feeling she couldn't quite shake. Florence stood there for a moment longer, her hand lingering on the door to the bakery. A deep sense of unease gnawed at her but with a heavy sigh, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. Val and Betsy were already bustling about, preparing for the day, and the smell of freshly baked bread wrapped around her like a warm blanket. For now, she would focus on this—on the simple, familiar work that grounded her. But as she moved behind the counter, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was coming, something she couldn't yet see but that was already casting a long shadow over her life.