Kain set the white journal aside, his chest tightening as he picked up the black book. Its worn cover seemed heavier in his hands, as if the secrets written inside had a tangible weight.
Cherry had always been a naturally curious—and remarkably nosy—child, but the black journals were infamous within the orphanage.
Everyone knew they contained more than idle musings or playground drama—no that stuff was for the white journals.
The black journals were her treasure troves of secrets, carefully cataloged through her relentless eavesdropping and keen observation.
He flipped open the book, and the pages immediately revealed her meticulous nature. Each entry was written with precision, every line crisp and legible.
While the white journals more closely resembled a child's diary, the black journals more closely resemble the meticulous notes that a detective would be making on an ongoing case.
