Page 63 of The Clifftop Cottage

He pulled up his hood and headed back down the path, aware of her eyes on his back.

When he found her later, she was bundled up beyond recognition – thick coat, scarf wrapped twice around her neck, another one draped over her head like a hood.

“You really took what I said to heart,” he said, biting back a grin as he held open the passenger door of his van.

“Well, I had no idea where you were taking me,” she replied, climbing in. “Could’ve been another cliffside in the elements.”

Gabriel only smirked, starting the engine. The road swallowed them in darkness, the headlights cutting a narrow path through the rain-slicked night.

When they pulled up, the full beams illuminated a small stone-fronted building. The kind of place most people walked past without a second glance – weathered wooden sign, iron lantern above the door, windows dark.

He knocked twice.

The door creaked open, revealing a man in a tweed jacket, a beanie pulled low over his glasses.

“Gabriel,” the man said, grinning. “Didn’t think I’d see you back here so soon.”

Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder. “Told you I’d take you up on that favour.”

The man chuckled, stepping aside. “Well, you’ve helped me too many times for me to name! Come in before you freeze to death.”

He held the door wide, and Gabriel turned to Erica. She was staring at the building now, her breath misting.

“Ready?” he asked.

Erica hesitated. “Where are you taking me?”

“This place holds the church records for the Highlands,” Gabriel said. “Most people use it for family trees. But I thought – maybe Isobel might be here. Another thread you could pull.”

She scoffed, but there was a crack in it. “I doubt Isobel was an active member of the congregation. If she was accused of witchcraft, it was probably the opposite. That’s why she was singled out.”

“Maybe,” Gabriel said. “Or maybe someone wrote her name down anyway.”

He followed his friend through a series of doors, holding each one for Erica without thinking. The lights hummed overhead, throwing dull pools of yellow onto threadbare red carpet.

Erica slowed beside him, taking it in.

They passed rooms stacked with ageing books, long wooden tables left bare, steel drawers, half labelled and half forgotten. It felt less like a building and more like a hoard of memories no one had sorted through in years.

Finally they reached the back room.

Smaller. Quieter. Cramped with deep brown cabinets that looked as if they hadn’t been opened in decades. A few old PCs sat dark along the far wall, their screens thick with dust.

Gabriel stopped.

Erica did too.

At first her face was blank, taking it in. Then something softened. Her eyes traced the cabinets, the drawers, the sheer scale of what was stored here. All those names. All those lives.

“Worth a look?” he asked.

She didn’t answer straight away.

Not because she wasn’t interested, he could see the pull of it on her, but because something else had caught her.

“You did this for me?” she said quietly.

“You needed help,” he replied.