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I settled into a routine over the next week.

I made myself rise early, creeping into a cold and silent kitchen for a snack and a cup of tea. Once the caffeine entered my bloodstream, I bundled myself up and walked for an hour up and down the cliffs.

I tried not to think about anything but where I was. The way the air smelled crisp and clean. The crunch of gravel under my boots. The purple thistles pushing through the tall grass. The birds that flew low to the sea on their daily hunt for food.

I studied the farms as I walked, fluffy white sheep grazing out in the pastures. The crumbling stone walls that demarcated property lines. The small, squat houses that were built into the hillsides. They blended in seamlessly, sliding into the landscape without taking away from it.

And everywhere was green. Lush, emerald green that seemed too vibrant and concentrated to be real. I bypassed town, eyeing the colorful streamers and flags that were strung across the streets. I watched from a distance as cars bumped over the cobblestones, friendly waves and greetings tossed out as they went about their day.

On Friday, I stumbled down the beach path that Tommy told me about. It was the only passable entry to the small sliver of beach around the base of the cliffs and I stood for a long time simply staring at the ocean, rocks and gulls at my back.

I’d never felt smaller in my life. Never felt so…fleeting. The rock behind me had once been swallowed by the sea. Dozens of tiny white fossils poked out of the jagged edges, and all I could think was that it would continue to survive. Survive me. My children, their children, their children’s children. The cliffs would never waver, and I found a level of strength in that that I had never felt before.

After my walks, I trudged back to Kilmorran for breakfast. I took it in the study, shouldering open the door that was closed to me every morning. Each night I made sure it was propped open. Each morning it was shut tight.

I was playing games with a ghost.

I read more of Wolfe’s journals while I ate. I went deep into his family records, learning about their lordship and what the title entailed. It was a lot of work. Long, endless days that required all their time and energy.

When disaster struck, all eyes turned to Kilmorran.

When the roof on one of the barns collapsed, they turned to their lord for help.

When the elderly passed, the lord made sure there was extra food and supplies delivered to the houses of each family.

Some days I can barely stand when night comes. My body aches. My heart beats so wildly I think it might just stop. There is always something else—another emergency, another issue, another problem to solve. I did not realize what it would cost. What it would take from me.

He was the cornerstone of Bracken Bay, holding it up on a pair of weary shoulders. It was odd to feel connected to someone who was no longer living, but the more I read, the more I saw myself in his pages. The loneliness. The exhaustion. Maybe I was just desperate for a connection, a way to be seen, but I found myself there anyway.

His brother, Patty, found a woman and settled down. They had children of their own, and R.J. Wolfe was left watching, burdened by the weight of responsibility.

I felt for him then.

I wondered if it was his spirit that was trapped here, looking for something he hadn’t been able to find while he was alive. I felt that presence every day—creeping down hallways, looking around doors, hovering over my shoulder. I heard its footsteps late at night and early in the morning. Found pages of books wafting in the wind. They did their best to ignore me, and I tried my hardest to stay out of their way.

Marissa sent multiple texts—concerns for my well-being, crumbling cliffs, and drafty old castles. I sent her a handful of pictures which resulted in a very long phone call where she made me relay every detail with acute precision, down to the dust collecting on the mantle.

I knew what she was thinking.

I was thinking it, too.

This was a perfect setting for a book.

But each time I opened my laptop I could only stare, cursor blinking at me accusingly and I shut the lid, defeated.

When the afternoons passed, I went for my second walk.

This time, my feet carried me through town. I window-shopped as I went, studying the crowded pubs and stores with longing. I stood outside the pub for a long time, watching the dance floor crowd with couples. I could smell the beer. The greasy goodness of fish and chips. Each night, I turned away.

Each night, I regretted it.

I did stop at the ice cream place three times that week and ordered myself a giant cone of chocolate chip ice cream. I shivered as I ate it, drinking in the magic of the town. I sat on benches. Listened in on conversations. Watched couples stroll arm in arm. Studied the way the moon turned the ocean ink-black and covered it in diamonds.

I watched, and I watched, and I watched.

I walked home.

I crawled into a cold bed and slid into a dreamless sleep.