Page 112 of The Clifftop Cottage

Then she looked at Leah.

Properly this time.

The air between them shifted – heavy with everything that had been said earlier that evening.

“What if it’s nothing again?” Erica said quietly. “What if this is just another rabbit hole?”

Leah stepped forward. Cold mud soaked through the thin soles of her shoes. “You think opening a box is running away?”

Erica hesitated. “You said I always do.”

Leah held her gaze. “Opening it isn’t running away, Eri.” She gestured at the box. “It’s finishing what you started.”

For a moment Erica didn’t move. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

Gabriel crouched beside the half-buried box. Leah noticed the way his hand hovered for a second before touching it, like he wasn’t entirely convinced it was wise.

“Now or never,” he muttered quietly.

He lifted it free.

The box looked heavier than Leah’s first impression, and larger, the size of an old hatbox. Dark wood, worn smooth with age, a rusted iron handle across the top.

He carried it carefully to the stone wall.

Leah switched on her torch and followed, the beam cutting through the dark. “What do you think it is?” she asked.

Maisie had gone very still now, clutching her teddy to her chest.

Gabriel turned the box slowly in the light.

“I’ll need a screwdriver.”

“I’ve got one.”

Leah ran back to the car and grabbed Dylan’s emergency kit from the boot. For once, his habit of keeping tools everywhere was useful.

When she returned, Gabriel took the screwdriver. Their fingers brushed briefly.

He worked the rusted latch slowly.

The metal resisted at first.

Then—

Click.

The sound seemed louder than it should have been.

No one spoke.

Gabriel lifted the lid.

Inside, beneath a layer of yellowed muslin, lay a bundle of letters tied together with faded twine.

The paper had curled with age.

Gabriel lifted the bundle carefully.