Chapter 34
Gabriel watched as the fire took hold of the house.
Orange tongues climbed the walls, swallowing the windows, pushing through the eaves. It moved fast. Too fast. In all his years with the brigade, he’d rarely seen it turn that quickly.
Fire had a will of its own.
You didn’t control it. You read it. You worked with it. And when it shifted, you adjusted.
It was a semi-detached cottage along the river. Neighbours stood in dressing gowns, shouting over the roar, some clutching buckets as if that might make a difference.
“Keep back!” Gabriel barked, waving them away as the wind changed and the flames followed. Sparks lifted and scattered into the dark.
Inside, one of his crew was searching for the woman reported trapped, in her mid-thirties.
His gut tightened.
“Where’s Sinclair?”
“Rear entry!” someone shouted back.
Gabriel turned to the Watch Commander – Macrae, steady as granite even in the glare, bald head shining under the flashing lights. A man who’d spent more winters in Highland gear than most recruits had years on the earth.
“I’m going in,” Gabriel said.
A fraction of hesitation.
Then a nod.
That was enough.
He grabbed his helmet and mask, shouting instructions as he moved. “North side window! Get water up there – now!”
The hose team redirected. A blast hammered the upstairs frame, glass bursting outward in a spray. Heat rolled down the ladder as Gabriel climbed, thick and punishing.
Then—
“Gabriel!”
He turned.
Movement at the rear garden. Sinclair stumbled into view, coughing hard, arms locked around the woman’s body. They’d gone out the back. Smart.
Paramedics swarmed as soon as Sinclair cleared the doorway. Oxygen mask. Torches. Voices sharp and fast.
Gabriel stayed where he was a second longer, lungs burning inside his mask.
Then he started down.
His boots had barely touched the ground when—
BOOM.
The upper wall blew outward in a violent burst. Masonry cracked. Flame punched into the night.
Everyone dropped instinctively.
A beat of ringing silence followed.
Then the fire settled into a low, hungry roar.
Gabriel pushed himself up slowly.
Everyone was clear.
For once.
The quiet that had fallen over the night was strange – too quiet.
After the ambulance left, after the mother had been confirmed breathing, stable, whisked away to hospital, Gabriel had stayed behind to help with the clean-up.
Back at the station, the adrenaline drained fast.
Hoses coiled. Equipment checked. Paperwork filled. The rhythm of aftermath.
It was a small station, and four of them on shift tonight. No overnight crew. Once the kit was stowed, they’d head home like anyone else finishing late work.
Gabriel scrubbed soot from his hands at the wash basin in the corner. His uniform stank of smoke. He changed into jeans and a jumper, the civilian clothes feeling strange after the weight of the gear.
Outside, the air hit him. Cold. Still.
He didn’t walk home, even though he knew Chep would be there – curled up in his bed by the door, probably dreaming of sheep and toast crusts. Instead, Gabriel turned in the opposite direction, letting the weight of the night pull him forward under street lamps.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. His breath clouded before him.
It could have gone differently.
If Sinclair had been slower.
If he’d committed to that ladder instead of looking across the roofline.
If the blast had come thirty seconds earlier.
You didn’t think about it. Not properly.
But tonight he did.
His sister’s voice surfaced, clear as if she were beside him.
You can’t save everyone, Gabe.
Maybe not.
But he could try.
And if tonight had been it, if the smoke had filled his lungs and that had been the end – what would he have carried with him?
Her.
Not the house. Not the job.
Erica.
Her face had come to him in that suspended second before the window blew.
The thought landed like a weight in his chest:
If the blast had come sooner. That would have been it.
And she would never have known.
Maybe she was married. Maybe she didn’t want him.
But he couldn’t keep living with the silence between them.
He couldn’t leave things unsaid.
Gabriel reached the end of the road, where the car park met the start of the hill path. Behind him, the town glowed softly in the distance, lights hazy in the mist. Ahead was nothing but dark.
He clicked on his torch. He always carried one in winter as the sheep wandered, and the hill didn’t forgive missteps.
His hands were still shaking. Whether from cold or the comedown, he couldn’t tell.
But he knew where he was going.
The cottage was glowing in the dark – a single warm light in the window, smoke puffing steadily from the chimney. It should have brought comfort. But something else caught his eye.
His torch swept the edge of the hill, across the gorse and heather. Then stopped.
A figure stood still and alone.
His heart leapt.
Her.
Outlined against the horizon, Erica stood at the edge, the sea far below, black and churning. The moon hung low, painting everything in silver-blue.
For a moment, Gabriel froze. He wanted to run. Every instinct screamed for him to get to her. But something in her posture, something still and calm held him back.
He stepped forward slowly, cautiously.
Of all the things Sorcha had ever said – stories, warnings, whispered judgements – none of it mattered now.
No one can tell you how to feel. No one can measure what passes silently between two people.
His voice caught in the wind.
“Come away from the edge!”
She turned slightly. “Gabriel?”
“Yes.”
“You came back?”
He took another step. Slow and careful. “Come away from the edge.”
“I’m not going to jump,” she said quietly.
He didn’t answer that, but watched her turn back to the sea.
“I see it now,” she said. “I’ve been trying to force answers out of silence. I thought, if I dug hard enough something would give.”
He moved closer, aware of his hand shaking.
“I don’t want to do it anymore,” she went on. “Maybe some things don’t get fixed. Maybe you just have to … carry them.”
The wind shifted, lifting her hair.
He reached her then, taking her arm and guiding her back a step.
She let him.
They stood close, her back against his chest, the wind tugging at their coats. For a moment neither of them moved. He could feel the small rise and fall of her breathing against him, the warmth of her through the cold air.
It struck him with a sudden force, how right it was to be standing there with her.
His hand rested at her arm, steady now, though every part of him felt sharpened and awake. He hoped she felt it too, that quiet pull between them.
The moon lit her face as she turned slightly to look up at him.
“Did you think I was going to jump?” she asked softly.
Gabriel exhaled hard. “I didn’t know what to think.”
They sat down on the damp grass, shoulders almost touching.
“I don’t want to run anymore,” she whispered. “And I don’t want to keep hunting for answers that might not be there. I just want to stop. Be still. That’s all.”
Gabriel reached for her hand. Her fingers were cold but she didn’t pull away.
They sat like that for a while, the breeze brushing past them like a hush.
Erica swallowed, “You came back?”
He didn’t answer right away. The truth had lived in him too long for it to come out carelessly.
His hand tightened gently around hers.
“You didn’t think I would?”
Somewhere beyond the bend in the road, headlights briefly crested the hill, coming up the back road, then his ears caught the sound of an engine idling near the cottage.
Gabriel didn’t turn to look, not yet.