Damian:

Under the cloak of dusk, I found myself in an obscure alleyway, the address on the slip of paper in my hand my only guide. "Mr. Ambrose Dravenwood; 42 Ashhollow Lane." The faded sign creaked gently in the evening breeze, confirming I was at the right location. With a deep breath, I mustered a knock on the door. No response. I knocked again, harder this time, and heard the faint sound of movement inside – chairs scraping, footsteps approaching.

The door creaked open, revealing a tall, thin man with unkempt brown hair peeking out from under a grey hat. His piercing dark green eyes scanned me rapidly, flickering from my face to my hands and then darting around, taking in every detail of my appearance and surroundings.

"Hello, Mr. Dravenwood?" I inquired, trying to mask my impatience.

He scrutinized me with a calculating gaze, his eyes darting from my hands to my shoes and then off into the alleyway, as if seeing more than just the physical form before him. "Who are you? And what do you want?" His voice was as sharp as his gaze.

Introducing myself as Damian, I explained my need for his investigative services. He scrutinized me further, his eyes reflecting the torchlight like a cat's as they scanned me from head to toe. Finally, he invited me inside, sealing the door behind us with an array of locks.

"So, you demand my services. How did you hear about me?" he questioned.

I explained my connections, hoping to impress upon him the seriousness of my request. "I need you to delve into the life of a particular girl," I said, my voice steady despite the gravity of what I was about to entrust to this stranger.

Dravenwood's brow furrowed in skepticism as I detailed my request – the theft of a family heirloom, a candelabra, and a large handwritten book, both of which I believed were in the possession of a girl whose father owned a pawn shop in Edinburgh.

"A candelabra, you say?" Dravenwood questioned, his tone a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

"Yes, and a book," I added quickly. "But you must not open it. It's personal."

Dravenwood leaned back in his chair, the shadows playing across his face. He warned me of the cost of such a venture, but I was resolute. The secrecy, the clean execution, and the discovery of their hiding place were paramount.

"I will do it," he finally agreed after I assured him of my honesty and the nature of what we were dealing with. "Witches," I had said, the word hanging in the air between us.

We shook hands, the deal sealed. I paid him a third of the fee upfront, the rest to be delivered with each item.

Days later, Dravenwood returned, successful in his mission. He handed me the candelabra and the book. I was astounded at the depth of knowledge within the pages, far surpassing what my great-grandmother had ever achieved. My next step was clear – I needed to visit my grandmother in another city for further insight.

As Dravenwood prepared to leave, he offered one last piece of information, something he had gleaned from his time in the girl's room. "You know, there is power in knowing a witch's name," he said, his voice low. "I'll tell you what it is for an extra shilling."

I regarded him warily, then flicked him a silver coin. He leaned in close and whispered, "Adella Niamh Kaitlin-Hayes." Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the night.

Quickly, I scribbled the name on a scrap of paper and tucked it safely into my suit pocket. This was a significant development – a name held power, especially in the world of witchcraft. With this new knowledge and the stolen items in my possession, I felt a step closer to unraveling the mysteries that had entangled me. The game had changed, and I was now a player with a hand to play.