Edinburgh as a Character: Familiar Streets, New Shadows

Edinburgh isn’t just a backdrop in Blurred Lines. It’s a character. A city of stone and rhythm, of winding closes and wide, watchful skies. It’s beautiful—and it feels familiar. But it doesn’t carry the weight of memory.

When Logan Fraser arrives, he’s not just starting a new job. He’s starting over. New city. New department. He’s worked within the Coalition system for years, but London left its mark. Old wounds needed time to heal. And Edinburgh offered something different—a place where he and his daughter could begin again.

The city suits him. It’s structured, walkable, and quietly efficient. The streets echo London’s pace, but without the ghosts. There’s space to breathe. Space to recalibrate. And space to notice what’s wrong when everyone else insists it’s right.

I first came to Edinburgh for work. I spent time in Charlotte Square, walking the cobbled streets, surrounded by old buildings that seemed to hold their breath. There was something about the weight of the architecture, the stillness of the gardens, the way the city seemed to watch without speaking. I fell in love with it instantly. I knew I wanted to set a story here—one that matched the mood, the grit, and the emotional weather of the place.

There’s something deeply satisfying about writing a story set in a city you’ve actually walked through. The sound of your boots on the stone. The way the light changes in the closes. The quiet tension that lingers in the air. It gave me a sensory anchor for the world I was building—something real to hold onto, even as the magic and politics took shape around it.

And that connection continues. In Book 2, readers will see Charlotte Square—or at least, this world’s version of it. A place of elegance and control, but also quiet pressure. It’s not just a nod to the real city. It’s a space that holds power, memory, and consequence. Just like the rest of Edinburgh.

In Blindsided, the city sets the tone for everything that follows. The theft. The murder. The unraveling of trust. It’s not just where the story happens—it’s why it feels the way it does.