The rain was starting to fall again, a steady, freezing drizzle that slicked the gravel.

We loaded Vesper into the trailer, the massive horse moving reluctantly, his bad leg making him limp on the metal ramp.

I climbed into the passenger seat of Dante’s heavy, armored SUV.

Dante took the wheel himself, his face set like granite as he started the engine.

As we pulled out of the dirt lot, I looked back at the diner one last time.

The neon sign of The Lantern buzzed in the dark, casting a weak, yellow glow over the wet asphalt.

I knew I would never work another shift there.

The drive took nearly an hour through winding, unlit mountain roads.

Dante did not speak to me.

He made three phone calls, speaking in low, clipped sentences about security perimeters, arson investigators, and firefighting crews.

The warehouse fire was no accident, and Marco was still missing.

I watched the headlights cut through the thick fog.

My mind kept drifting back to Vesper, to the way he had flinched when I touched his leg.