It sounded like gravel shifting on the metal roofing, followed by a faint, metallic thunk.

Vesper’s ears instantly pinned back against his head.

He let out a low, warning rumble from his chest, his body turning rigid once more.

Dante clicked the flashlight off, plunging us back into the dim red glow of the emergency lights.

The stable became incredibly still.

The only sound was our own breathing and the distant, rhythmic hum of the generator that refused to start.

Dante moved silently to the edge of the stall, keeping his back to the wooden partition.

He raised his pistol, pointing it toward the dark corridor that led to the main entrance.

“Stay behind the partition,” he whispered to me, not looking back.

I didn’t argue.

I slid down against the wooden boards, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I could smell the wet straw, the sharp scent of the iodine on my hands, and the cold air filtering in from the vents.

My fingers brushed against a heavy iron horseshoe lying on the shelf behind me.