The cold night air hit my face as we burst through the rear door into the darkness.

The pasture was wide and black, stretching out toward the tree line.

But as Vesper cleared the threshold, a bright spotlight snapped on from the watchtower near the gate.

The white beam cut through the dark, pinning us in its glare.

A voice boomed over a megaphone.

“Stop right there.”

Vesper hesitated, his front hooves skidding on the wet grass.

I leaned forward, pressing my face against his neck.

“Keep going,” I urged him.

A shot echoed from the tower, and a bullet kicked up a clod of dirt just inches from Vesper’s front leg.

The horse reared back, his chest tight.

From the stable behind us, the sound of heavy gunfire erupted.

Dante was still inside, fighting them off alone.

I pulled the left rein, turning Vesper toward the shadow of the hay barn.

Another spotlight swept across the grass, searching for us.

I saw a figure running toward us from the shadow of the fence.

It wasn’t one of Kroll’s men.

It was Marco.