The impact sent the guard flying backward into a stack of empty wooden crates.

He fell hard and did not get up.

I pulled on the left rein, guiding the stallion behind the thick stone wall of the old hay barn.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

“Good boy,” I whispered, my voice shaking as I patted Vesper’s wet, steaming neck. “Good boy.”

The stallion’s breath came in ragged, hot gasps, but he stood firm on his feet.

The sound of gunfire from the main stable grew sporadic, then stopped altogether.

A heavy silence fell over the yard, broken only by the steady hiss of rain on the tin roofs.

I slid down from the saddle, my boots splashing into a puddle of cold mud.

My knees nearly gave way under my own weight.

I kept one hand tight on the leather reins, leading Vesper deeper into the shadow of the overhang.

A low groan came from inside the open side door of the utility shed.

I froze, holding my breath.

The door swung back an inch, creaking on rusted hinges.