“Yeah,” he said. “Vance. He said you were the only one smart enough to figure out what he did to the stallion’s hoof.”

“What did he do?” I asked, my blood turning to ice.

“The fake vet reports,” the man said, his voice fading. “He sold Moretti a ticking time bomb. The horse was meant to go lame right when Kroll made his move.”

I stared at him, my mind racing.

Julian Vance had ruined my life five years ago.

He had blamed me for his own negligence, blacklisting me from every major breeding stable in the country.

Now, his shadow had found me here, miles away from my past.

“He sold Vesper to the Morettis?” I asked, my hands trembling.

“Paid a fortune for him,” the mercenary muttered. “Moretti thought he was buying a champion warhorse. Vance was just setting up the trap.”

Behind me, Vesper shifted his weight, his ears pinning back against his skull.

The heavy tread of boots sounded on the gravel outside the shed.

I spun around, raising the hoof pick, my back against the brick wall.

The door swung wide.