“No,” I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “Who are they?”

“Marco’s people,” Dante said, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Or rather, the people Marco actually answers to.”

He drove fast through the winding back streets of the industrial district.

He steered with one hand, his face pale under the green dashboard lights.

His other hand pressed against his ribs, where the dark stain of blood was slowly spreading through his shirt.

“You are bleeding again,” I said, pointing to his side.

“It is nothing,” he muttered. “The horse is what matters right now.”

Behind us, the trailer was quiet, Vesper’s heavy weight shifting rhythmically as we turned a sharp corner.

Dante tossed his burner phone into my lap.

“Read the message,” he commanded.

I picked up the small plastic device, the screen cracked and glowing with a harsh blue light.

The text was brief and written in plain block letters.

*We have the girl’s location. Vance says she belongs to the stables in the north. Deal is set.*

My stomach dropped, a cold dread washing over me.