I gripped Vesper’s halter, urging her forward.

We scrambled out of the office, stepping over the groaning gunman.

The air in the main barn aisle was thick with the smell of gunsmoke and dry hay.

Outside, the roar of the SUV engines grew louder, their headlights cutting through the dusty windows of the barn.

“To the indoor arena,” I whispered to Dante. “The doors are thick. We can hold them there.”

Another burst of automatic gunfire shattered the remaining glass in the lobby.

Vesper reared slightly, her iron shoes clashing against the concrete floor.

“Easy, girl,” I murmured, keeping my hand flat against her warm neck. “With me. Stay with me.”

She trusted me enough to lower her head, her nostrils flaring as she breathed in the sharp scent of ozone and smoke.

We reached the heavy sliding doors of the indoor arena.

Dante shoved them open, and we slipped into the vast, dark space.

The ground was covered in soft, damp dirt that muffled our footsteps.

Before Dante could close the doors behind us, a flashlight beam swept through the opening, pinning us in its glare.