He tried not to think about Ethan. Tried not to think about the way it had felt to be wanted, to be taken care of, even for a minute. Tried not to think about what his father would say if he knew what he had become.
But the thoughts wouldn’t leave. They spiraled through him, faster than the horses ever could.
At the edge of the canyon, the wind went quiet for a single, perfect second, and he heard a voice behind him, softer than he expected.
“Cole?”
It was Ethan.
He nearly turned around.
But he didn’t.
He just squared his shoulders, flexed his hands until the shake left them, and rode into the pass.
Because if you stopped moving, even for a second, the whole thing might fall apart.
And Cole Walker knew how to survive. He’d been surviving his entire life.
For a few hours, a sense of normalcy washed over them. The pass unfolded before them, wide and inviting, a gentle arc cradled between towering, snow-dusted cliffs. The sunlight filtered through the gaps in the rocks, casting playful shadows on the trail, while the distant sound of rushing water echoed like a soothing lullaby. The air was crisp, filled with the earthy scent of pine and damp stone, offering a brief respite from the turmoil that churned within Cole. For a moment, the weight of his worries lifted, replaced by the beauty surrounding them and the rhythmic cadence of hooves against the rugged terrain.
The horses seemed relieved to be on a real trail instead of slick rock or tangled meadow. Riley broke the silence with dumb stories—bad dates, hangover cures, a blow-by-blow of the time he’d been stuck in a New York elevator for three hours with a D-list soap actor.
It would have been funny, under different circumstances.
He let himself believe for a split second that this could last, that the spell would hold until they made the cutout below the pass. But then the air changed.
He noticed it first in the way the wind pulled at his collar—different, colder, insistent. The sky above had gone mean, thick with a slate-gray lid that shut out all light from the south. Cole tracked the clouds without slowing, calculating their direction,speed, risk. The little hairs on his neck stood up. Somewhere above, the sun was lost; the only glow now was from the west, and it looked bruised.
Up ahead, the trail pinched between two outcrops, forming a natural wind tunnel. Cole slowed the horses to a walk, listening to the way the gusts funneled through the rock.
This wasn't right. The forecast had promised clear skies all day—that's what he'd told everyone at breakfast, that's what the ranch's weather service had guaranteed. Ninety percent of the time, these late summer days were reliable, predictable. But he knew these mountains better than to trust statistics. Storm Canyon had earned its name for a reason; the microclimate here could turn deadly in minutes. This canyon was notorious for flash floods that came without warning, water ripping through the narrow passages with enough force to sweep away horses, riders, everything. His mind flashed to the flash floods he'd seen here three seasons back—how the water had risen six feet in minutes, how they'd lost two horses.
He called back, “Heads up. Gonna get loud through here. Tighten up, single file.” He kept his eyes on the trail, but tracked the rest with his ears, counting the hoofbeats and listening for anything off.
For a mile, nothing went wrong. Then, without warning, a wall of sound punched them in the face—thunder, so close it was like God’s own rifle going off, followed by the sharp, acidic burn of ozone. Every horse in the line flinched. Cole’s own mare danced sideways, eyes white with terror, but he held her steady.
He heard Ethan swear behind him, then a yelp as Riley’s mount tried to buck.
“Hold the line!” Cole yelled, not even thinking.
He scanned the sky for the next strike. Saw it, a stutter of white against the ridgeline, so close the rocks actually seemed to glow for a second.
The first fat drops of rain spattered the dust, turning it to paste in seconds.
Harper shouted over the wind. “How far to shelter?”
“Half mile!” Cole shouted back, voice cracking. “There’s a cave on the west wall. We just have to make it.”
But already the ground was changing. Water sluiced down the trail, pooling at the lowest points, slicking every flat surface. The horses slipped but caught themselves and skittered forward. Cole squeezed with his knees, kept his center of gravity over the saddle, and just prayed.
He glanced back. Riley’s face was spattered with mud, eyes wild, but he was in control. Jack, looked terrified but determined. Harper rode like a champion, no surprise there.
Ethan, though. Cole couldn’t help but watch. Ethan rode loose, instinctive, like he’d grown up on horseback. But his face was pale, mouth tight with effort.
The rain doubled, then tripled, each drop a needle. In seconds, Cole was soaked through, water running down the crack of his back, gathering in the cuffs of his gloves. The horses were breathing hard.
“Faster!” he yelled. He risked a gallop, the most dangerous move on a trail like this, but there was no choice.
