“I’m not dramatic,” he says.
“You are the living embodiment of a thundercloud,” I say. “That’s drama.”
Jasper bumps our joined hands again, nudging for more attention. Bran’s fingers curl, almost subconsciously, so he’s not just tolerating the contact—he’s returning it. For a brief, weirdly peaceful moment, the three of us are in a closed loop.
I’m not sure who lets go first.
Probably him.
Definitely him.
I step back out of the stall, brushing hay off my hoodie. When I look up, he’s watching me, expression more open than I’ve seen it.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just…you look less like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”
“That’s because the horses are nicer to me than the internet is,” I say. “You should take notes.”
“I’ll do my best,” he says.
We stand there in the barn aisle for a second, breathing the quiet.
Then my phone vibrates in my pocket.
The sound is like a record scratch.
Instantly, the muscles in my shoulders knot back up.
Bran’s whole body shifts, attention zeroing in on me. “Who is it?”
I pull the phone out, thumb already swiping.
Not Nightjar.
Brady.
My lungs unlock.
“It’s Jack,” I say. “Probably wants to yell at me for leaving the house.”
“Put him on speaker,” Bran says.
I do.
“Morning, Gentry,” Brady says. “Tell me you’re inside.”
“We’re inside a building,” I say. “Technically.”
“Barn doesn’t count,” he says. “Jesus.”
“It has walls,” I point out.
“I’m not having this argument before coffee,” he mutters. “Gallagher says Kelly’s with you?”
“Present,” Bran says.
“Good,” Brady says. “I’ve got twenty minutes before state wants to hop on a call. Wanted to give you both the quick version first.”
