“Welcome to the mountains,” Kaya called from the back.
I glanced over at Rose despite myself.
She was soaked already, hair coming loose at the edges, water darkening the shoulders of her shirt. But she rode like she and Cassiopeia were made of the same material. Totally unshaken.
Fucking hot. No other way to put it.
Brutus’s stride stayed even, matching Cassiopeia. I kept my hands low, letting him choose his footing as the trail turned treacherous.
This wasn’t the time to be a hero. This was the time to be smart.
We rounded a bend and the stream crossing came into view.
Earlier in the day it had been a gentle ribbon of water you could step over without thinking. Now it was swollen and brown, moving fast, dragging branches and foam.
Rose slowed Cassiopeia to a halt and assessed it in one sweep. Then she turned in the saddle and lifted a hand.
“One at a time,” she called. “Wait for my signal. Straight line. Do not rush them.”
No one questioned her now. Not with thunder rolling and rain flattening their hair to their heads. Fear had done what Rose’s authority had already tried to do: made them listen.
Rose went first. Cassiopeia stepped into the water like it was nothing, hooves finding rock with the confidence of a mare who’d crossed much worse. Rose didn’t pull. Didn’t clamp. She let the horse do her job, and Cassiopeia rewarded her by being exactly what everyone else needed: a calm example.
Rose reached the far bank, turned Cassiopeia in the stream, and lifted her hand again.
“Dex. You’re next.”
Dex went without hesitation, his horse following Cassiopeia’s line. Then Olivia, and then Jamie.
Rose watched each crossing. When her eyes landed on me, it was quick.
“Bring him straight,” she said, meaning Brutus. “Don’t let him angle.”
“Aye,” I answered, and guided Brutus in.
The water hit his legs and he tensed. Not frightened, annoyed. He picked his way forward, thinking. Almost across, a rock shifted under his front hoof and his shoulder dipped.
It was the kind of slip that became a fall if you handled it wrong.
My whole body reacted on instinct. Lean with him, give him room, stay centered. Don’t fight the horse. Don’t punish the mistake.
Rose moved at the same time.
Cassiopeia stepped in close, and Rose leaned out and grabbed Brutus’s bridle strap to steady him. I reached down too, smoothing my hand along his wet neck, speaking low.
“Easy, boy. Find it.”
For a second, our hands met. Fingers brushing through wet leather and rain.
The contact went through me like a current. Brief and sharp and completely disproportionate to what it actually was, which was two people grabbing the same horse.
Rose’s eyes snapped to mine.
She felt it. I could see her hating that she had.
Then she looked away. “Good,” she murmured to the horses. “That’s it. Move.”
Brutus found his footing and climbed out onto the far bank. Cassiopeia followed, Rose already watching down the line again.
