Erebus had already slipped out again sometime after the op ended. No announcement. No goodbye circle. Just gone, like smoke under a door.
Typical.
Sage looked back to the arena as Micah finally got the mare moving in a slow, careful circle.
Black rode alongside him, close but not crowding.
Good.
That was how Black did everything with Micah.
Close enough to catch him.
Far enough to let him try.
Sage understood that more than he wanted to.
Buckshot leaned harder into his leg, and Sage glanced down. “What?”
The dog stared up at him.
Sage scratched behind his ridiculous, flipped ear.
“I’m still here,” he muttered.
Buckshot wagged his tail.
Yeah.
He was.
Footsteps came up behind him, familiar before they were close.
Sage didn’t turn.
Didn’t have to.
A moment later, Law stopped beside him and held out a cup of coffee.
Sage took it, their fingers brushing around the warm paper.
No spark of alarm.
No instinct to shift away.
Just heat, calluses, and presence.
“Thanks,” Sage said.
Law rested his forearms on the rail beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. “He improving?”
Sage looked back at Micah, who had gone stiff again while Black corrected something with a low murmur.
“No.”
Law’s mouth moved, not quite a smile.
“But he hasn’t fallen off,” Sage added. “So that’s disappointing.”
