Clarke
Hestia’s agitated gait told me she was just as anxious to get this over with as I was. She’d been restless all night—well, all morning. We’d left the wedding just after one a.m., driven the half hour home, tacked up the horses, and ridden another hour to Hanover’s.
Now, at nearly four in the morning, the slow September sun was beginning to rise, painting the hills in deep pink. My breath fogged in front of me, clouds drifting into the cold air. Around us, the same pale puffs left the mouths of my companions.
Colton and Ethan had already taken their positions farther down the hill. The barn that housed the horses wasn’t fully padlocked — the rusty lock had been easy enough to pry off. Up the slope to my left, Avalon and Delia acted as scouts, keeping sharp eyes out for Hanover or any of his men.
If Colton was right—if Hanover really planned to ship the horses to New Mexico tonight—then they’d need to be loading them soon. Any minute now.
So where were they? Was this luck? Or something worse? A sharp whistle cut through the quiet from the far end of the barn. I pulled Hestia into position—the mark I’d chosen. I would stay here until the second whistle. Then I’d haul ass up the mountain, trusting the others to follow.
Colton and Ethan would bring up the rear, keeping the herd in formation. Delia and Avalon would cover the sides. I’d lead the front.
It was a solid plan. A good plan.
Colton whistled again. This was it. The ground began to tremble beneath Hestia’s hooves.
“C’mon, old girl,” I whispered into the cool air. She blinked, the bit clicking behind her teeth. “They’re coming.”
The rumbling grew louder—heavier—until it vibrated through my bones. Any second now. Digging my heels into Hestia’s sides, I shouted a command and launched her forward.
The field exploded around us. A young mustang’s dark mane whipped in the wind as it galloped behind me, kicking up dirt and wheat husks. It wasn’t running toward me—it was dancing. Free. Wild. Untamed.
The sight stole my breath. I wanted to slow Hestia, to watch the mustang’s victory dance beneath the pink sky—but angry shouting snapped my attention to the right.
Hanover’s men. Trucks barreled toward us, trailers rattling behind them. Men hung out of the doors, yelling and cursing. Others jumped out and tried to chase us on foot.
One tripped over a clump of grass and face-planted into the dirt. I barked out a laugh.
A dappled horse surged past me, shaking its head triumphantly. It was beautiful—wearing freedom like a second coat. Behind me, the herd thundered forward, neighing and whinnying in a chorus of exhilaration.
I slowed Hestia to a trot, letting the wild horse and my brother take the lead as we climbed the mountain.
A small figure wove through the herd, gripping Apollo’s reins with white-knuckled determination. Avalon’s cheeks and nose were bright red, her dark hair whipping around her face.
“Did you see them?” she shouted, breathless. “The horses, Clarke—did you see them?”
Not bewilderment—wonder. Pure, childlike wonder. I’d only seen that look on her face a handful of times, always around horses. She was fascinated by them—curious, cautious, reverent.
“Yeah,” I said, unable to stop my smile. Unable to tear my eyes away from her face. “I saw them.”
A memory tugged at me—a hunting trip with Dad when I was no taller than a foal.
We’d camped under the stars, a million of them scattered across the sky.
He’d told me how he always kept the Big Dipper over his left shoulder so he’d know his way home.
He’d told me about the books he read curled beside his mother while she knitted.
A quote flashed through my mind—John Noble Wilford:
“Mars tugs at the human imagination like no other planet.
With a force mightier than gravity, it attracts the eye to its shimmering red presence in the clear night sky.
It is like a glowing ember in a field of ethereal lights, projecting energy and promise.
It inspires visions of an approachable world.
Avalon turned to smile at me, her hair flying wildly. She wasn’t red like Mars—not physically. But her passion, her survival, her scars, her music—all of it burned red.
During the three months I’d spent locked in my room, I’d fallen down a rabbit hole of auras and energy. It had healed something in me.
Avalon was Mars. And I was Phobos—orbiting her. Drawn to her. Following her. To be near her was to want her. To be without her was to ache for her.
Even those words felt too small. She was water. Necessary. Life-giving. Something I couldn’t imagine living without. Where she went, I would follow. Los Angeles. Texas.
Anywhere.
The early morning sun climbed higher, warming our backs as we followed the herd up the mountain. Colton led, with Avalon and me bringing up the rear.
She was doing better—slowly finding confidence, trusting Apollo. He was perfect for her: calm, steady, responsive.
We kept a steady pace, never too fast, never too slow. By the time we reached the summit, we were all breathless and several layers lighter.
The boys had stripped off their shirts, sweat glistening on their chests. Delia had hiked her wedding dress up, tucking the hem into her lace sash. Avalon wore her black camisole with my leather jacket draped over her shoulders.
“I don’t want to give the horseflies a free buffet,” she’d said. I didn’t mind. I loved her in my clothes.
“How much farther?” she asked as we rounded another curve. “I don’t want to complain, but I could really use a shower. Or food. Or both.”
“Not far,” I promised. “There’s a meadow on the other side of this mountain. Acres of green grass. A river running through the hills.”
I paused, staring at my hands. It sounded like a fairytale—something a mother would whisper while tucking her child into bed. It was how I imagined Heaven. How I hoped it would be.
I’d wanted to bring Melody here. But as she got sicker, that dream slipped away. I rarely came anymore — afraid to taint its perfection with grief.
But what better place to release animals doomed for slaughter? It’s what she would want. My selfless little sister.
I sniffled and wiped my nose with the back of my glove. “Melody calls it her favorite place she’s never been.”
Avalon’s voice softened. “She would’ve loved this. We can tell her all about it when we get home, yeah?”
Home. My head snapped up. Our eyes met. Home. Texas had always been my home. Opal Springs my sanctuary. My parents’ land, my roots.
But Avalon wasn’t talking about a place. She meant me.
“Wherever you go, Clarke,” she said, her grey eyes bright, “you’ll find me not far behind. I think I l—”
“Hey!” Ethan’s shout cut her off. He galloped toward us, waving his hat wildly. “The sky! Look up!” A gust of wind nearly knocked my hat off. I looked up.
A news helicopter hovered above us, a cameraman dangling out the open door, filming everything.
Shit.