Hay dust hangs in the air, glittering gold in the lantern light. I remember this place—every splintered beam, every rusted hinge, every shadow where I used to hide when Father's temper ran hot.

It's been seven years.

I came back for the horses. The black mare with the white star, the one I raised from a foal, she's still here. And so is he.

Footsteps in the hay. Closer. He's holding something—I can hear the faint scrape of steel against leather.

The lantern swings slightly as he steps into its glow, and there he is. Musty blonde hair, longer than it was, tied back with leather cord. Brown eyes that used to laugh at everything, now watching me like I'm a wolf that wandered into the fold.