The night closed in around them as Luna Brava followed the ghostly hoofprints toward the Estrel ranch. The mare’s breath came in steady puffs, her hooves barely making a sound on the damp ground.

  Cami’s pulse drummed in her ears. She could feel Tomás’s grip tighten around her waist as they approached the crumbling remains of the old hacienda.

  The Estrel ranch had once been beautiful—a grand house with arched doorways, sprawling pastures, and endless fields of tall grass. Now, it was nothing but a skeleton, half-swallowed by the wild Pampas. The roof had caved in, vines curled around broken columns, and the wooden doors hung loose on their hinges.

  But what made Cami’s blood run cold wasn’t the state of the ruins.

  It was the ntern glow flickering inside.

  Someone—or something—was already there.

  Luna Brava hesitated, ears flicking back. Cami reached down, running a hand through the mare’s silky mane, her voice a whisper.

  “It’s okay, girl.”

  Tomás let out a shaky breath. “I don’t think it is.”

  A sudden gust of wind swept through the trees, carrying the sound of a horse’s breath—deep and heavy. The ghostly stallion.

  Cami felt a prickle along her spine. The hoofprints—they weren’t leading them to the ranch.

  They were leading them inside.

  She slid off Luna’s back, her boots silent on the soft ground. Tomás followed, though he was still weak. He pulled the poncho tightly around his shoulders, as if he could still feel the presence that had taken him.

  Then, without a word, they stepped through the doorway.

  Inside, dust swirled in the dim ntern light. The old house smelled of earth, wood rot, and something else—something metallic.

  Blood.

  Cami’s heart hammered. She lifted her own ntern higher, the glow spilling over the cracked tile floor. And there, in the dust, she saw them.

  More hoofprints.

  But these weren’t from the ghost stallion.

  These were smaller, lighter… like they belonged to a foal.

  Cami and Tomás exchanged a gnce.

  “What is this pce?” Tomás whispered.

  Cami didn’t answer. She followed the tiny hoofprints deeper into the house, past the grand hall, past a firepce long gone cold, until they reached a heavy wooden door, slightly ajar.

  A soft sound drifted through the crack. A muffled whimper.

  Something was in there.

  Or someone.

  Cami pushed the door open.

  And stared in shock.

  Curled up in a nest of old bnkets, deep in the heart of the haunted ranch, was a girl.

  She looked no older than six or seven, with tangled dark hair and wide, frightened eyes. She clutched a worn leather bag against her chest as if it were her only protection.

  But it wasn’t just the girl that made Cami’s breath hitch.

  Beside her, standing guard, was a tiny foal.

  A silver-grey filly with a flowing mane like Luna Brava’s, its coat speckled with ghostly white spots.

  Tomás made a sound of disbelief. “Dios mío…”

  The filly stomped a tiny hoof, standing protectively in front of the girl. But the child just stared at Cami and Tomás, her small fingers tightening around the bag.

  Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she spoke.

  “You shouldn’t have come here.”

  The wind howled through the ruins, rattling the shutters.

  Something stirred in the shadows.

  And Cami realized—

  They weren’t alone.