The wind howled through the ruined hacienda, rattling the broken shutters like ghostly fingers scraping against wood.

  Cami didn’t move.

  Neither did the girl.

  She sat curled on the floor, her thin arms wrapped tightly around the leather bag, as if whatever was inside was more important than her own safety.

  The silver-grey foal took a defiant step forward, her delicate legs tense, her wide, dark eyes flicking toward the shadows.

  Something was there.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  Tomás was the first to speak. “Who are you?” His voice was rough with exhaustion, but gentle. He crouched slowly, hands open at his sides, showing he wasn’t a threat.

  The girl didn’t answer. She just clutched the bag tighter.

  Cami’s gaze dropped to it. The leather was old, cracked, and stained with something dark. Blood?

  The wind rushed through the open door behind them, carrying with it a sound—the distant pound of hooves.

  The ghost stallion was still out there.

  Cami swallowed hard. They had no time for silence.

  She stepped forward carefully. “We’re not here to hurt you.” Her voice was steady, but she could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. “My name is Cami. This is Tomás. We followed the horse tracks here.”

  At this, the girl’s eyes snapped up to meet hers.

  “You saw the riderless horse?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  Cami nodded. “It led us here.”

  The girl’s grip loosened slightly on the bag, but she still looked wary.

  “I told you,” she said, voice trembling. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  A sharp creak echoed behind them.

  Cami and Tomás spun around.

  The door they had come through was slowly closing.

  On its own.

  Luna Brava, still outside, let out a panicked whinny, her hooves scuffing against the stones. The filly beside the girl fttened her ears and pressed close to her.

  Then, a new sound shattered the silence.

  A low, rasping breath.

  It came from the darkened hallway behind them.

  Cami’s pulse skyrocketed.

  Something was coming.

  Tomás grabbed her wrist. “Cami, we need to leave.”

  But the girl suddenly shot forward, clutching Cami’s arm with surprising strength.

  “No.” Her voice was urgent. Terrified. “If you run, he’ll follow.”

  Cami’s mouth went dry. “Who?”

  The girl’s face was pale, her lips trembling as she whispered:

  “The horse isn’t the ghost. The rider is.”

  The shadows shifted.

  A figure emerged from the dark.

  Tall. Draped in an old poncho that hung in tatters.

  His face was hidden beneath the brim of a weathered hat, but his eyes…

  His eyes burned with an eerie white glow.

  The girl squeezed her bag against her chest as the figure took a slow step forward, boots scraping against the tile.

  Cami’s breath caught in her throat.

  The hoofprints had led them here.

  But now, she realized—

  They weren’t following the horse’s path.

  They were walking straight into the rider’s trap.