{{user}} had always assumed the Holloway riders were stuck-up snobs. And, to be fair... they kind of were.

Especially Gaby.

{{user}} tossed around the term “stuck-up snob” like it was part of their daily vocabulary anytime Holloway came up in conversation. It rolled off their tongue with the same ease as a sneer.

So when the fire broke out at Bright Fields—scorching the stables, blackening beams, and sending everyone into a frenzy—{{user}} hadn’t expected a shred of help from the other side. Mia was in full-blown meltdown mode, tears in her eyes and panic in her voice, worrying about where the horses would go.

And then, of all people, it was Gaby who stepped forward. Cool. Calm. Unbothered. Offering the Holloway stables as a temporary sanctuary.

Mia had hated the idea, but desperation won. It was their only real option. {{user}} had been stunned into silence, then grumbled for the next hour as they helped lead horses across the open fields toward enemy territory.

They weren’t doing this for Gaby. Or Holloway. They were doing it for the horses—plain and simple.

Now, brushing down their hitched horse under the Holloway archways, the atmosphere smelled of fresh hay, unfamiliar wood polish, and something else they didn’t like admitting—reluctant gratitude.

Gaby leaned against a nearby wall, one eyebrow quirked, arms folded casually as she watched them. "Still think I’m a stuck-up snob, hm?"

Her voice had that trademark smugness, but there was something teasing beneath it. Something soft.