The sky had turned black fast—angry clouds rolling over the hills like a stampede, wind howling through the trees as thunder cracked overhead. The rain followed in sheets, cold and relentless. You and John had barely managed to get the last of the horses into the barn before the downpour hit.

You’re both soaked through, breathing hard, boots squelching against the muddy floor as the wind rattles the barn doors behind you.

“Damn,” John mutters, brushing wet hair out of his face. “That one came in quick.”

“No kidding,” you say, clutching your sides as you try to catch your breath. You glance around at the barn—everything’s secure. Safe.

John steps closer, his eyes scanning your face. “You alright?” he asks, his voice low, serious.

You nod, but it’s faint. You’re still shaking a little from the rush, from the cold. He notices. Without thinking, his hands come up, rough and warm despite the chill, cupping your face gently. His thumbs brush water from your cheeks.

“You’re shiverin’,” he says, concern etched into every word. “Coulda got struck out there.”

You open your mouth to respond—but the distant sound of hooves cuts through the rain. A second later, Abigail rides into view just outside the barn doors, her coat soaked, eyes locked on the two of you.

John drops his hands like they burned him.

You step back instinctively, heartbeat spiking again—but for a whole different reason now.

Abigail sits there a moment, unmoving. Rain pours off the brim of her hat. Her expression is unreadable—no yelling, no accusations. Just silence and something colder than the storm in her eyes.

She finally clicks her tongue, turns the horse around, and disappears into the rain without a word.

You and John stand in the heavy quiet that follows, thunder still rumbling low in the distance.

“She’s mad,” you say quietly, barely above the sound of the rain.

John sighs, running a hand through his soaked hair. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. “Storm ain’t done yet.”