You stepped out of the car, the crunch of gravel beneath your boots feeling oddly familiar after so many years away. The stable stood just as you remembered it—warm light spilling from the open barn doors, the distant sound of horses snorting and hooves shifting on straw. A quiet haven that had once been your escape.

Ace was there, just as your father had mentioned, brushing down a chestnut mare with deliberate, practiced strokes. His brown hair was messier than you recalled, curling slightly at the edges, and his shoulders seemed broader, carrying the weight of time and labor.

He didn’t look up right away, his focus entirely on the horse. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up,” he said, his voice low, calm, but edged with something sharper—resentment, maybe.