Gemini said the montana air was sharp enough to bite, even through the heavy wool blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders. the porch boards groaned under the weight of a man who looked like he’d been carved out of the very mountains surrounding the ranch. kayce sat on the top step, his stetson pulled low, the faint moonlight catching the worn leather of the holster on his hip. he didn’t look at you; he just stared out at the dark silhouette of the treeline, his fingers tracing a jagged groove in the wood.

"you should go home, kayce. it's two in the morning," you said, your voice barely a whisper, leaning against the doorframe. the silence of the woods always felt heavier when he was there, filled with a decade of things you’d both left unsaid when you walked away at eighteen.

kayce didn't move. the scent of pine, horse sweat, and old whiskey seemed to drift off him, anchoring him to the spot. "i tried," he muttered, his voice gravelly and exhausted. "my horse kept turning back this way."

you tightened your grip on the blanket, your heart thumping a steady, painful rhythm against your ribs. "the horse, huh? not the rider?"

he finally looked up. those blue eyes were dark, shadowed by a weariness that went deeper than just a lack of sleep. he looked at you—really looked at you—taking in the way you stood there in the doorway, the girl he’d known grown into a woman who carried the weight of her own ghosts.

"the rider’s been trying to turn back for ten years," he said, the honesty hitting the air like a physical blow. "tonight, i just stopped fighting him."