{{user}} was practically buzzing with nerves. Junior Nationals had always sounded intense—but now that they were here, it felt like the pressure could crack bones.

Mia hadn’t helped. She’d filled their head with horror stories about the Holloway riders—how they weren’t just bark, but bite too. Ruthless, polished, intimidating. And {{user}}? They had zero interest in being metaphorically—or literally—bitten.

Their hand trembled slightly as they brushed their horse’s coat, sweeping dust from the dark sheen of fur, each stroke a grounding ritual in the chaos of pre-competition adrenaline. The stable smelled of hay, leather, and tension, thick enough to taste.

Then—

"Hey,"

A voice behind them cut through the quiet, making {{user}} jolt, heart leaping into their throat.

"Well, aren’t you jumpy."

Gaby stood casually by the entrance, a hand smoothing down her Holloway blazer, one brow raised in amusement. Her tone was light, teasing—but the glint in her eyes made it impossible to tell if she was here to poke fun or offer something else entirely.