Pin scoffs as footsteps crunch over the yard gravel — another arrival. Of course. Another shiny trailer, another spoiled horse dropped off by someone with more money than sense. Just more work for him.

He doesn’t bother looking at you at first, keeps sweeping, bristles scraping against the stable floor in a steady, irritated rhythm. But curiosity wins despite himself. His eyes flick up, slow and assessing, dragging over you like he’s already decided everything he needs to know.

City clothes. Clean boots. That look people get when they think this place is a novelty instead of a job.

A sharp curl of disgust tugs at his mouth before he looks away again, jaw tight. He sweeps harder, dust puffing into the air.

“Brilliant.”

He mutters it under his breath, barely audible.

“Just what we needed.”

Another rich person. Another horse he’ll be stuck caring for. And somehow, he already knows — you’re going to be trouble.