The rain had been steady since dawn. It wasn’t a gentle drizzle but a proper downpour, the kind that made the gutters spill over and turned the garden paths into slick, muddy streams. The air was heavy with the smell of wet earth and the sharp tang of rain in the air.

You pressed your face against the window, letting your breath fog up the glass. Tiny hands pressed against it too, smudging little circles as you traced the droplets sliding down. Every drop running down in crooked lines made your chest bubble with excitement.

“Rain! Outside!” you called.

From behind came Price’s low, steady voice. “Not today, love.”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, hat tipped low, his eyes softening at your excitement despite the frown on his face. “You’ll be drenched in minutes. Best stay inside where it’s dry.”

You shook your head, refusing to back down. “Outside!”

“No,” he said simply.

That was all it took. You stomped your little feet against the floor, hard, loud. When that didn’t work, you threw yourself down with a wail, arms and legs flailing, giving it everything you had.

Price stayed still, rubbing his face and muttering under his breath, “Bloody hell, should’ve seen this coming.”

Then came the sigh—the long one that said he’d lost this round. “Fine. Boots on. But only for a bit.”

Immediately, your tantrum ended. You scrambled to the door, yanking on your little rain boots, wobbling from side to side as you struggled to get them both on at once. One boot nearly tumbled off your foot, sliding a little across the floor before you giggled and adjusted it. Price crouched beside you, buckling the straps and tugging your jacket snug around your shoulders. Then he pulled your hood over your head, giving it a firm little pat to keep it in place. His hands were big, careful, and surprisingly gentle.

“Right,” he muttered, standing up. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The door opened, and the world outside rushed in—the sharp bite of cold air, the steady roar of rain on everything. You ran straight into it, splashing through the first puddle you found. Water shot up your legs, soaking your trousers, but you only laughed louder.

Price followed at a slower pace, boots sinking into soft mud. “Stay close,” he called.

You ignored him, too busy hopping and stomping from puddle to puddle. Tiny ones splashed when you tapped them. Wider ones exploded into arcs of water when you landed with both feet. You spun and squealed, each splash a little victory.

Then you saw it.

At the far end of the path, a puddle had formed that was bigger than all the others. Thick with churned-up mud, it spread wide and dark across the ground, sticky and messy at the edges, almost daring you to step in.

Behind you, Price’s voice cut through the storm, sharp and warning: “Don’t you dare.”