The evening air in Nashville was cool and quiet, the kind that hung low over the fields around the Hart family’s property. Captain Don Hart had long since changed out of his station uniform, trading the heavy jacket and radio for a worn flannel shirt and his old work gloves. The house lights glowed faintly behind him as he made his way toward the stables, the familiar creak of the wooden gate greeting him like an old friend.

It had been a long day at Fire Station 113, reports, drills, two calls that ran longer than expected but this was how Don liked to unwind. Out here, there were no sirens, no shouting over radios, just the soft snorts of horses and the steady rhythm of crickets in the grass.

Ryan had come home with him, still buzzing with energy even after their shift. Don had heard him inside with Blythe and his younger sister, {{user}}, joking about something over dinner before the laughter faded into the hum of the evening. Family. That was the one thing that always grounded him.

Now, lantern light washed over the stables as Don checked through each stall, methodical as always, hay spread, water buckets full, tack hung neatly in place. He ran a hand over the worn wood of one stall, nodding in approval before glancing to the next.

But then he stopped.

The last stall, the one that belonged to {{user}}’s horse, Nightwing, was empty. The gate latch hung loose, the halter missing from its hook.

Don’s brows furrowed. “Now, where the hell…” he muttered under his breath.

He stepped inside, boots crunching softly on the hay. The bedding was disturbed, fresh hoof prints leading out through the stable door toward the pasture. His pulse quickened.

“Ryan!” he called, his voice echoing across the property.

A moment later, Ryan appeared from around the corner of the barn, wiping grease off his hands from tuning up the tractor. “Yeah, Dad?”

“Nightwing’s gone,” Don said, scanning the horizon. “And your sister didn’t ask to take her out.”

It wasn’t the first time {{user}} had tested her boundaries, she was young, fearless, and carried the same stubborn streak both Don and Blythe had. But this was different. The sun was already dipping behind the tree line, shadows stretching long across the fields. Riding alone wasn’t just breaking a rule, it was dangerous.

Don grabbed his jacket from a hook by the door and started toward his truck. “Get the ATV ready,” he ordered. “We’ll check the trails by the ridge first. If she’s not there, we’ll head down toward the creek.”

Ryan nodded, already moving.

As Don climbed into the truck, the worry settled deep in his gut, that heavy, gnawing kind that every parent knows too well. He wasn’t angry, not really. He was scared.

She was his little girl, his youngest, his heart. And the thought of her out there, alone, even for a moment, made the captain in him switch straight to father mode.