“I dealt with it.”
“How?”
He just grunted in reply, not inclined to elaborate. The north fence was his own domain, and if Walker knew about the breach, he hadn’t mentioned it. That was fine by Ghost. The fewer people who knew which direction trouble might come from, the better.
They worked in silence, the scrape and thunk of forks and boots and horses blowing in their stalls. At the far end, Coyote stamped and tossed his head, impatient for his hay. Ghost shot the horse a look, and the gelding eyed him right back, ears pinned flat. They understood each other. Both had a mean streak a mile wide, especially at dawn.
Before long, X and River strolled in, both talking at top speed about some disaster with the new fencing wire. Bear poked his head in to yell at them about the grain bins, something about somebody screwing up the measurements, and Jonah yelled right back. It was the usual chaos.
Ghost watched it all from the corner of his eye and kept working. He liked the physical rhythm—the scrape, heft, dump, repeat. Honest work. No mess you couldn’t solve with effort and muscle.
He didn’t need more than that. Not the jokes, not the stories that flew back and forth across the barn like happy shrapnel.He’d learned a long time ago that belonging cost more than it paid out.
River broke off his running commentary and leaned on the stall door. “Hey, Ghost. You do that thing where you sleep standing up, or do you just not sleep at all?”
He didn’t answer. He never did, which only encouraged River.
Jonah snorted, flicked a straw at River’s head. “Dude, leave him alone. You know he’s powered by spite and black coffee.”
“Explains the mug,” X said, voice low and amused.
River grinned. “I was gonna say! I found a mug in the kitchen yesterday that wasn’t chipped at all, and I offered to swap it out for Ghost’s, but he acted like I’d suggested burning down the barn. Is it a family heirloom? Or is he just into the vintage-prison cafeteria vibe?”
Ghost kept his jaw tight and his hands moving. It didn’t matter if the mug was ugly. It was his.
But River wasn’t finished. “I mean, I get it. Some people get attached to their stuff. I had a GI Joe action figure as a kid, I used to sleep with it under my pillow. Until my mom gave it away to the Salvation Army. Still not over it, honestly.”
X, deadpan: “That explains your issues.”
“Hey. We can’t all be perfectly adjusted like our friend Casper the Broody Ghost here.”
Ghost ignored the laughter, finished his half of the stalls, and wheeled the barrow outside. He liked River better when the man wasn’t trying so hard. There were flashes of something real in him, under all the noise, but Ghost had never figured out how to draw it out on purpose. Or if he even wanted to.
He dumped the muck and went back inside. The smell of oats and horse and the faint tang of bleach was weirdly comforting. Predictable. He went to Coyote’s stall and grabbed the brush and hoof pick, preparing for the daily battle.
The horse watched him like he was plotting escape. Ghost slipped the halter over his head, murmured low and steady, then braced for the first rear. He wasn’t disappointed. Coyote always had to make his displeasure with grooming known, but he never did any real damage.
“That’s right, bastard,” Ghost muttered, holding his halter and meeting his eye. “You try it and see what happens.”
The gelding huffed, pawed, but finally settled. Ghost checked the back shoe, running his fingertips along the edge. It was loose and pinching, just like he thought. He’d have to have Anson pull and reset it.
He brushed Coyote, working the bristles down the line of muscle and watching the horse’s ears for any sign he’d try something. Coyote tested him twice—a side-eye, a deliberate tail flick—but Ghost was faster. He kept his palm flat, the brush steady, never letting up on the pressure. Predictable. That’s why he liked horses better than people. You could count on them to always act like themselves.
He tried to keep his mind on the task, but it kept circling back to Naomi and the way she’d challenged him in the parking lot outside The Outreach, like she thought she could go toe to toe with him and come out ahead.
She probably could, if she wanted it badly enough.
He’d told her to wait. But he knew, down in his bones, that she’d already made up her mind about how this would go. She’d go after her leads, no matter what anyone said.
He respected it. Hell, he admired it, even as it pissed him off.
He finished the morning chores, checked the time, and realized he was running behind. It wasn’t like him, but today had a drag to it.
He headed back to the Hub, Cinder at his heels. The dog watched him, silent and intense. No doubt she had her ownopinions about all this and was just waiting for him to get on board.
He checked security feeds again, dealt with a malfunctioning camera at the east gate, and installed a new one to cover a blind spot by the main entrance. By the time he was done, he was starving and made his way to the bunkhouse for lunch. He generally preferred to grab something quick and retreat to the silence of the Hub, but today he didn’t have time for that. He’d have to endure the chaos of lunch with his bunkmates.
The place was vibrating with noise. X had the radio on too loud and was singing along as he and Jonah shot pool at the battered table in the common room. Bear was yelling at his beast of a dog, King, who kept trying to steal the loaf of bread off the counter, and River was working the stove, flipping what looked like a doomed grilled cheese with a spatula that had seen better days.
