By the time the light outside had given way to dark, she was still there, sitting on the edge of a low wooden stool near Tempest’sstall, rigid with exhaustion she refused to acknowledge. Her gloves had long since been removed, placed carefully on a nearby ledge.
She was still watching him, listening for any change in his breathing. The sound of footsteps at the entrance of the stables broke the silence. She did not look up immediately; she already knew who it was. Dorian’s presence registered differently from the others, even when he tried to move quietly.
He stopped a short distance away from the stall. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Tempest shifted slightly in the stall, then settled again.
Dorian’s gaze moved from the horse to Anne and stayed there.
“You have not left,” he said.
Anne’s eyes remained on Tempest. “Was I expected to?”
“No,” he replied. “But I would have understood if you had.”
“I would not have understood, not when he is like this. He might be a racehorse to you, but to me, he is—” She broke off, not wanting to show too much emotion.
Dorian stepped into the stall, closing the door behind him.
“He is stable,” he said.
“For now.”
He glanced at Tempest again before speaking.
“We have increased security. Every feed store is being checked. No one will enter the stables without being accounted for. If someone did this, they would not have the opportunity to do it again.”
Anne finally looked at him. “That does not undo what was already done,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
“He could have died.”
“Yes,” he acknowledged.
The simple answer made something in her stomach tighten. She looked away again, refocusing on Tempest as though he alone could anchor her.
“I thought it was my fault at first,” she admitted after a moment.
Dorian frowned slightly. “Your fault?”
“I thought I had missed something,” she explained. “Or that I had not noticed the signs of sickness quickly enough.”
“That is not what happened.”
“It is what I thought.” She did not want to say that she thought she might have missed something because she had been distracted by him.
Dorian studied her for a long moment. “You were the first to recognize what was wrong.”
“That does not mean I was not too late.”
“It means,” he countered firmly, “that without you, we would still be guessing.”
Anne did not respond. Her hand moved again over Tempest’s neck, slower, grounding herself in the repetition of a familiar motion.
“I should have been here sooner,” Dorian sighed.
“What matters is that you are here now and that someone thought they could do this inside your own stables.”
A brief silence followed.
