Isobel eased her car down the long, oak-shadowed lane, sunlight breaking through in honeyed shards that dappled the hood. She rolled to a stop outside the barn, the air thick with the scent of hay, leather, and the faint tang of last night’s rain.

She stepped inside, boots clicking softly on the worn planks—but the stalls stood empty, shadows swaying with the loft’s rafters.

Then she heard it—the muffled rhythm of hooves working sand, the sound pulling her toward the round pen like a ...