William did not remember mounting his horse.
One moment he stood in the threshold of his childhood home, the scent of brewed tea and polished wood clinging stubbornly to the air like a memory that refused to loosen its grip. The next, he was already riding, wind slashing against his face, reins clenched so tightly in his fists that his knuckles blanched pale.
"Ella…"
Her name left his lips like a prayer dragged across broken glass.
The world blurred past him in streaks of green and gold, fields and hedges bending beneath the urgency of his passage. Every beat of his horse's hooves sounded like a ticking clock, each strike a reminder that time, precious fragile time, was slipping through his fingers.
Nathan is lying to her.
The thought circled his mind like a vulture.
He leaned forward, urging his horse faster, breath sharp in his lungs.
"I'm coming, little sister… just hold on."
*
