The wind rushed past Aria's ears, a roaring symphony of speed and freedom. Beneath her, Ghost was a piston of white muscle, his hooves tearing up the earth as he galloped toward the treeline.
She wasn't just riding; she was flying. For the first time since her rebirth, the weight of her revenge, the shadow of the asylum, and the constant calculation of her survival faded away. There was only the rhythm of the gallop and the bite of the mountain air.
To her left, a dark shadow surged forward.
Damien, riding Omen, pulled up beside her. He looked effortless in the saddle, his body moving in perfect sync with the massive black Friesian. He didn't look like a CEO or a Demon King; he looked like a wild thing that had briefly decided to wear human skin.
"Tired yet?" he shouted over the wind, a challenge in his golden eyes.
