Freya

Freya pulled a rain sheet over Nova before they headed out of the stable. Danielle and her bay Thoroughbred, Atlas, were already waiting for them.

The rain fell in a soft drizzle, and she slipped on her rain jacket before mounting her tall, sturdy horse. The first time she'd ever sat on a horse, she was two years old. That was when the adventure began, and her future was set in stone. She started riding seriously when she was five, and since then, she'd never wanted anything else. It was at her first riding class that she met Danielle - and they'd been riding side by side ever since.

The rain had picked up now, drumming harder against the roof of the hall. The sound echoed through the space, but thankfully, the horses were used to it.

The powerful body beneath her surged forward, each stride a burst of energy that resonated through the enclosed space of the riding hall. The rhythmic pounding of his hooves against the sand filled the air, a steady drumbeat that pulsed through her veins and echoed off the walls.

They approached the first jump, her heartbeat syncing with his strides. With a smooth push, they lifted off, soaring over the obstacle. For a split second, the world held its breath - the thud of hooves vanished, replaced by the quiet stillness of flight. The dim glow of the artificial lights cast faint shadows around them, the air thick with the scent of sand, leather, and dust. Then, with a solid thud, his hooves met the ground, and the rhythm picked up again, steady and relentless.

They moved seamlessly from one jump to the next. Each approach was sharp, each takeoff a controlled explosion of power. The walls of the riding hall seemed to close in, amplifying every breath, every hoofbeat, every tiny shift of her weight. His muscles flexed and released beneath her, a steady surge of strength responding to her slightest cue.

Everything else faded away - it was just her, him, and the course ahead. Her focus narrowed, her body reacting instinctively to his movements. The sound of his breathing blended with her own, grounding her. Each landing sent a jolt through her, a reminder of the sheer power she guided and the connection that bound them together.

The jumps blurred into a smooth rhythm, one obstacle conquered after another. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins with every leap - a perfect balance of control and freedom, strength and grace. He carried her forward, sure and unyielding, their ride filling the hall with a rhythm that felt like a heartbeat.

"That was a solid run," Danielle said as Freya trotted over, both she and Nova still catching their breath.

Freya opened her mouth to respond, but her attention snagged on something - him. Seth. He was sitting up in the stands, his posture relaxed, eyes focused on her. Watching. Was he here to scope out what he planned to destroy?

Nova's steps slowed as they neared where Seth sat, his gaze unwavering.

"Impressive."

"Want to give it a shot?"

"I think I'll stick to what I know."

"Is there a reason you're here, or..?"

"I wanted to ask if you'd join a meeting so we can plan ahead."

"No need. Nothing's going to change here."

"Things will change whether you like it or not. The stable is mine-bought and paid for."

"Even knowing what this place means to people? Even knowing you're taking away the home of thirty horses?"

"The council approved the purchase regardless of what the buyer planned to do with the stable."

"So that's it?"

"That's it."

Her glare was harsh, cutting through the space between them. Those clear blue eyes of his might have been beautiful in another reality, but right now, they only reflected cold indifference. She didn't respond. Instead, she turned Nova away, walking out of the hall with Danielle and Atlas following close behind.

The sound of hooves faded into the distance, but the tension hung thick and unmoving.

Their conversation told her enough. Enough to know that he had no understanding of their situation.

And that made it easier not to back down.

"Can't you just sleep with him?" Freya asked, her eyes pleading as she looked at Danielle.

Danielle's eyes widened in horror. "Why the hell would I sleep with him?"

Freya smirked at her friend's reaction. "I don't know, maybe it'll make him happy and satisfied. And then afterward, when he's all relaxed, you can ask him to back out of the sale."

Danielle snorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wow, Freya. That's genius. Truly the best plan you've ever come up with."

They made their way down the road toward the stable, the rhythmic clink of hooves on gravel filling the air. "But seriously, I'm not going to let this happen. I'm going to drive him out of here."

Danielle shot her a skeptical look. "Uh-huh. And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

A slow, dangerous grin spread across Freya's face. "I'm going to make things so miserable for him, so infuriating, that he won't want to waste another second of his precious time here."

Suddenly, the spark of an idea ignited in her eyes. "Oh my god - I know what we're going to do. But we need the whole stable crew on board."

Danielle leaned in, curiosity lighting up her face. "Okay, spill. What's the plan?"

Freya's smile turned wicked. "We expose him. Make sure everyone knows exactly who he is and what he's trying to do. We turn the whole town against him."

Danielle's eyes gleamed with a dangerous kind of hope. "I'm in."

Seth

He found a pushpin and drove it into the bulletin board, the sharp tip piercing the paper with a finality that matched his mood. He made sure it was front and center, the first thing anyone would see when they entered the stable.

"What's that?" Freya's voice cut through the air as she stepped up beside him, her eyes narrowing on the board. "You really think anyone's going to buy your lies?"

"There's nothing to buy because it's the truth," he replied, his voice flat as he turned toward the exit.

"No one here is going to believe you're a good guy, Seth," she shot after him, her words laced with venom.

He stopped, shoulders stiffening, and turned back to meet her glare. Their eyes locked - her gaze sharp, his icy with frustration.

"Just because you're too narrow-minded to see it doesn't mean everyone else is."

The air between them crackled. He turned away again, walking out with deliberate strides. This had to work. He was out of options. The paper was an invitation - a chance to explain his side to the riders, to clear the air and outline his plans. Maybe they'd listen. Maybe they'd be more reasonable than her.

Back in the house, he sank onto the bed, the weight of everything pressing down on him. Let these months pass quickly, he thought. Then he could get the hell out of here, back to a world that made sense. This place was suffocating. Ten years gone, and he had nothing left here. No friends. No family. Tom was his only tie, and he wasn't here.

And the worst part? There was no motocross community. No motorcycles. No engine roars to drown out the silence. That's what he was here to change. But change wasn't going to happen overnight. And Freya sure as hell wasn't going to make it easy.

He flicked open his laptop, hoping a random movie would dull the loneliness clawing at his mind. Tom's voice echoed in his head, laced with skepticism.

Maybe you can't pull this off alone, Seth.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head to chase away the thought. No way was he going to let them win. He'd make this work. He had to. He just needed to give everything he had. Every damn day.

Darkness settled over the room. He didn't even remember falling asleep. His head was foggy, his body stiff as he sat up. Through the crack of the window, he heard footsteps crunching on the gravel. Curious, he glanced out and froze. People were streaming into the stable, the lights from the entrance glowing in the dark. The parking lot was packed with cars.

He hurried outside, hope sparking. Maybe this was a chance to connect with them, to show he wasn't the monster Freya made him out to be.

But as he neared the entrance, Freya's voice rang out - clear, sharp, and relentless.

He paused in the doorway, the cold air biting at his neck. The stable was packed, the smell of hay, sweat, and determination pressing against him. Freya stood at the front, her posture tall, her eyes blazing like twin flames. Her voice cracked through the crowd, a whip lashing with precision.

"He doesn't care about this place or us," she declared, her words steady and sure. "He's just trying to charm us into doing nothing, to stop us from fighting back. But I say no."

Her voice surged, raw and powerful, like a current that no one could resist. Heads nodded, jaws clenched, and eyes glinted with fury. The air thrummed with frustration, with a desperation he hadn't fully appreciated until now. They weren't just angry - they were afraid of losing something precious. Something he didn't want to realize they held so close.

Freya took a breath, and the room quieted, hanging on her every word. "We take this to the local paper. Hell, maybe the regional news will run with it."

Her words were like sparks tossed onto dry tinder. Energy surged through the crowd, a collective inhale of defiance. His gaze swept over them - young women, older riders, stable hands with dirt-streaked faces - all galvanized by Freya's resolve. Only two men stood among them, but their eyes were just as hard, their resolve just as fierce.

"And in 2024, what's our strongest weapon?" Freya's voice lifted, sharp and electric. "Social media."

A ripple of excitement passed through the room. Murmurs of agreement spread like fire. He could practically see the gears turning in their heads, the hashtags forming, the posts composing themselves.

"We post everywhere," she continued, her eyes locking onto faces, one by one. "We show the world what's happening to our stable, our sport, our lives. And most importantly, our horses. Together, we can stop this."

A cheer broke through, not loud, but filled with grim determination. It wasn't hope; it was conviction. They believed her. They believed they could win.

His stomach dropped, the weight of their anger settling heavily in his chest. A leaden disappointment burned through him, bitter and sharp. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms until they hurt. They were slipping further and further away from him, the business deal unraveling like a frayed rope.

"Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible above the rising chatter.

He turned to leave, the taste of failure acrid on his tongue. But something stopped him - her eyes. They caught his, piercing through the haze of frustration. That triumphant smile curled her lips, a subtle, knowing curve that twisted the knife deeper into his gut.

It wasn't just a victory for her; it was a blow aimed directly at him. A reminder that he wasn't the one in control here. That he wasn't the one leading.

Before he could think, his middle finger shot up, a sharp, instinctive reaction. A final, petty declaration of his fury. He didn't wait to see her reaction. He spun on his heel, boots crunching against the gravel as he stalked out into the night.

The cold air slapped against his face, but it did nothing to douse the fire boiling inside him. His breath came in sharp bursts, his pulse a relentless thud in his ears.

She knew how to lead.

That thought gnawed at him, relentless and infuriating. The way the crowd leaned into her words, the way she commanded their attention and ignited their passion - it was a skill he couldn't deny. A power he envied.

And it made everything so much worse.

Because no matter how hard he tried to deny it, she was right. He hadn't considered them. Not really. Not their stories, their memories, their lives tethered to this place. He'd seen numbers and land. She saw a legacy.

And now, because of her, so did they.

His fists relaxed slightly, but his jaw stayed clenched. He couldn't let her win. Not like this. Not when his freedom, his plans, were on the line.

But the seed of doubt had been planted. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, her fire was starting to burn through his carefully laid plans.