Vivienne rode until she caught up with André. He was ahead of her, moving slowly, his posture straight but his mind clearly somewhere else. His white horse walked with calm, even steps, while the black one under her seemed alive — restless, its muscles rippling beneath her legs with quiet power. Every stride felt like it had a heartbeat of its own. The reins slid between her fingers, smooth and warm, and she could feel the animal's pulse thrumming faintly against her palms.
She watched André silently for a moment, her gaze tracing the way his shoulders moved beneath his coat. There was a strange grace in the way he rode — firm, measured, too perfect. The reins barely moved in his hands, his fingers resting on them like he was touching something delicate. His whole body looked controlled, like every inch of him was carved from patience. But she could tell his mind wasn't there. His eyes were fixed on the road, yet somewhere far beyond it.
