Tiffany laughed the loudest.
The village was called Esperanza, a name that hung in the air like a prayer. And in Esperanza, everyone knew about Juan el Caballo Loco .
He dismounted. Up close, he smelled of smoke and rain and something ancient. His fingers brushed her jaw. "I take hearts, yes. But only those already given to fear. Yours… yours is still your own."
Tiffany touched the braid. "Evidence."
Then she heard it: a rhythmic thud, like a heart beating beneath the earth. Hooves.
"Of what?"
"Then what do you want, Juan?"
She smiled, and for the first time in years, it wasn't calculated. "That some things aren't meant to be explained. Only ridden."
He leaned close, lips near her ear. "I want you to stay. Not for me. For yourself. The canyon, the moon, the road—they've been waiting for someone to ride them without running."
"I’m a rationalist, Maya. The only ghost I believe in is bad Wi-Fi."
Tiffany should have run. Instead, she reached up and pushed his sombrero back. His eyes were not cruel. They were lonely.
From the darkness emerged a horse the color of charcoal, eyes burning like amber coals. Astride it sat a man—or something that wore a man's shape. His sombrero was low, his jacket tattered leather, and his smile… his smile was a crack in the world.
Tiffany Watson had never believed in curses. She was a data analyst from London, a woman who trusted spreadsheets, flight schedules, and the precise chemistry of her morning oat milk latte. So when her best friend, Maya, dragged her to a tiny, sweltering village in rural Mexico for a "spiritual detox," Tiffany rolled her eyes and packed sunscreen.