The phoenix stutters forward and you ride lifelessly with your hands grasping Quinn’s waist. The girl clicks her tongue, mimicking your invented commands. You feel admiration for her for picking it up so quickly, but that dies away a few seconds later.

There’s little room for anything but the looming defeat.

It’s clear why he did it. He didn’t trust you. Even though you made promises, time after time, he didn’t trust you enough to hold to your word. He chose to betray you and destroy his strongest competitor. All for a taste of glory. All to cross the finish line alone.

Trust picks his cautious way through the canyons. The girl’s not the smoothest rider, but Trust isn’t exactly the ideal horse for learning how to ride. Changes in elevation startle him. Missteps cause him to snort and cower. Quinn’s quick to stop the phoenix’s progress, whisper firmly, and prod him back into motion. An admirable effort, but you know the truth. You’ve fallen too far behind. The distances will only increase. There’s no way of getting Trust up to a full gallop. By the time night comes, the Races will be all but lost.

Eventually, the plateau narrows into a winding descent. Trust gains a rhythm as the sun starts to sink, broken only once by the anxious flight of a pair of dark desert birds.

You hate how often you find yourself searching the distance, looking for some sign of Bravos. It’s a foolish and pitiful hope. Especially with the numbers ticking on your wrist. You hate how accurate the measurements are, how Bravos’s name appears there next to them:

1. Etzli: 1,803 paces
2. Bravos: 1,502 paces
3. Revel: 1,238 paces

For the first time, you imagine your parents reacting to what they’re seeing. The hidden alliance likely surprised them, but now you’re certain this failure is a crowning embarrassment for them. How will you ever face them again? The perfect little girl who made a perfect little mistake. Too long you’ve imagined how this race would be the foundational piece in a prosperous future. You never imagined a failure so full, so final.

“Pippa.”

Quinn’s voice drags your eyes to the present. A river flanks your path, dirty and sluggish. Ahead, the rust-red walls of the canyon divide. Two paths slither their separate ways.

“Which way?” she asks.

Unbidden, the map rises in your mind. You see all the trails and rivers and passes. Go left and you’ll follow the course most of the other riders will choose. The forests wait that way. You’re sure Bravos is already halfway there, and any other rider worth their weight will follow.

Go right and you’ll end up traveling almost due east, across the face of massive canyons, and eventually around to the safest roads the course has to offer. The safest and slowest.