“Someone grab him!”
Terrence was twelve. Cerebral palsy since birth. His grandmother, Paulette, had brought him to the exhibition because he’d been begging for months. He loved horses. Not from pictures or videos – the boy was obsessed in a way nobody in the family understood. He’d never even touched one.
Paulette turned away for thirty seconds to buy a bottle of water.
That’s all it took.
Terrence had already unlatched the gate.
He didn’t wheel himself to the side. He went straight down the center path, right toward the post where Midnight was thrashing.
A handler named Clint saw him first. “KID! STOP!”
Terrence didn’t stop.
Midnight locked eyes on the wheelchair. His nostrils flared. His chest heaved. The rope groaned against the post.
Then it snapped.
The crowd screamed. Paulette dropped the water bottle and ran. Clint dove for the trailing rope and missed.
Midnight charged.
Full gallop. Dust exploding behind each hoof. Sixteen hundred pounds barreling toward a seventy-pound boy who couldn’t even stand up.
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