Lou gripped the edges of the yellowed fabric, pulling it up until it hooded his neck and masked his nose.
He gave a sharp, wet sniff, faking a congested draw of mucus.
"Oh? Do you have the flu?" Rachel asked, her brow smoothing over with a new kind of worry.
Wow. I'm actually surprised that worked so fast, Lou thought, a flicker of relief washing over him. For someone with a high-stat Intellect, she's a bit too trusting of her 'little brother.'
"Yes, big sister," Lou said, his voice muffled behind the cloth. "I just woke up sneezing. I think I must have caught a chill last night."
Rachel tilted her head, her sharp eyes scanning the room. "But... it was sweltering last night, Klaus. Even this morning, the air is thick enough to bake bread in."
Damn. She's too observant.
"Then it must be the dust," Lou countered quickly, his mind racing. "The room is filthy. I think I'm reacting to the soot."
Rachel didn't look entirely convinced. She took a few steps toward the bed.
Lou's heart hammered against his ribs.
If she gets any closer, she's going to try and mother me. One touch, one tug of this fabric, and the 'suicide' cat is out of the bag.
"I wouldn't get any closer if I were you," Lou said, shifting back slightly.
"And why is that?" Rachel asked, pausing but not retreating.
"Surely you know the disease is contagious," Lou said, pitching his voice to sound as pathetic and sickly as possible. "I wouldn't want you catching this before a big day."
Rachel stopped dead.
Then, that signature warm smile, the one that usually acted as Klaus's safety net cracked across her face.
"That is very correct. Having the flu while it's hot can be miserable, especially with a blocked nose."
"I'm having a bit of difficulty breathing myself," Lou added, forcing a dry, raspy giggle.
But as soon as the laugh left his throat, the glow in Rachel's eyes vanished. The warmth was replaced by a heavy, piercing seriousness. She leaned in just a fraction, her voice dropping to a near-whisper.
"Did you sleep peacefully tonight, Klaus?"
Somehow Lou knew what Rachel meant.
She wasn't talking about the temperature or the dust. She was talking about the dreams.
"Yes, big sister," Lou said, meeting her gaze with all the feigned honesty he could muster. "I slept with no problems at all. Not a single shadow."
Rachel didn't look convinced. Not even a little bit.
Her eyes lingered on him, searching for the cracks.
Shit. Do I look suicidal? Lou wondered, his skin crawling. If she thinks I'm about to break, I'm in for a three-hour pep talk and enough nagging to last me two lifetimes. I need to sell this 'cured' act, and I need to do it now.
"I know you're worried, big sister, but I'm telling you....I'm fine," Lou said, injecting as much "healthy" energy into his muffled voice as possible. "I haven't had a nightmare in days. I think the fever broke. They're finally ending."
Rachel's expression wavered. "You know you can always talk to me, Klaus. I'm always here for you. No matter how dark it gets."
"I know that better than anyone," Lou said, leaning into the original Klaus's memories. "When have I ever kept a secret from you? If something was bothering me, you'd be the first to know."
Her eyes finally softened. The suspicion receded, replaced by a weary sigh of relief.
"Good. If those shadows ever start crawling back, you come straight to me. Promise?"
"Yes, Rachel. I promise."
Lie, massive lie, but hey, survival first, Lou thought.
Rachel turned toward the door, her mind already shifting to the day's labor. "Come on, then. We need to get to the bakery, the city won't wait for its bread. It's just you and me today. Bellarmine left this morning..."
Lou froze. "Left? What do you mean, left?"
Rachel paused at the threshold, looking back over her shoulder. "Oh, he didn't tell you? I suppose it was a bit of a whirlwind. He landed a job on a merchant ship, some last-minute opening from his old employers. The pay was too good to pass up, Klaus. He won't be back for at least two months."
She didn't wait for him to process the news. She stepped out and clicked the door shut behind her.
...
By six in the morning, Ypsisti City was screaming.
The air was a thick soup of coal smoke, horse manure, and the desperate cries of street vendors.
Men in frayed coats stood on crates, shouting themselves hoarse just to scrape together a few pence for a loaf of bread.
The markets were already a chaotic hive, swarming with everyone from soot-stained laborers to high-society types who looked like they'd never scrubbed a floor in their lives.
But as Lou navigated the cobblestones, his eyes didn't linger on the crowds. They kept darting toward the heavy wooden wheels of the passing carriages.
"Albert will die."
The line from the letter echoed in his head, sending a cold shudder down his spine. He tried to shake it off, forcing himself to focus on the scenery.
The architecture was a dead ringer for late 17th-century London. All red brick, narrow windows, and cramped alleyways.
The fashion was just as ridiculous. Men paraded around in waistcoats and breeches, their legs squeezed into white stockings like overstuffed sausages.
The women were even worse, navigating the narrow streets in structured gowns with skirts so wide they practically blocked traffic.
What a weird era. I'd give anything for a pair of sneakers and some sweatpants right now.
They finally reached the Timbolt Bakery.
Calling it a "bakery" was a generous stretch of the imagination. It was a cramped, soot-blackened room barely twice the size of a Blair toilet. It was tiny, but in a city this hungry, it was a gold mine.
Right next door was a near-identical shop, its doors already thrown wide.
"It's already open?" Lou asked, looking at the neighbor's stall.
"Yes," Rachel replied, tying her apron with practiced speed. "Old man Albert must have caught the early light today. He's always been the last one to stoke the coals."
Lou stared at the neighboring shop, his heart sinking into his stomach like a lead weight. The guy marked for the carriage.
"Go and ask Albert what the price of a loaf is today," Rachel directed, not looking up from her task. "We need to know if the inflation spiked again before we even think about stoking the ovens."
Lou hesitated, a cold sweat pricking his hairline, but he couldn't exactly say no without looking like a freak.
He forced his leaden legs to move toward Albert's stall.
Albert was an aging man with a face like a crumpled map, peering through thick, cracked glasses. He had to be nearing eighty.
According to Klaus's memories, the old man was a solitary ghost. Rumor was he'd had a son once, but they'd had a falling out over a marriage years ago and hadn't spoken since.
A widower living in silence, sustained only by the smell of yeast and woodsmoke.
"Ugh, Klaus. You're lagging today," Albert grunted, his arthritic hands rhythmically rolling dough. "The old man beat you to the sunrise, eh?"
Lou froze for a heartbeat before plastering on a grin. "Just this once, Albert. Enjoy the victory while it lasts. I was... occupied."
"Did the Warrior protect your rest last night?" Albert asked, referring to the Empire's favored deity.
"Praise the Warrior. I slept like a baby," Lou lied, the fabric around his neck feeling tighter by the second. "So, tell me, what's the damage? How much for a loaf today?"
"It went up again. Three pence," the old man sighed.
"Three pence? That's a total ripoff," Lou blurted out.
"The economy is bleeding out, boy. These never-ending wars in the Southern Continent... the Emperor keeps reaching into our pockets to fund his colonial ambitions."
The Southern Continent? Lou's mind sparked. That's where Klaus's father disappeared. The colonies.
"Things will turn around, Albert," Lou said, trying to sound encouraging. "The Emperor and the King will see sense eventually. The Warrior will bless us."
"When?" Albert scoffed, his eyes dark behind the glass. "Are they waiting to 'come around' until after I'm in the dirt?"
As the word dead left Albert's lips, something in the air snapped.
Reality glitched.
The morning sun suddenly accelerated, streaking across the sky in a blur of gold and orange until it plummeted below the horizon.
The bustling morning sounds faded into a haunting, unnatural silence. The world went dim.
Suddenly, Albert wasn't behind his counter. He was standing, frozen like a statue, in the middle of the main thoroughfare.
A roar of hooves shattered the silence. A man atop a massive carriage was screaming, hauling back on the reins as his horses bore down on the old man at a breakneck speed.
But Albert just stood there and didn't move. He didn't even blink.
The impact was sickening.
The lead horse slammed into Albert, sending him spiraling underneath the heavy wooden frame.
Lou watched in slow-motion horror as the massive, iron-rimmed wheel rolled directly over the old man's skull.
There was a sound like a dry branch snapping.
Brains and gore splattered across the cobblestones, gray and red in the twilight.
The carriage lurched, toppling over and throwing the driver onto the hard ground with a bone-crunching thud.
...
Lou's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"Kid! Klaus!" A distant voice pulled him toward the light. Lou gasped, his vision fracturing and stitching itself back together.
The sun was back. The noise was back. And Albert was standing right in front of him, looking concerned.
"Are you okay? You went white as a sheet, boy," Albert asked, reaching out a flour-dusted hand.
Lou didn't answer. He couldn't and his breath was coming in ragged hitches.
It wasn't just a nightmare anymore. He had seen it. He had felt the spray of the blood.
Klaus wasn't a lunatic. The vision was a promise. And if Lou didn't do something, Albert was going to be painted across the street.
_______________
A/ N:The "Black Plague" of 1756 wasn't just a health crisis, but also a geopolitical reset. Over 50 million citizens perished, shattering the Empire's labor force and tax base.
With a decimated army and no supplies, Euodia's iron grip on its Southern colonies began to slip. Revolution and desertion followed.
The Emperor is desperate. To reclaim his lost "glory," he has spiked taxes to a breaking point to fund a hollowed-out military. This is why bread costs a fortune and why men like Klaus's father never came home.