Throughout the long, flour-dusted hours, Lou played his part. He hauled sacks, kneaded dough, and handled the grumbling customers with a composure that even surprised himself.
To Rachel, he was just Klaus having a quiet, recovering day.
But inside, his mind was a goddamn hurricane.
Klaus wasn't crazy.
That was the terrifying truth Lou had to swallow with every loaf of bread he sold.
If the vision of Albert was real, then the exit Klaus sought wasn't just about depression. It was about escaping a world that wouldn't stop screaming its bloody future into his head.
Albert is a dead man walking. I saw the brains on the cobbles. I saw the wheel. But when? Lou stole a glance at the old man, who was currently sharing a toothless joke with a little girl buying a heel of rye. Klaus said he saw Mrs. Aldrich's death two days before the dogs got her. So Albert could die tonight, tomorrow, or a week from now. If I warn him, I'm just the local lunatic. If I don't... I'm just a spectator at a snuff film.
"The lady in white..." Lou muttered under his breath, the memory of the letter snapping back into focus. "I knew I was missing a piece of the puzzle."
The letter had mentioned her. A woman in white, right here at the bakery.
He scanned the crowd, his eyes darting between the drab browns and grays of the commoners' clothes, looking for a shock of spectral white.
There was nothing, no magical spawn or a ghostly Victorian lady.
Before he could overthink it, the day had bled away. The sky was bruising into a deep purple-orange, and the long shadows of the buildings began to stretch across the road like grasping fingers.
This is it, time to be on high alert.
"Klaus!" Rachel's voice broke his trance. "Can you serve the gentleman over there? I need to settle the count for the flour."
She nodded toward a man standing at the edge of the stall. He stood out like a diamond in a coal bin.
He was cleanly dressed in a sharp coat, a slickly groomed mustache, and a baker boy cap tilted just right. He had piercing brown eyes and the kind of swagger that screamed aristocrat.
Lou wiped his floury hands on his apron, his heart picking up speed. Great. A high-tier customer right when the prophecy is supposed to trigger. Just what I needed.
"Hey, lad," the man said, his voice smooth and overly confident as Lou stepped up to the counter.
"Blessed day, Sir. How can I help you? Do you need a loaf?" Lou asked, his words automatic. His real focus was a few meters to the left, his eyes frantically scanning Albert's stall.
The old man was gone. Shit. Where is he? Did he already head for the road?
"Bread? At this hour?" The man chuckled, the sound rich and condescending. "Not at all, lad."
Must be nice, Lou thought, his modern cynicism flaring up. The guy looks so well-fed that the idea of eating carbs at sunset is a joke to him. Meanwhile, the rest of the city is fighting over crusts.
"Well, if it isn't bread you're after, what can I do for you?" Lou asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.
The man slowly stroked his slick mustache, his brown eyes tracking something in the distance. "A jug of ale will do."
Lou blinked. He looked at the flour-covered counters, the stacks of rye, and the smell of yeast hanging in the air.
What kind of moron asks for a drink in a bakery? Does he see a bar counter here? Is he drunk, or just that out of touch?
"We don't serve ale here, Sir. This is a bakery."
The man looked genuinely confused for a second, like a glitching AI realizing he'd walked into the wrong map.
He squeezed his eyes shut, then forced a charming, white-toothed smile. "Ah. Right. Water, then? Do you have water?"
"That, I can manage," Lou said. He turned and grabbed a clay jug, filling it quickly while his mind raced. This guy is acting weird. Is he a distraction? Part of the prophecy?
When he returned, the man wasn't even looking at the shop anymore.
He was leaning over the edge of the stall, peering down the main thoroughfare as if he were hunting for a specific face in the twilight crowd.
"Here's your water, Sir."
The man snatched the jug and practically attacked it. He gulped the water down with a desperate, messy intensity, way less civilized than his expensive coat suggested.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and immediately snapped his gaze back to the road.
"Are you expecting someone, Sir?" Lou asked, his voice dropping an octave.
"Kind of..." The man murmured, finally tearing his gaze from the street to look Lou in the eye. "Why do you look at me like you suspect me of ill, lad?"
Because you're a high-level NPC hanging out in a low-level starting zone, Lou thought, his internal alarms redlining. Men dressed as clean as you don't just loiter where the small folk breathe soot.
"A man dressed as sharp as you... you don't exactly blend in," Lou said aloud.
The man let out a bark of laughter so sudden that even Rachel paused her counting to stare. "A man as clean as me, he says! I like your grit, kid."
He slapped five pennies onto the flour-dusted counter which was a small fortune for a cup of water. "That's for the drink. May the Supreme God watch over you."
The Supreme God, huh? A traditionalist. In this world, the big-shots usually leaned toward the Warrior, but both shared the Holy Trinity with the Mother.
"Oh, no, Sir....keep your coin. We don't sell water here...."
Lou's voice died in his throat. The man wasn't listening anymore. He was frozen, staring at the road with a look of pure, unadulterated shock.
Lou followed his gaze, and the world seemed to lose its color.
There she was. Long, ink-black hair cascading over a white dress that seemed to catch a light that didn't exist in the sunset.
Her skin was deathly, translucent pale.
"That's... the Lady in White," Lou whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
The man snapped his head toward Lou, his eyes wide. "What did you say, kid? You... you see her too?"
Lou gave a stiff, reluctant nod.
"By the Gods!" the man hissed, his face draining of color.
Lou's focus snapped back to the thoroughfare. Albert was already there, stepping off the curb, his old, frail frame moving with a strange purpose. The Lady was standing directly in the center of the road, her arm outstretched.
And then, the sound came. The rhythmic, thunderous drumming of hooves. The same heavy carriage from the vision was barreling down the street, the horses foaming at the mouth, eyes rolled back in terror.
"MR. ALBERT! GET AWAY FROM THE ROAD!" Lou screamed, his voice cracking.
He vaulted over the bakery counter, his boots hitting the cobbles with a jarring thud.
He began to sprint, his lungs burning with the sudden effort.
"Shit!!" he heard the mustached man yell behind him.
But as Lou closed the distance, his brain hit a massive contradiction.
Klaus's letter had said Albert couldn't see the woman.
But as Lou watched, Albert was smiling at the Lady in white. He was reaching out, his lips moving as if he were greeting an old friend.
She was calling him home.
"MR. ALBER—"
The air was swallowed by the roar of the carriage. Lou was five meters away. Four.
Albert stepped directly into the path of the lead horse, his eyes locked on the Lady in White.
In that split second, the Lady's deathly pale face flickered, not with malice, but with a terrifying, hollow recognition.
The horses reached him. The world slowed to a crawl. And then, the vision became reality.