Verina's dreams had changed. They no longer twisted with strange voices, unknown women and death. Now, each night unfolded the same—a silent and boundless forest reaching endlessly into darkness. Verina would walk through it, her footsteps muted by the thick undergrowth, her eyes searching for something she could not name. Each time, she would wake with a sense of loss, as if she'd left behind something she should have found.
By day, however, it was a different story. Her dreams might be empty, but her waking moments brimmed with flickers of the unknown. Visions crept into her world like whispers on the wind, slipping between her thoughts, merging with reality until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. The first time it happened, she'd thought herself dizzy. A shadow had blurred past her in the street, familiar in an unnerving way.
And now, that shadow appeared more often. Each time, it seemed closer. She could never see the face, only a dark, cloaked figure, just out of reach. Sometimes she felt a chill or smelled a faint trace of iron and incense that vanished as quickly as it came. And every time, a strange pang of recognition struck her—an intuition that was both thrilling and terrifying.
The figure felt significant, as though it held some meaning she was meant to understand. It was waiting for her, watching her. It moved with purpose, yet it left her with nothing but fragments, glimpses that told her nothing.
There were moments when a name, unformed and slippery, surfaced in her thoughts, only to fade before she could grasp it. She wondered if she was going mad, caught between waking and sleeping, between herself and whatever this figure represented. A part of her wanted to pursue this figure, to unravel the mystery of their presence, to understand why they felt like a mirror's reflection in a fogged glass—so near, yet completely unknown.
Lost in thought, she nearly jumped when the bakery door swung open, a gust of cold air sweeping across the room. Blinking away the fog of her visions, she looked up, expecting a familiar noble or the usual morning bustle. But no. It was the same Archduke's guard that watched her yesterday, tall and imposing, his scarred face giving him a fierce, unyielding look.
"Good morning, Verina," he greeted, though his tone sounded less casual and more... calculated.
"Good morning, sir," she replied, her voice carefully controlled. She was polite but guarded, her eyes flicking briefly to the door, hoping that some other customer might enter soon and disrupt whatever this visit meant.
"Busy morning?" he asked, his gaze settling heavily on her. When she offered only a polite nod, he continued, "I think I'll sit here for a while. Could I trouble you for something warm?"
Verina's stomach tightened, but she forced herself to keep her composure. "Of course," she replied, her voice steady. "Please, take a seat. I'll bring something right over."
The guard settled at a corner table, his eyes following her every move as she poured him a mug of tea and added a small plate of pastries. She kept her face calm as she approached, setting the items in front of him, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on her. Just as she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
"Stay a moment, if you don't mind," he said, his tone smooth but insistent. "I find myself quite curious about you."
Verina hesitated, glancing toward the door, but then steeled herself and turned back, giving him a polite, measured look. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir."
He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I've heard you've been here your whole life," he began, picking up his tea. "Grew up in this town, I presume?"
Verina nodded, keeping her voice short and even. "Yes."
"And your family? They're from around here too?"
Verina tensed slightly, a faint chill creeping into her spine. "As far as I know," she answered, her voice crisp.
"But you don't know much, do you?" he continued, his tone probing, unyielding. "Ah, I don't mean any offence, of course. But it's odd—seems not many people around here know much about your family's past. It's as if you arrived one day and slipped right in, unnoticed. Hardly something you'd expect from those born and bred here."
Verina kept her face steady, though inside she felt her thoughts twist with unease. "My parents passed on before they could tell me much," she replied, her words measured. "I only know what little they left behind."
The guard's smirk faded, replaced with a calculating look that made her skin prickle. "I see. Well, sometimes what's left behind speaks as loudly as what's remembered," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.
She felt his gaze pressing against her, as if he sought answers in the very way she stood, the way she responded. He stirred his tea absently, his eyes never leaving her, an intensity in his gaze that made her feel exposed.
After a moment, he broke the silence. "I'll be around for a few days," he said, almost casually. "The Archduke has many affairs here, and I have plenty of time to get to know this town… and its people." He gave her a final look, one that held just the faintest trace of a threat, before returning to his tea.
Verina's pulse quickened, but she only nodded. "Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you," she replied calmly, though her words felt hollow. She turned, leaving him to his tea, but his questions lingered, heavy and unsettling, echoing in her mind like the faint shadows of those dreams she couldn't quite forget.
As she prepared another order behind the counter, she could feel his eyes on her, assessing, analyzing. There was something almost magnetic about him, a confidence that seemed to radiate from him, but it was underscored by an air of danger that sent shivers down her spine.
When she returned to his table to check on him, he leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. "Tell me, Verina, what do you think of the Archduke? His kindness, his intentions?"
Verina arched an eyebrow, her scepticism flaring. "I think kindness can be a facade," she replied, her tone sharp. "And intentions can be masked by ambition. We're in the middle of a war; it's difficult to trust any act of generosity."
The guard's lips curled into a slow, almost amused smile. "Wise beyond your years," he said, clearly pleased by her answer. "But the world isn't so black and white. There are shades of grey in every story. I've seen both the noble and the treacherous dressed in the same garb."
He paused, his gaze penetrating as if searching for something deeper in her eyes. "I wonder what kind of story your family has woven into this town. You have an air about you, a certain resilience. It intrigues me."
Verina fought to maintain her composure. "My story is simple. I lost my family and learned to survive."
"Ah, survival," he mused, leaning back in his chair as if savouring the word. "A skill not easily mastered. And yet, here you are, thriving in a bakery, surrounded by the warmth of bread and sweets. But tell me, have you ever thought that you do not belong here?" he asked, his voice low and deliberate. "Among the flour and sugar, the humdrum of daily life?"
Verina stiffened at his words, feeling a rush of indignation rise within her. How dare he suggest such a thing? "I belong here as much as anyone else," she snapped, her composure cracking. "This is my life—my work—nothing more, nothing less."
"Is it?" he countered, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You seem too sharp to settle for this. Tell me, how do you envision your future?"
Verina's breath caught in her throat, her fists clenched. "I'm not here to discuss my future with you," she said, her voice steady but firm. "I came to serve you, not to share my life story."
His expression shifted, a glimmer of respect mingling with mischief. "Fair enough. But I find it's the stories we bury that often tell us the most." He reached into his pocket and produced a small silver coin, spinning it effortlessly between his fingers. "This town has secrets, and you may have some of your own. But remember, secrets have a way of coming to light, whether we want them to or not."
As he flicked the coin back into his pocket, Verina couldn't shake the feeling that he knew more than he let on. As she walked away, she could feel his gaze still fixed on her, a quiet challenge that both intrigued and unsettled her. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the tasks at hand, but her mind raced with thoughts of their exchange.
What gave him the right to question her place in the world? The bakery was her way of navigating life's challenges. But there was something about his demeanour that rattled her, something that made her feel both insignificant and inexplicably important.
Verina worked through the afternoon rush, her thoughts drifting back to the guard's probing questions. Each time the door swung open, she glanced up, half-expecting to see him enter again. But it was another familiar face that stepped into the bakery just as the sun began to dip below the horizon.