The guest room was warm in a way that felt deliberately developed of soft amber light spilling from wall lamps, curtains drawn just enough to hint at the city beyond without inviting it in. The scent of baked sugar and butter lingered thick in the air.
Vincent and Oscar sat side-by-side on the edge of the neatly made bed, plates balanced awkwardly on their knees. The cookies the ladies had brought were still warm, crumbly at the edges, sweet enough to make Oscar pause mid-bite.
"This," Oscar muttered, chewing slowly, "is either hospitality… or the opening act of a very long probing."
Vincent snorted quietly, brushing crumbs from his fingers. "If they wanted to do that to us, they wouldn't have used chocolate chips."
Across from them, the room felt too tidy, the kind of tidy that watched you back. Heavy wardrobes, polished floors, a vanity mirror angled just enough to catch reflections that didn't belong to it.
Oscar leaned back slightly, lowering his voice. "We can't just stay here for free. That's how people start asking questions."
Vincent nodded, gaze flicking briefly toward the closed door before returning to his plate.
"Agreed. We offer help, something harmless like the Chores or run errands and fixing things."
Oscar raised a brow. "You fixing things?"
"I can learn," Vincent replied dryly. "Quickly."
There was a short silence, broken only by the soft crunch of cookies being eaten in slow, deliberate, as if neither wanted to finish too fast.
Finally, Oscar spoke again, tone more thoughtful.
"They said the woman's been hosting people on and off for years. Travelers, strays...folks who 'just needed time.'"
Vincent's eyes narrowed slightly. "Which means she notices patterns."
"And outsiders who overstay without contributing?" Oscar added. "They don't last."
Vincent set his empty plate aside. "Then we don't overstay. We integrate."
Oscar smiled faintly. "I'll offer to help with shopping runs. Talk to people and make noise."
"And I'll stay quiet," Vincent said. "Fix doors, carry things. Be forgettable at least till a few days or weeks hopefully."
Oscar chuckled. "You? Forgettable? With your build seems a little bit of delusion don't you think."
Vincent didn't smile back. "I can be."
A soft knock echoed at the door — light, polite.
Both men straightened instantly.
Before either could speak, a Clara's voice drifted in, cheerful and curious.
"If you need more cookies, just say so! Or tea. We have too much of everything."
Oscar glanced at Vincent, then raised his voice, friendly and grateful.
"Thank you! And—uh—actually… we were wondering how we could help around the house. To repay your kindness."
There was a brief pause on the other side.
Then the door handle turned slightly, accompanied by a pleased laugh.
"Oh?" the voice said. "That's very thoughtful of you."
Vincent met Oscar's eyes an obvious silent agreement passing between them.
The first step had been taken but who would have thought that a simple request for repayment would turn out opposite of what they thought.
Elise stood smiling outside the bakery which was just beside the building. She with a rustle of her purse brought out a key and unlocked the door of the bakery.
Vincent and Oscar paused in there steps as they saw the inside of the bakery.
" Huh...I thought it was supposed to be a small bakery what am I looking at " Vincent thought with his mouth opened in disbelief.
They both knew how difficult it was going to be working in a wide bakery without they using an absurd amount of strength which might likely expose them.
" Yo bro , we're fucked aren't we" Oscar cussed silently.
Clara who caught wind of their thoughts appeared behind them, " you just do the cleaning and help if you want to. We got out usual workers so don't fret " she laughed.
They both joined as they had forgotten the simple logic that a bakery with a bakery would have help. The three walked inside the bakery and each began setting the workbench as instructed by Elise.
The scent inside the bakery was richer than upstairs...yeast, caramelized sugar, fresh bread crust cracking as it cooled. Morning light poured through the wide front windows, glinting off rows of polished trays and glass display cases that stretched farther than either Vincent or Oscar had expected.
This was no quaint corner shop.
Industrial mixers hummed in the back. Ovens lined one wall like silent metal sentinels. Racks upon racks of cooling loaves rolled past them as two uniformed workers moved with practiced ease.
Vincent adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, grounding himself. No unnecessary strength. No speed beyond normal. No reflexes that bent perception.
Oscar leaned toward him slightly. "Remember," he muttered under his breath, "we are ordinary."
Vincent gave a faint nod. "Painfully."
Elise clapped her hands once, efficient and bright. "We load the morning shipment in fifteen. Clara, invoices. Boys, stack those trays and wipe down the side counters."
Oscar shot Vincent a look that said: See? Manageable.
Vincent picked up the first tray.
Light. Too light.
He adjusted his grip instantly, adding visible strain, letting his shoulder dip as if compensating for weight that wasn't there. He moved at a deliberate human pace.
Oscar grabbed a stack of boxed pastries and nearly walked too smoothly before catching himself mid-step, forcing an awkward shift of balance.
Clara's eyes flicked toward them.
Not that of suspicion but Observant to see how much they were able to handle.
Outside, the low rumble of an engine grew louder.
A delivery truck rolled into view through the front windows, tires crunching against gravel. It bore no flashy branding—just a clean white exterior with the bakery's emblem stamped neatly on the side.
Oscar froze for a fraction of a second and it didn't go unnoticed by Vincent.
The truck door opened.
The driver hopped down first—a broad-shouldered man in his forties, moving with the steady confidence of someone who had done the same route for years. He circled toward the back to open the cargo doors.
Then the passenger door opened and a familiar figure stepped out.
Rose.
Oscar's breath hitched before he could stop it.
She wore simple work clothes—dark jeans, a fitted jacket, hair pulled back into a low ponytail—but there was nothing simple about the way she carried herself. Calm with eyes scanning without appearing to.
Vincent saw the change in Oscar's posture immediately.
"Don't," Vincent murmured without looking at him.
"I'm not," Oscar whispered back, though his gaze had already shifted toward the door.
Rose turned slightly as she spoke to the driver, and for a fleeting second her eyes passed over the bakery window.
They slowed.
Noticed.
Oscar's pulse spiked.
That night flickered in his memory, he saw her drive past them in a van the cold streets, the dim lamplight, her silhouette at the far inside of the van on the road when they had been searching for somewhere to stay. She had been nothing but crisps the last they heard of her.
The bell above the bakery door chimed as the driver entered first.
"Morning, Elise!" he called warmly.
Elise beamed. "Right on time, Mr. Halden."
Rose stepped in behind him.
The air shifted.
Not drastically.
Clara, who had been mid-sentence about inventory sheets, went quiet for half a beat before recovering smoothly.
"Morning, Rose," she greeted casually.
So she was known.
Oscar forced himself to bend down and pick up another crate, using the motion to hide his face momentarily.
Rose's eyes drifted again.
This time they landed on him.
Recognition sparked but her memory was hazy.
Small.
Vincent straightened slowly, placing himself just slightly between Oscar and her line of sight without making it obvious.
Rose tilted her head.
"You're new," she said calmly.
Oscar looked up, wearing an easy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just helping out. We needed something to do to pay the rent."
Her gaze shifted to Vincent.
"And you?"
Vincent met her eyes evenly. Neutral. Forgettable.
"Same."
Silence lingered a second too long.
The driver broke it with a laugh as he began checking the shipment list. "Good! Extra hands make life easier."
Rose didn't look away instead she smiled.
Polite.
"Careful," she said lightly. "This place has a way of keeping people."
Oscar chuckled, but something about the way she said it made him feel uncomfortable.
Vincent felt it too, it felt eerie and old but also new at the same time.
Outside, the back of the truck doors swung open with a metallic clang.
Work resumed.
Boxes were passed. Trays were loaded. The rhythm of ordinary life continued.
But as Oscar carried a crate toward the truck, Rose stepped aside to let him pass—and spoke quietly enough that only he could hear.
"you don't seem to be from here" she said without looking at him.
Oscar kept walking.
"Yes."
A pause.
"And how did you end up working here."she probed further.
"I don't think I'm obliged to give you any reason since it isn't like I know you or owe you" Oscar glared
Rose didn't respond.
Vincent because of this for the first time since stepping into the bakery, he realized something unsettling—
The driver who came by instead of picking up the delivery and be gone, he was also unloading a few boxes.