Samuel decided the next morning that maybe he'd been cooped up too much lately. His desk felt cursed, his apartment felt stale, and the coffee shop was starting to feel like a haunted saloon where every bad day came to die.
So, he headed for Bramble's Tavern, a small, wood-paneled place on the edge of town that opened early for breakfast. The owners claimed it had been around since the 1880s, and the place smelled like bacon grease, maple syrup, and old pine.
He ordered coffee and eggs, found a corner booth, and began scribbling a scene where Xirathul confronts a group of bounty hunters in a dusty, candle lit bar. In the story, the room goes quiet, and Xirathul says his line:
"If you're gonna draw that iron, you better be quick enough to regret it."
Samuel smiled at the turn of phrase. He liked when his characters surprised him.
Then without warning across the tavern, a man at the counter laughed and said those exact words.
The same rhythm. The same inflection.
Samuel's pen froze mid sentence.
The guy wasn't even talking to him; he was joking with the bartender over some story about a poker game gone wrong. But still… the words matched exactly.
Samuel forced a laugh and shook his head. "Guess cowboys all talk the same way," he muttered under his breath.
Later that day, he stopped by the post office. As he waited in line, the old wall clock ticked louder than usual slow, deliberate, almost like it was trying to sync with his pulse.
The man ahead of him, a wiry figure in a weathered coat, turned slightly and gave Samuel a long, unreadable look.
"You got the look of a man riding toward trouble," the stranger said quietly.
Samuel blinked. "Sorry?"
The man just smirked, collected his parcel, and walked out into the sunlight without another word.
By evening, Samuel was pacing in his apartment.
Coincidences happen sure. People say similar things, share familiar ideas. But these moments weren't just similar. They were… precise.
He sat on the couch, hands folded like he was about to pray.
"Alright, Lord," he said aloud, "if there's a point to all this… I'm listening."
Silence. Only the hum of the refrigerator.
Samuel laughed at himself. "Yep. Losing my mind. That's what's happening."
He picked up his pen again, determined to finish the chapter before bed.