In the kitchen, Reiner is putting the finishing touches on dinner. It's not a fancy meal by Marleyan standards. (Much as Reiner enjoys cooking, he's no trained chef. He's not trained at all, having taught himself how to cook as a child.) But to those who grew up within Liberio's walls, it's both hearty and fancy. So many ingredients they could never access! So much food that everyone can have seconds! Reiner even has a desert prepared; it's mostly a lot of fruit, but hey! Fresh fruit is awesome!

When the knock comes at the door, Reiner washes and towel-dries his hands, hangs up his apron, then heads over to open it. His choice of attire falls somewhere between that of his guests: cargo pants and a hunter-green button-up with sleeves rolled to his elbows. He's all smiles when he opens the door, gold eyes warm, happy to see Galliard and meet Galliard's new friend.

"Hey, you made it jus—"

Then Reiner's words die, choked off as he sees precisely who stands on his doorstep.

It's not real. It can't be. Reiner is hallucinating. Too shaken by news of Marco's arrival, too stressed by his subsequent attempts to avoid a confrontation. That's all it is. Just his mind playing tricks on him. Just his guilt and fear manifesting as a vision of Marco Bott standing beside Porco on his doorstep.

He blinks. The hallucination remains. He blinks again; it still remains.

From Marco's perspective, Reiner will appear older and taller; just as he appears younger, slightly shorter, and considerably more muscular from Galliard's perspective. But only Galliard might recognize the look on Reiner's face as it drains of color, eyes wide, lips parted in mute horror.

This can't be real. It can't be. This is a nightmare.