The next morning, as Jorgen emerged from his bedroom, he ran into Dalia's maid. She jerked her body backward, clasping her hands against her chest, and regarded him with a look of surprise, not unease.
"Good morning, Lord Jorgen," she said slowly, lowering her hands.
"Good morning."
The maid's head tilted slightly to the right as she glanced towards the bedroom door, which was not fully closed. Jorgen pushed the door shut, and she quickly retreated.
"Is the lady not awake yet?" she inquired.
"No," he replied.
She nodded but didn't say anything, and it seemed like she had no intention of leaving.
"What are you smiling about?" Jorgen asked.
"I wasn't smiling," she replied, pursing her lips tightly to suppress a smile that she hadn't even realized was there. "I'm sorry. Are you leaving now? It's quite early."
"Of course. I have work to do."
"You know... I could bring breakfast to your rooms for both of you..."
Jorgen furrowed his brow, and the maid took a step back.
"Is Elaine still asleep?" he asked.
"Yes. She probably won't be up for another hour. Should I let her know you stopped by?"
"That won't be necessary."
"Then, may I pass a message on to Lady Dalia for you, for when she wakes up?"
"That's not necessary either."
The maid's voice dropped as she replied, concealing her disappointment. Jorgen had the sudden urge to smile. It seemed the young woman had read too many romantic novels, where clever maids offered advice on love affairs to their mistresses. However, he did not entirely dismiss the idea that it might be nice to have someone who cared for her in his absence.
"Alright," he said. "Tell her that I've finished my work and will come over as soon as possible."
"I will," she replied with a pure and joyful smile, nodding rapidly. "I promise."
When Jorgen was leaving, he heard the maid say behind his back, "Maybe next time you can bring her some flowers," but he didn't turn back and walked straight down the stairs, through the corridor, and out of the house. The sun had not yet risen, and the sky was a light gray; Jorgen was surprised to find that he felt a little cold. The temperature was clearly no different from the past few days, but the word "cold" appeared clearly and mercilessly in his mind. Even when he had stayed up most of the night in the snowy fields of Damoro in the past, he had hardly thought of it; it wasn't that his body didn't feel it, but that he tried his best not to notice it. But now, he was acutely aware of the stinging of the chill air on his skin - in contrast to Dalia's body temperature, he realized; not just her temperature, but all of her warmth. In her breath, on her lips...the warmth that lingered in all the places Jorgen had seen and been.
She wants me to bring her flowers next time? Someone like me? Jorgen didn't notice that he was still bitterly smiling from earlier.
First letting the maid treat him as the so-called "master," then standing motionless in the cold air, reminiscing about his lover's body heat - it was quite a special morning, but it shouldn't be happening today. Jorgen didn't actually need to leave the house so early. After all, the old man and Farad's meeting was still three hours away. But he didn't want to be with her while premonitions of unease about the meeting lingered in his mind. If he saw her wake up next to him, saw her eyes, he was afraid it would weaken his courage and confidence in facing the meeting, just as it had weakened his endurance of the cold. But if not today, what day should this happen? Earlier, later, or never? If not for the approaching unease brought by the meeting, would he still abandon caution and allow himself to enter her bedroom late at night? Jorgen decided not to think about it anymore; but when he got to the street, he still couldn't help looking back at her window. The curtains were still closed.
He went to the MI7's office and started doing some paperwork that required a lot of repetition. He had intended to use this kind of regular activity to relieve tension, but a feeling of tedium and annoyance rose uncontrollably from his heart. His eyes struggled among the dense forms and numbers, and images of her kept appearing in his mind, causing him to make a few minor mistakes. More than an hour later, someone came in without knocking, and he quickly braced himself with his palm to stand up, bumping his knee on the desk, making the ink bottle on the table shake back and forth, almost spilling over. Seeing that it was Elin, he breathed a sigh of relief.
"What are you doing?" Elin said. "You looked like a student caught hiding a dirty book when the teacher walked in."
"That's not it."
"I certainly know you don't have... And even if you did, I wouldn't care." Elin moved to stand in front of Jorgen. "So, there's a meeting today, right?"
"How did you know?"
"Lord Farad himself hasn't arrived yet, but some of his subordinates have. Since you attended the last..."
"I can't tell you the content of the meeting."
"Don't be so guarded. I just wanted to find out something."
"I have the option to not answer."
"Alright, alright. I just want to know if, once this meeting is over, will Ravenholt's people leave?"
"I don't know," Jorgen replied. "It's a possibility."
"That's good. I can't wait for them to leave sooner because of that thing with Panqi, you know. If those who once had control over him leave earlier, it would put my mind at ease."
"Last night, I spoke to Dalia about your plan to take Elaine away. She accepted it. How's the preparation on your end going?"
"It's going fine. I'm in the process of finding a carpenter to make a suitable bed for Elaine."
As he said this, Elin suddenly stopped and fixed his gaze on the right side of Jorgen, as if looking at something beyond him.
"What's going on?" Jorgen asked.
"Don't move." Elin reached out and pulled Jorgen's collar, opening it slightly, then turned his head in the opposite direction, squinting.
At first, Jorgen wanted to break Elin's hold, but instead, he followed Elin's line of sight, examining the reddish-purple, oval-shaped mark on his skin near his shoulder.
"Hmm. Jorgen," Elin withdrew his hand. "You went to see Dalia last 'night.'"
"Listen, Elin..." Jorgen didn't continue. What was there to explain? Was it necessary?
"Sorry about the dirty book joke just now. I understand your performance, completely understand it. Now, it's time to celebrate. Who knows how long I've been waiting for this day."
"Shut up."
"There's nothing more to say." Elin retreated towards the door. "I'll come find you after the meeting is over to discuss the details of the celebration. Don't run away. I gained a daughter, and you gained a woman. Life is unfair, isn't it?"
He left without waiting for Jorgen's response, leaving him with a parting smile and two thumbs up through the half-open door.
Jorgen let out a nearly inaudible sigh. The urgency and anxiety that had coexisted just moments ago had suddenly dissipated, yet he couldn't quite call it relaxation. He still needed to maintain caution and focus for the upcoming meeting, but he couldn't blame Elin for his impromptu visit.
A celebration? Alright. As long as I have the chance. Just don't let anyone else find out.
Not long after, someone came to inform Jorgen that it was time. He organized his documents, rubbed his eyes, and left the building.
After all these days, seeing Farad again, Jorgen felt that there was a subtle change in the way Farad occasionally glanced at him, a sense of caution mixed with danger. Of course, it could also be a delusion. After all, since the moment Jorgen confirmed that Farad knew his true identity, he couldn't see things the same way he used to.
At this moment, he was still standing by the old man's side, with no change in his position from the last meeting. In fact, no one in the room had moved. The only difference was that there were fewer participants on Ravenholt's side. Besides that, there was no sign of Mardias.
When they entered the room, apart from the customary greetings, there was no other communication between him and the old man. If he could anticipate the old man's attitude before he revealed the answer, it might help him protect himself. This strategy seemed to be of no use anymore. Even if he knew the old man's stance, what good would it do? Jorgen understood that the reality of how this meeting could alter his fate would remain unchanged.
But I feel much better. After the last meeting, Jorgen's mind was filled with a sense of impending danger, and he couldn't find any reason to believe things would turn around, harboring an almost unprecedented unease for the eventual day. However, now he didn't have the despair he had anticipated. Was it merely letting the pleasant moments drown out the inner gloom? Did he really gain hope and strength from it? Or was it just a form of self-consolation, pretending not to understand the reality he had to face? Jorgen didn't know, and he no longer dwelled on it. He simply had no regrets about what he had done during this time.
After everyone was seated, the room fell silent suddenly. It was a silence close to death, entirely different from the silence Jorgen had experienced in Dalia's room. A tranquil and invisible commotion. Warmth and chilling cold. Understanding gazes and dry throats.
Farad spoke.
"Lord Shawl, the arrival of this day is later than I anticipated," he said. "It seems my request has given you quite a headache."
"I don't deny that. I'm sure you understand; we're both cautious individuals," the old man replied.
"I've enjoyed the food and scenery in Stormwind and hoped to stay a bit longer, but business always takes precedence. So, can I get the answers I want now?"
Jorgen understood that Farad was clearly speaking from a position of advantage, even a reversal of roles, which was different from the first meeting. He was not someone satisfied with mere verbal superiority. He wasn't doing it to show excessive confidence but rather to set himself up for a proactive position. This way, regardless of the answer he received, he would be prepared to react. Perhaps Farad was genuinely confident in the outcome of the meeting.
"In summary, you wish to exchange intelligence for training rights for the members of Seven," Jorgen said.
Farad waited for the old man to continue speaking with a slightly aggressive yet self-assured look in his eyes, like a wolf seated on the edge of his own territory, a slain prey under his paws.
Jorgen's clenched hands behind his back. It was now or never.
The old man placed his right index finger on an envelope on the table.
"The answer is no," he said. "We won't cooperate."