Nervously adjusting the collar of his jacket, Jerome finally broke the silence:
"Harvey," his voice was tense but quiet. "You're from Samara, right?"
Harvey didn't answer right away. He glanced sideways, and his mouth curved up into a tiny smile, as if he'd been expecting the question. He wasn't surprised, he wasn't scared, he just sped up the car a little.
"Yes, from Samara," he finally said, answering the question as if it wasn't worth dwelling on.
Jerome felt his heart skip a beat again. The short, simple answer seemed to bring him back to reality, but still those uneasy thoughts did not subside in his head. "Samara." He could not shake the feeling that this name was connected with something sinister. He still remembered the film - how the girl crawled out of the TV, killing her victims, crawling across the screen with terrible speed, wrapping herself around people like an ominous shadow. For some reason, Jerome always felt that the name Samara was not just a coincidence, not just a geographical fact. It was something more, something that remained hidden, but was still there, next to him.
He leaned forward and looked at Harvey.
"Have you ever thought that the name of this city... evokes associations?" he asked, trying to control his voice, but still feeling the tension growing. "With a movie... about a girl who kills people?"
Harvey didn't turn his head, but Jerome felt his lips curl slightly into a smirk. There was something sophisticated in that look that Jerome didn't want to understand. Harvey seemed quite aware that his name and background evoked some kind of... association in other people. And though he didn't say a word, his silent attitude about it was exactly the same as that of those who knew that if you didn't ask the question, you wouldn't get an answer.
"Do you really think that just because my hometown has a name that automatically makes me cursed?" Harvey finally said, his voice even and slightly mocking, as if he hadn't noticed the tension building between them.
Jerome couldn't help but add a sharp note to his voice.
"You know how it sounds. Samara... It's not just a city. It's connected to something. The film, this girl... You couldn't help but see how she personifies all that's darkest. And your city... it's not a coincidence."
Harvey sped up the car a little, but didn't answer right away. He laughed softly, but there was no joy in it, just a subtle superiority. It irritated Jerome, as if Harvey knew more than he did, as if he could manipulate the situation without Jerome knowing.
"You know what I think?" Harvey said after a few seconds of silence. "I think you need to learn to let go of these things. It's easy to talk about curses, but life is a lot more complicated than just making connections between what you see in a movie and what happens in real life.
"You sound like a real cynic," Jerome couldn't help but say, not knowing where to stop. He felt his irritation growing with each passing second. "Is this your tactic, to ignore everything and just live with it?"
Harvey's head snapped around and he looked at Jerome, not with anger, but with a kind of cold curiosity. His gaze was precise, like a man who was used to observing and analyzing, not reacting impulsively. He didn't argue, didn't defend himself, just remained silent, giving Jerome a chance to speak. The silence was heavy, but Jerome felt the tension in the air become even more palpable.
He couldn't hold back his emotions any longer, even though he felt it was useless. The words just came out, as if he was trying to explain something to himself, not Harvey.
"You don't understand..." Jerome began, but didn't finish the sentence, because at that moment Delia's calm but confident voice was heard in the car.
"Jerome, stop," she said, not looking at him. Her tone was quiet but firm, as if she had already assessed the situation and realized that their argument had reached a dead end. "You can't live like this, without being aware of your feelings."
Jerome sighed and turned away, a mixture of irritation and doubt still churning in his chest. His mind raced, trying to figure out what it was about Harvey that was so irritating. Maybe it was his calm, his self-assuredness, or the idea that Harvey had once been part of the world Jerome considered his enemy. Or maybe it was the fact that he was there for them despite it all, willing to help, as if none of their past conflicts mattered.
Delia noticed the tension in the air growing and, despite the fact that she herself was far from calm, she decided to intervene.
"Are you still mad at Harvey about his background and this... damn town?" Her question was direct and without unnecessary caution, but she was not trying to insult him. She was simply asking a question that, in her opinion, could put everything in its place.
Jerome turned to face her, his eyes still full of anger and uncertainty.
"I'm not angry, I just... I can't forget that he was part of that world. How can you just forget that? How can you forget that he was - yes, at one time - someone we considered an enemy?"
Delia smiled, but it was a sad smile. She understood him, more than he realized. She had been through this, too, that moment when it was hard to let go of the past and all its attachments. But she had learned to look beyond that, to not let herself get stuck in old prejudices.
"I can't just forget either," she said quietly, but firmly. "But have you ever considered that we're all going to have to live with this world somehow? Harvey isn't his hometown. We're all here to do our jobs, and if he weren't with us, you might not want us to go in the direction we're going. He doesn't make us worse, he's just... part of it."
Harvey kept his eyes down, shifting his gaze slightly to the road as if he was taking in every word Delia was saying. He knew he had to remain silent and let the situation unfold, because his words wouldn't change anything. Jerome had to come to that realization himself, even if he didn't realize it.
He stared out the window in silence, feeling the emptiness this conversation was leaving behind. And yet, something in his head was beginning to change. Delia's words, while they couldn't fix everything right away, had touched something deep inside him.
Delia hadn't expected an immediate change in Jerome's mood, but she was sure he would think about it. It would take time for him to realize that there was something more important behind all these prejudices.
"Jerome, you realize we're going to have to work together, don't you?" she added, more gently now, as the silence in the car grew tense. "If you continue to hate everyone who was once part of that world, you'll never be able to work in peace."
Jerome wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat. His emotions were still boiling inside him, but he was beginning to realize that maybe this conflict was not so much with Harvey, but with his own fears.
When they arrived, the silence between them was different. It wasn't heavy or tense like before. Perhaps they were all just trying to understand each other at that moment, perhaps without even realizing it. The car stopped in front of an old but impressive building, with a façade that had clearly seen as many stories as the place itself. It smelled of the sea and salty air, and in the distance they could hear the sound of waves crashing against the stone walls of the port.
Harvey got out first, checking the area carefully, like a man used to working in such conditions, without unnecessary gestures. He still maintained that calm distance that sometimes made Jerome feel uncomfortable. But now that they were there, everything seemed different. Everything became less important. He noticed how Delia also got out of the car, her steps light, almost dance-like, as always when she felt that this time there was no need to rush. And only Jerome needed time to get used to it.
"So," Harvey said, looking back at them, "is everyone ready?"
Delia nodded, her face becoming serious again, but with a slight hint of goodwill.
"We're ready," she replied. "Let's go."
Harvey turned and walked toward the building, and Jerome followed, trying not to think about the tension in his arms still. He knew this was not the time to let himself show weakness again, but the thought of Harvey continued to sit in the back of his mind like a hissing snake.
As they entered the hall, the light softly streaming through the large windows filled the room with a certain warm glow. It was quiet, almost empty, and everything seemed a little abandoned, like a place that everyone had long since left, but which still continued to exist.
Harvey immediately headed for the door hidden behind the luxurious carpets and paused, looking around the room.
"We're not alone here," he said, still not turning to face them. "There's someone we're going to meet."
Delia walked up to him and nodded.
"I understand. But let's do everything quickly. We don't need any extra attention."
Jerome felt the space around them fill with tension. He kept feeling like he didn't belong, that there were too many people here who were part of this world, and that he was still too far from anything he could call his own. His gaze couldn't settle on Harvey, but he forced himself to think about something else.
"I thought we were just supposed to hand over the information and go," he said, trying to regain some control.
Harvey turned, his eyes calm but still holding a spark of something alien that Jerome found difficult to interpret.
"It's not as easy as it seems. We have to be sure that everything is okay with us. Otherwise, it won't work."
Delia came closer and placed her hand on his shoulder, her tone soft, almost soothing.
"We'll get through this, Jerome. Trust me, this isn't the time to worry. Everything will be fine."
Harvey, meanwhile, had already disappeared through the door, and on the other side of the room a voice could be heard in which Jerome had difficulty discerning the emotions. It was someone who was clearly not in the mood for unexpected encounters.
Jerome took a sharp breath. He could feel his nerves tensing, but he knew he couldn't show weakness in front of these people. In front of Harvey. In front of Delia. He knew she didn't allow herself to be worried, even when there was probably a storm raging inside her, but she was good at hiding it, at remaining stoic and confident. And now that Jerome could relax a little, he realized that the silence between them was more than just silence. It was a sign that they were no longer afraid.
As they entered the room, Jerome felt his heart slow. The noise outside the door suddenly died down, and all eyes turned to them. The people seated at the long table looked on with interest, but their faces showed no obvious hostility. Instead, there was a sense of inevitability in the air, as if the events that had brought them here had been predetermined. The look from one of the guards standing by the door made Jerome feel his knees begin to tremble. The man was tall, with a grim expression, his eyes slid over Jerome with a cold, appraising expression, and the boy could not help but notice the way he clutched the handle of the pistol in its holster.
"Don't think, don't think about it," Jerome repeated to himself mentally.
He tried not to look at the guard and focused on the other people in the room. Among them was the one they were looking for.
There was a man in a formal suit sitting at the table. His face was hidden behind massive glasses, but his presence was felt like a bolt from the blue. He sat up straight, without the slightest hint of relaxation, and his gaze was so penetrating that Jerome felt his own eyes begin to nervously run along the walls for a moment. This was the one who could give them the answers. The one who was responsible for this meeting.
Harvey stood a step behind Jerome and Delia, slowly but surely. His silence said more than any words could. He knew that this place was not just another stage of the mission, but a test for all of them. And each of them, in their own way, was ready for it.
"We're here," Harvey said finally, his voice quiet but confident. His voice was as firm as stone, and there was no hint of doubt in it. "We're here as agreed."
Delia nodded, taking a step forward, her hands clenching into fists, but she didn't let it show. She looked at the table, at those in the room, as if their faces didn't matter. She was just waiting for the signal.
The man in the suit looked up again, removing his glasses and looking at each of them carefully. His eyes were empty, like two glass eyes, devoid of soul. It was a look that would make anyone feel vulnerable, but Jerome, despite his nervousness, clenched his jaw and tried not to show his anxiety. He felt his body tense, as if every muscle was preparing for some unknown but inevitable test.
"Well then," the man at the desk said, his voice slow and heavy, but also commanding, as if each word had been carefully considered. "Let's get started."
The man's lightning-fast gaze slid over everyone present, and Jerome couldn't help but notice how the cold permeated the atmosphere. He involuntarily tensed up, feeling that now he would have to play his part in this game.
"The purpose of the young lady's mission," the man continued, pointing at Delia, "is very simple. You must settle next door to a certain person, or rather a man, and establish friendly relations with him. The purpose of this communication is to find out what this person does, who he contacts, and, of course, what he is planning."
Jerome felt the tension in the air increase, as if this simple goal was not as harmless as it seemed at first glance. He immediately turned to Delia, but she, as always, remained impassive, her face not betraying the slightest worry. It was her way of remaining calm despite the chaos around her.
"So you want me to just be friends with this man?" Delia took a step forward, her voice quiet but confident, almost cold.
The man at the table looked at her again. There was something like respect in his eyes, but only for a moment.
"Not to befriend him, but to gain his trust," he replied. "He needs to believe that you are indifferent to his affairs. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't be observant. Your relationship with him should be... organic, as if by chance, but at the same time strategically directed. You must become part of his entourage, to find out everything we need.
Delia was silent, digesting the information. She didn't seem surprised. To her, it was just another mission, with no room for personal emotion.
"That's it?" Delia asked, her voice as level and unwavering as ever. She looked at the man across the table, as if she was prepared to hear only dry information from him, without emotion or unnecessary words. "Just be his friend?"
The man at the table shook his head slowly, without showing any particular surprise. His eyes, cold and impassive, remained motionless, but the gesture itself was eloquent enough to understand that this was not all.
"No, not everything." His voice was low and assertive, as if every command he gave was meant to be taken as fact. "Jo will do most of the talking. You will be the 'recorder,'" he said with obvious irony, as if the act of collecting information was so mundane that it required minimal effort. "You will record the details while Jo will be busy pulling the wool over the man's eyes. You will essentially be nonexistent to him, and that is your strength."
Delia listened to the briefing in silence, and despite its calm, confident tone, her mind was elsewhere. She wasn't overly concerned - this was her trade, her way of working. She knew how to be unnoticeable, how to be the one who remained calm and attentive at the right moment, but without making any unnecessary noise.
However, her gaze at the man at the table and his words about the "recording tape recorder" could not pass by. She raised an eyebrow and, slightly moving the corner of her lips into a smile, answered:
"Holy shit," her voice was low and a little twitchy, as if she had just realized the absurdity of the situation. "I'm a tape recorder. What a fool!"
The man at the table suddenly fell silent. There was no malice or irritation in his eyes, only a brief confusion that soon gave way to a polite apology. He leaned across the table and said, his tone softening slightly:
"I apologize, it was not meant to be disparaging. It was just an old habit... We understand that this is not the most ideal assignment for you. But believe me, Delia, your role is extremely important. There are different moments in this business, and sometimes attention to detail is all that is needed."
Delia sat in her chair, clutching the arms of it as if she were trying to hold back a storm that was about to break out. Her jaw was clenched, her fingers were turning white, and her whole body was tense as a string. As if she hadn't heard a word the man at the table had said, she stood up abruptly.
"What?" Her voice was full of bewilderment and anger. "Are you serious?! This is some kind of birthday present, right?! Dad said that Earl Knight came up with the best surprise for me, and now I have to be a tape recorder?! Where's the logic?!"
The man at the table sighed and tried to find the right words. He paused for a moment, then said carefully:
"Delia, please don't worry. This isn't humiliation. It's just that your role in this is different. You don't realize how important your ability to observe discreetly, to record information, is. We need you, not you being the center of attention."
But his words, no matter how hard he tried to calm her down, only added fuel to the fire. Delia grew angrier and angrier, and her face became redder and redder.
"It's just..." She nearly screamed, desperately trying to pull herself together. "Is that all I deserve?! Just sitting in the shadows and recording others playing the big game? I thought Daddy had something special in mind for me! Is this a gift?"
She waved her hands, losing her composure more and more with each word. The man tensed, realizing that his apologies were only making the situation worse. He tried to intervene again, but the words stuck in his throat.
"Delia, please don't get emotional. You have to understand that our work is not always what you imagined. It's important to trust the process."
Her eyes glistened with anger and disappointment, and she finally couldn't take it anymore.
"I trust the process?! Look at me! I wasn't even given a proper task, I'm just a tape recorder! No adventures, no major decisions. Just sit and write, right?"
She slammed her hand down on the table, and the air in the room seemed to thicken. Everyone present fell silent, unsure of how to react. The man at the table leaned forward a little, trying not to get flustered.
"I... I understand your resentment, and perhaps I expressed myself incorrectly. It is not that your role is less important. On the contrary, it can be decisive, because you will have access to the most important moments. Time will put everything in its place. You will play a key role."
But Delia was no longer listening to him, and her face became even more gloomy, as if she had begun to immerse herself in her thoughts, not hearing those around her. She sighed, and her gaze dropped to the floor.
"Yes, indeed... the most important thing," she whispered, hiding her feelings again, "is to be invisible and of no interest to anyone."
The man felt the situation getting out of control. He stood up and approached Delia, this time more gently and with a sincere expression on his face.
"I understand that you are upset. Your reaction is completely natural. But you must believe that this mission, this approach, is all for the greater good. We need your impeccable stealth and precision. You can change the course of events, and believe me, you will do it better than anyone."
Delia didn't raise her head, but her hands gradually relaxed, and her face, although still tense, now expressed less anger. At this time, Jerome, who had been silent until then, felt a wave of anger growing inside him. He looked at Delia's clenched lips, her barely contained rage, and at some point he could no longer stand aside. In love with her since he entered kindergarten, he was ready to defend her from anyone who dared to humiliate her, even if it meant standing up to adults, even if it was a person they all considered part of their team.
With this thought, the boy stood up abruptly from his seat, and his voice sounded with a tension that could not fail to attract the attention of everyone in the room.
"Stop!" Jerome said, his hands clenched into fists. "Do you not know what you're talking about?! How can you treat her like that? Just a tape recorder?! Delia doesn't deserve to be treated like that, and you know it!"
All eyes instantly turned to him. The man at the table froze, his eyes narrowed, but there was no fear in them - rather, it was displeasure at having his authority questioned.
"Jerome," the man said, keeping the irritation out of his voice, "you're too emotional. It's not what you think. I didn't mean anything bad."
"Oh, come on!" Jerome interrupted, stepping forward, his eyes blazing with anger. "You call her a tool, you call her just a "tape recorder"! I heard you say that her role is to be invisible, to stay out of the way. Do you even realize that she is much more than you think? You don't give her a chance to express herself, and I can't stand it!"
The man frowned, but did not argue. He may have known that Jerome had a temper, but he had not expected his jealousy and protectiveness to escalate into such a storm. He looked at Delia, as if trying to figure out what she thought of all this. However, the girl sat quietly, only her eyes, slightly lowered, betraying a faint worry. She seemed accustomed to people playing games behind her back.
Jerome did not calm down. He turned to Delia, trying to catch her eye for a moment, as if hoping for support. He knew that she was unlikely to say anything directly, but his heart sank from how heavy and full of resentment her silence was. He looked at the man again and continued:
"Have you ever thought about how she feels in this role? Aren't you ashamed of treating her like this? She deserves more than just being a shadow!"
The man, seeing that the situation was getting out of control, finally looked down. He realized that his words had not only hurt Jerome, but had also deeply wounded Delia. At some point, he realized that he had overestimated his ability to manipulate and underestimated the importance of relationships in the group.
"Jerome," he said quietly, his tone softer than before, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt her. It's just... sometimes in our line of work we have to make sacrifices like that. It doesn't mean her contribution isn't important. It's just the way things work."
Jerome stood, his heart beating a little faster than usual. The anger that had just filled his chest was slowly receding, but there was still a heavy residue. He tried to figure out what exactly was going on in his head, what feelings he was experiencing now. Delia was there, and her words from earlier made him feel that maybe things weren't so bad. But he still couldn't let go of the feeling that she deserved more.
Delia lifted her head and looked straight at him, seeing everything that was going on in his eyes. She could always read him, even when he didn't realize it. She saw his inner struggle, and her own heart sank a little. But she didn't have to say anything. She already knew: he was there, and that was enough.
Silently, with a slight movement, she rose from the table. Jerome did not even have time to react - as soon as she approached him, she hugged him. The whole world seemed to stop for a moment, and in this quiet gesture there was more than words could express. It was a sign of gratitude that did not require further explanation.
Her breathing was quiet and even as she whispered in his ear:
"Thank you, you are my hero."
Jerome felt his chest fill with warmth, as if the very air around them was becoming lighter, more pleasant. Delia's simple confession, her words spoken softly in his ear, seemed incredibly significant. For a long time he could not understand why it touched him so deeply. In such moments, all questions, all doubts and worries lost their weight. No matter what was happening around, only one thing was important - what she felt, that she trusted him.
He hugged her back carefully. It was a light gesture at first, as if he was trying to make sure that everything he felt wouldn't just disappear in an instant. But as he felt her warmth, he realized that words wouldn't do. They couldn't express what was going on in his heart. Delia seemed to read his thoughts, and her gaze said more than a whole speech.
Gathering his strength, he hugged her tighter, feeling her hands on his back as she clung to him. And at some point, unable to restrain himself, he kissed her right in front of everyone present.
It wasn't a passionate or impulsive kiss, but rather a quiet, confident gesture that spoke volumes. He knew that his feelings, his actions, could cause different reactions from the people around him, but in that moment, Jerome was willing to take a risk. He wanted everyone to know that Delia was more than just a mission partner to him, she was so much more.
The agents sitting at the table didn't make a sound, but the tension in the air was palpable. The man who had given the mission earlier didn't change his expression, but his eyes became a little colder. Jo, who was standing to the side, showed no emotion, her gaze focused as always. She seemed accustomed to such unconventional actions, but even she couldn't help but notice how much the atmosphere in the room had changed.
Delia pulled away from Jerome slightly, her eyes warm and grateful. She looked at him, and there was something new in her gaze-not just recognition, but something more, something no one else in the room could understand. She said nothing, but her small smile said more than words could.
Jerome felt his heart continue to beat fast, as if this moment had revealed something important about himself. He had never thought he would be capable of such an act, but now, in this moment, he understood – it was not an accident. It was necessary. All his fears, all the doubts that he had carried inside him for a long time, suddenly disappeared, as if the wind had carried them away. He felt that he could not hold it in himself any longer.
When their eyes met, when she pulled away from him slightly, he knew this was his chance. He opened his mouth, but instead of just saying more words, he felt his voice become quiet, almost a whisper.
"Delia," he said, almost in a whisper, "I... I love you."
The silence that hung in the air seemed endless. Jerome held his breath, waiting for her reaction. He was prepared for anything-for surprise, for silence, for any answer. But instead of being stunned or distant, Delia stood before him, calm and collected as always. There was no panic in her eyes, no discomfort. She looked at him with such attention that for a moment Jerome forgot about everything but her gaze.
Several long seconds passed before she said:
"I know."
Her words were soft but firm. Jerome froze, trying to understand what exactly they meant. There was no surprise in her voice, but there was no coldness either. It was something more. As if she had known for a long time that this would happen. As if her inner world and his world were intertwined, and everything that was happening now was something natural.
"You... you know?" he repeated, slightly confused.
Delia nodded and came closer, her eyes still locked on his. The moment was so unclear and yet somehow inexplicably clear. She touched his hand, and a small smile flickered across her face, as mysterious as she was.
"Yes. I knew. You're not the only one who feels something. But I... wasn't in a hurry to say it."
She paused, and Jerome felt his own heart slow as she continued.
"I appreciate your sincerity, Jerome. It means more than you know."
This confession was like a ray of light in a dark room. He could have answered her with words, but he knew that it was not necessary. Everything he felt was in their gaze. Their silence was not empty, it was full of mutual understanding. In that moment, the world around him seemed to freeze - all that existed was him and her. No words could convey what they felt for each other.
But reality was always there, and it was reminded by the cough of the man sitting at the desk, who kept his posture stiff but couldn't hide his slight displeasure. It was the senior agent, his eyes looking through Delia and Jerome, as if nothing that was happening in the room mattered. His voice finally broke the silence.
"This is neither the place nor the time for personal revelations," he said with a hint of weariness, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his finger, as if he was already quite fed up with this situation. "We have important matters that require your attention."
Jerome and Delia turned slowly toward him, as if pulling themselves out of the invisible pause they had been in. There was something in his words that reminded them again of the difficulty of their situation. Their personal feelings, their views of each other, were irrelevant in the context of what they had to do.
Delia first hid her gentle smile behind a mask of professionalism, although her gaze was still soft, full of something important. She nodded and stepped towards the table, taking the documents that the agent had just handed her.
"Got it," she said, her voice calm and confident again. "Let's get to work."
Jerome rubbed his temples lightly, feeling the tension in his body gradually recede, but still not completely go away. He felt his attention return to the man at the table. This moment was important, and he knew he could not afford to be distracted. The internal conflict flaring up in his soul did not affect his external behavior in any way - he had to be focused, because not only his fate, but also Delia's life depended on it.