In front of them stood a big house with stone cladding, surrounded by a high fence. The windows on the second floor were dimly lit, and near the entrance stood a large metal door that looked like something from World War II.
Robert got out of the car and, without turning around, opened the back door, signaling for everyone to get out.
"It's time," he said briefly, as if he didn't expect that they needed to explain anything.
Jerome was the last to come out and looked around the house. Three stories high, with tall windows, it looked like something Gothic, but there was nothing menacing about it. It was an old manor house in the Roman style, with majestic columns at the entrance and tightly closed windows through which barely a glimmer of light came. However, in this building, as old as the history of the city itself, there was a strange, elusive silence.
He felt his footsteps echoing off the stone walls as he approached the door. There was no sound inside, only a faint crackle of light, as if everything around him was trying to remain hidden, as if this place had been forgotten by time.
"So, are you ready?" asked Jo, who was standing next to him, her head slightly bowed and her eyes cast around the house with displeasure. She was clearly not thrilled with the place. "It's only getting weirder as we go along."
Jerome nodded silently. His gaze was still fixed on the front of the house, on its darkened windows, through which the streetlights were barely visible. Someone was obviously in the house, otherwise there would not have been a light on the second floor. He tried to collect his thoughts, but something about this place was bothering him. It was as if this building was watching them, part of some plan they perhaps had not yet begun to understand.
Robert, who was standing nearby, sniffed irritably.
"Let's go, let's not stand still," he said, opening the huge metal door. The creaking sound was unexpectedly loud in this silence. "We don't have much time."
Before Jereme could respond, they all walked inside. The dark, high-ceilinged hallways greeted them with a dead silence. Just beyond the door was a narrow staircase that led to the second floor. Old paintings hung on the walls, covered in dust, and the floor creaked with age, as if the house could talk-if it could.
"So here we are," Robert said, glancing at each of them. "You'll have to take a closer look. The task is simple - don't attract attention, don't touch anything, and just watch."
Jerome watched as Jo and Delia silently walked up the stairs. He followed them, feeling the tension in the air growing more and more palpable. Every step in this house echoed in his head, as if he himself were part of some complex game whose rules he did not yet know.
When they reached the second floor, a small hallway with several doors opened up before them. A light draft pierced the air, slightly fluttering the curtains by the window.
"Put your things here," Robert said, pointing to the corner of the room. "I'll arrange rooms for you to stay overnight while you watch."
"We don't have to stay here long, do we?" Delia asked, her voice quiet but with an odd air of confidence, as if she knew exactly what was going on.
Robert, ignoring the question, continued:
"We need to wait a few days. Be on guard. Someone local may want to talk to you, but no action until further instructions."
Jerome couldn't shake the feeling that Robert was keeping something secret. But in this house, everything was hidden, as if the very air around them didn't want to give clear answers. All that talk of surveillance and caution became just an echo in his head.
They continued to walk around the house. In one of the rooms they found an old fireplace, and next to it a table covered with various papers and books. A strange atmosphere permeated everything around, even the walls seemed alive.
"This is a wonderful place to observe," Jo finally said, looking around the room. "But why the hell did they send us here?"
Jereme still couldn't find an answer. He turned and looked at the windows, through which only the darkness of the night could be seen. Somewhere below he could hear the rustle of cars, but it was far away - the world continued to move, despite the fact that here, in this house, everything seemed to have stopped.
"We just have to be prepared," Robert said, standing by the door. "I'll see you in a few hours. Hopefully we can figure this out before it gets out of hand."
Jerome looked back at Delia and Jo, who seemed oblivious to the solemnity of the moment. They both walked silently to the front door, picked up the keys Robert had left on the table, and opened it. The sound of the creaking hinges seemed to deliberately break the silence that pervaded the house.
Jerome stood frozen, watching them walk inside. He couldn't shake the feeling that something important, something elusive, was happening right before his eyes. He could hear their footsteps, but he couldn't understand anything. They were as confident as ever, and yet aloof, as if they were part of something bigger here in this house than just following orders.
He sighed and followed them, feeling the cold air, saturated with the smell of old books and stone walls, penetrate his lungs. Stepping inside, he looked around. A long corridor stretched into the distance, and in the dim light of the lamps it seemed as if the house stretched out, hiding many secrets in its dark corners. Old pictures hung on the walls, dim and gloomy, and the floor under his feet clearly creaked, as if the house itself was reminding him of its age. The walls, too, seemed to be silent.
Delia and Jo ignored Jerome as they continued down the hallway. His eyes followed them, but he remained where he was by the door, feeling his heart begin to beat faster with the strange feeling that had gripped him since their arrival. Something was wrong with this house, and perhaps it was this strange, almost ominous atmosphere that made him feel like an outsider. Still, he pulled himself together and stepped forward as the girls entered one of the rooms.
The room was large and bright, with high ceilings that seemed even higher because all the walls were painted a light, almost white color. The window looked out onto a quiet garden, into which a soft moonlight shone. In the corner stood a large desk, and on the shelves lay old books. It smelled of old pages, dust, and wood. It was immediately obvious that no one had lived here for a long time, although all the furnishings looked well preserved.
Delia and Jo began unpacking, taking their time, doing it with ease, as if it was all part of their daily routine. Jerome watched them, and one detail caught his attention again - each of the girls acted as if they were not there by order, but as if they had lived in this house for many years.
Delia, noticing his gaze, suddenly turned around. Her face was an expression of serene calm, but there was still some mystery in her eyes.
"Well, Jerome? You don't mind if I sleep in the same room with you, do you?" she said, as if she wasn't asking, but simply stating a fact. There was no hint of coquetry in her voice, only cold confidence.
Jerome froze. He had been prepared for any development, but this suggestion caught him off guard. His eyes met hers, and for a few moments he felt time slow down.
"Um..." he hesitated. "I'd better take a separate room. After a long trip, I need some time alone. It would be more convenient."
Delia nodded, showing neither disappointment nor surprise. Her face remained unreadable. She simply returned to her things without saying another word.
Jerome breathed a sigh of relief. In this house, in this strange place, he didn't want any unnecessary complications. He decided that a night's lodging was not the place to break the usual rules. Too much was happening, and his head was full of thoughts that he couldn't yet sort out.
Soon, deciding that he still needed to find his room, he opened the door of one of the neighboring rooms. It was as large and bright as the one in which he left the girls, but without unnecessary things - there was only a simple wooden bed, a table and several old chairs.
Not daring to stay here, Jerome listened again to the silence of the house. He felt it rolling over him, growing thicker with each passing moment. The horror was not obvious, it was hidden in the quietest corners, in these empty, closed spaces. Jerome did not know why this place frightened him, but his intuition told him to be on guard.
When he entered his room and closed the door behind him, he suddenly realized that all this time he had felt someone's gaze on him. One that was invisible, but which seemed to be present in the air. He had been living with the same feeling lately, and this feeling did not leave him.
Jerome went to the window and looked out into the shadows of the night, trying to calm his thoughts. But there was nothing in the darkness beyond the glass that could calm him. The silhouettes of the trees in the garden seemed too sharp, and the moonlight fell on them, making them even more ominous.
He pulled away from the window and took with him one of the old volumes that was on the table. He opened it to a random page, trying to find some clue. His fingers slid over the pages, but the words did not become clear. Everything was as usual - fog, but this time his intuition said:
"This is not just an accident."
His strength was leaving him, and soon Jerome sank down on the bed, trying to forget himself in sleep. But he had barely managed to lay his head on the pillow when suddenly the insistent ringing of the front door bell rang. He jumped up abruptly, his heart pounding with sudden anxiety. He quickly dressed and, without thinking, rushed into the hallway.
He met Jo, who was just opening the door. A man stood in the hallway, tall, with neatly combed black hair and a strict business suit. He looked as if he had just been interviewed for a top position in the company, and his gaze was piercing, almost hypnotic. Jerome had no doubt - he had seen this man before. His face was familiar, although it was not immediately possible to remember where from.
"Louis Hastings," Jerome thought.
"Good evening," the man said in a cold but polite voice, bowing his head slightly in greeting. "I noticed you and the children had moved into the house next door. You've only just arrived, haven't you?"
Jo stood at the threshold, not too surprised by the appearance of her new neighbor, and allowed him to enter, barely pushing the door open.
"Hello," she said, nodding. "We've just settled in."
The man looked at her with indifference, then his gaze moved to Jerome, who was standing a little to the side. Jerome felt uneasy under that intense gaze, which pierced him like a knife. But Louis didn't say a word. He was clearly interested in Jo, not him.
"I'm Dr. Louis Hastings," the man continued, "and I understand that your house will be rather noisy from now on. You have children, don't you? I wonder how they'll settle in. My house is right next door, and I'm always happy to help new neighbors."
Jerome noticed how Jo tensed. This man was clearly not what one would call an ordinary neighbor. His mannerisms, his behavior, all of this indicated that before them stood a man with a lot of experience in some more... serious matters. Everything about his manner, from his steely gaze to his carefully chosen words, made Jerome feel slightly wary.
"Thank you," Jo replied, not hiding the fact that she was a little uncomfortable. "It's okay, we'll manage. But it's nice to meet someone who's willing to help."
Hastings didn't change his expression, didn't smile, but he nodded slightly.
"Great. If you need anything, you know where to find me. Just remember that I'm always here."
Jerome felt even stranger. Why was this man so insistent on emphasizing that he was "always there"? Some kind of excessive, unnecessary caution was beginning to bother him. But he said nothing, because he understood that it was unlikely that any of them would decide to openly discuss their feelings and thoughts here.
Louis glanced at Jerome again and, without waiting for an answer, bowed and turned towards the door.
"Goodbye," he said, and, as if nothing had happened, he headed towards the exit, leaving silence behind him.
When the door closed, Jerome finally felt better. At least this conversation had not dragged on, and Louis Hastings had left without asking any more questions. But the feeling of unease did not leave him. Too much remained unclear. He turned to Jo, who was standing by the door, still watching her neighbor's retreating figure. It was a thoughtful look, almost pensive, as if she were reading something from the disappearing silhouette.
He could not remain silent any longer.
"How are you going to communicate with him?" Jerome asked, approaching her. His voice was wary, and he made no attempt to hide his anxiety. "Louis Hastings, this guy is a real grump, and he has secrets. How are you going to enter into some kind of 'friendly relationship' with him if he is so closed?"
Jo didn't answer right away. She stood there, still looking at the part of the street where Louis had just disappeared. Only after a moment did she turn to Jerome, and her face became impassive, even a little cold.
"Louis Hastings is as simple as pie," she said without changing her intonation. Her voice was even and confident, as if she had thought out her answer in advance. "Don't you understand? He's just playing a role. He's not who he says he is. I can easily gain his trust. All I need is a little time and patience. And you, Jerome, must stay out of this. This is my job, and if you try to take the initiative again, I will ruin everything."
Her eyes flashed for a moment, and Jerome felt himself tense up inside. She clearly wasn't going to let him interfere with her plans, that much was clear as day. While he was trying to figure out what was going on around him, Jo seemed to already have all the answers.
"But what if he does suspect something?" Jerome continued, but his voice was less confident.
"You're overthinking it," Jo snapped, her expression growing even more stony for a moment. "Louis isn't a threat. He's just a pawn, and once I pick the right tactics, he'll tell me whatever I need. And if you want to help, just try not to screw it up, okay?"
Jerome remained silent, feeling as if her words had become a stone for him, from which he could not push off. And then suddenly a quiet sound of footsteps was heard in the hallway. Jerome turned around and saw Delia, who, rubbing her sleepy eyes, was leaving her room. Her hair was disheveled, and there were no signs of full awareness on her face yet, but her expression was so calm and unperturbed that Jerome even froze for a moment. He tried to hide his attention, but he could not.
"Who was that ringing the doorbell?" she asked, still not fully awake.
Jo, sitting on the sofa, without raising her head from her papers, answered calmly, as if it were the most ordinary question in the world.
"Louis Hastings," she said, narrowing her eyes slightly. "He came to say hello. Now you know our neighbors aren't just ordinary people."
Delia yawned and stretched involuntarily, her hair falling softly over her shoulders, and she closed her eyes again, enjoying that moment of silence and calm that usually came before sleep. It all looked so natural that Jerome forgot for a moment where he was. He stood in the hallway, trying to comprehend what he had seen, but a feeling of slight uncertainty did not leave him.
Delia ignored Jerome as she passed him on her way to her room. She was as always, confident, calm, unfazed by anything. For her, a simple gesture like a yawn was something completely ordinary, but for Jerome it seemed something else, almost magical. He felt his heart suddenly begin to beat a little faster, as if the world he had been trying to understand for so long had suddenly become clearer to him. And at that moment, he suddenly wanted to get to know this mysterious girl better, who could fill the space around her with her ease.
"It's too late," Jerome thought, peering at the closing door of her room. "Why didn't I ask to sleep with her? Why, like a complete idiot, did I lock myself in a separate room?"
These thoughts slid restlessly through his head until he remembered again what had happened to him recently. He had become less sociable, more withdrawn, which made him feel a little strange in that house, among these people with whom they were connected, but who were almost strangers to him. Delia in particular, no matter how much he liked her, remained for him that very question to which he could not find an answer.
Still, he knew that it was her presence that brought something new, something alive, into his life. And the sweet ease with which she yawned seemed completely unfamiliar to him. He would have expected irritation or even fatigue, but she seemed to feel none of those emotions. Everything was simpler for her than for the others.
"How special she is," he thought, when he finally realized that everything she did was exciting to him in some way.
It might have been a lot easier if he had simply joined her, but he felt as if there was some deep meaning behind that ease that he couldn't figure out.
Jerome spent the night in a state of unconsciousness, filled with thoughts of Delia. His sleep was restless, full of strange, blurry images in which her face appeared again and again. In each of these images she was different - sometimes mysterious and unattainable, sometimes close and warm. But she was always different from real life. He woke up several times, desperately trying to drive away her image, but the thoughts still returned. Especially the moment when she yawned sweetly in the hallway.
At dawn, when light began to filter through the heavy curtains, Jerome awoke. He sat up in bed and exhaled, feeling the pressure that had built up during the night slowly release. It was the usual morning silence, but his thoughts remained stuck in that moment.
He knew he couldn't afford to get lost in his own fantasies. He needed to focus on the mission, on what he was here for. But how could he think about the task when every glance at Delia sent a storm of emotions through him?
He stood up, stretched awkwardly, and went into the bathroom. In the mirror he saw a tired face, a face that had once been full of determination and confidence, but now seemed broken. He couldn't yet figure out how to get into this difficult situation, but everything was too confusing to find a way out right away.
When he came out of the bathroom, the room was quiet. Jo had already left, and Delia was asleep in her room, though there was no sign that she had ever woken up. Jerome went to the window and looked out. Rome, in the morning light, was like a painting, calm and majestic. But to him, it all seemed like a backdrop to his inner storms.
There was a sound of footsteps and Jo appeared in the hallway. She looked at him but didn't say a word. She simply took a few steps toward him and then stopped, studying him carefully.
"Are you okay, Jerome?" she asked, frowning. "I can tell you're not yourself. Is something wrong?"
He shook his head, trying to concentrate.
"Nothing, just tired," he answered, a little embarrassed. "There are a lot of thoughts in my head."
Jo looked at him appraisingly and nodded.
"You're not alone, if anything," she said, as if guessing his thoughts. "We're all here for a purpose, remember that."
Jerome gave her a weak smile.
"Yes, of course," he muttered, but his thoughts still drifted back to Delia.
When Jo went to the kitchen, he came to the door of her room. He walked in and saw Delia sleeping, her face calm and her body relaxed, as if she was in her own world, far from worries and anxieties.
At that moment, Jerome realized that it was difficult for him to keep his distance. He didn't know what to do, but one thought wouldn't leave him: tomorrow everything would be different. But what exactly would change, he couldn't yet understand.
"No matter how hard I try to hold on, no matter how hard I try to focus on the mission, I still come back to it," he thought.
Jerome was still under the influence of his night's thoughts when Jo called everyone to the table. He woke up with a heavy feeling in his chest, but despite this, he tried to pull himself together. The morning light was softly filtering through the windows, illuminating the antique furniture and high ceilings of the house, but everything was fuzzy in his head.
"It's breakfast time," Jo said, as always, without emotion, but with a noticeable authoritarian intonation.
Jerome sat across from Jo and Delia at the large wooden table, surrounded by the silence that reigned in the house. The faint smell of coffee still hung in the air, but its smell seemed almost foreign now, somehow out of place in this strange house where every step echoed.
"So, we need to talk," Jo said, pushing her coffee cup away and tilting her head toward the window, as if assessing the area beyond the glass. Her eyes were focused, her voice stern and clear. "Today is our first day on site. We need to be prepared for what's to come."
Jerome froze, trying to figure out what was expected of him. He was only here because he had been drawn into this story, and now it all seemed much more complicated than he had imagined.
"What do we need to do, Jo?" he asked, feeling anxiety begin to rise in his chest.
Jo didn't answer right away, but sat in silence for a while longer, thinking. She knew that the situation would get more complicated with each passing day, and they had to keep their eyes open. Finally, she looked up at Jerome and, without changing her intonation, continued:
"You must keep a low profile. And forget about all your emotions and thoughts connected with us. There is only work here, and that is the main thing."
Jerome felt her statement cutting into him like a blade, leaving a painful mark. He tried to suppress the nervous response, but it still came through.
"I understand," he said, although it was far from the truth. "I mean, how can I help?"
Jo sighed, her eyes scanning the room again as if she was looking for something that could clarify her thought.
"We need to study Louis Hastings. He could be the key. And while he doesn't know we're watching him yet, it's only a matter of time before he becomes suspicious. Be prepared."
Jerome nodded, feeling the weight of her words wash over him. And Jo threw away her empty coffee cup and quickly stood up from the table, getting ready to leave. She looked around the room again, as if checking that everything was in place, and, nodding to Jerome and Delia, said:
"I have urgent matters. Stay here, don't leave until I return. I'll be there in an hour or an hour and a half."
Jerome looked at her with mild confusion. He knew that an agent's job required stealth and efficiency, but her determination still left a sense of unease in the air. For a moment, he thought she had walked away too easily, leaving them in a house full of uncertainty.
"What about us?" he asked, trying to get at least a small hint about what they should do now. "We can't sit here doing nothing."
Jo stopped at the threshold and glanced at him. There was a hint of weariness in her eyes, but she remained determined.
"As long as you stay here, you have nothing to worry about. If anything happens, I'll let you know. For now, just wait until I get back. This is important."
Jerome sat at the table, his eyes watching Jo leave. Her determination was evident in every move she made, from the way she calmly but quickly gathered her things to the way she picked up her gun. He didn't know what she was planning, but he knew she was good at hiding her intentions. And even though she said everything would be fine, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease.
He could only sit and watch her disappear down the hallway. He felt the walls of the house becoming more and more deaf and unwelcoming, and time dragged on like rubber. Jerome was not used to sitting around doing nothing, especially in a situation like this. He knew all he had to do was follow Jo's instructions and wait. But what to do when the wait became unbearable?
Delia sat on the sofa in the corner of the dining room, absorbed in the pages of the newspaper. As she leafed through them, she paid little attention to what was going on around her. The gentle sound of rain pattering against the window seemed a calm background for her own thoughts. Jerome entered the room and, unable to stand being alone any longer, came over to her and sat down next to her.
"What are you doing?" he asked, leaning slightly toward her shoulder to see what she was reading.
Delia, without looking up from her newspaper, quietly replied:
"Nothing important. I read all the news, now I'm trying to figure out what I can use from it."
She didn't look up, but his presence next to her did not go unnoticed. Jerome felt the tension in the room melt slightly, but he still couldn't shake the feeling of unease that was pressing on his chest.
"You're always so focused," he noted, trying to find some light conversation.
Delia didn't look at him again, but the corners of her lips lifted slightly.
"I don't have time for idle talk, Jerome, you know that. We're not here to enjoy the beautiful views of Rome. We have a mission." She tossed the paper onto her lap and looked at him, finally meeting his gaze. "Are you ready?"
Jerome paused. He really wasn't sure of his own state of mind. His mind was still full of thoughts about the last few days: the strange encounter with Louis Hastings, his silent behavior, the strange tension in the air. And now that Jo had gone on business, he felt that an unknown threat was hanging over them.
"Ready," he finally answered, but his voice didn't sound as confident as he would have liked.
Delia noticed his confusion, but she didn't press. Instead, she stood up from the couch, stretched, and looked at him with her cold but penetrating gaze.
"You don't have to be ready, Jerome. You just have to be there. If everything goes according to plan, you'll be the one in control when everyone else starts panicking.
Her words were as clear and precise as ever, like instructions for someone who wanted to understand but didn't want to take part. Jerome sighed, knowing she was right. He was just part of a larger machine, part of a group where everyone played their part. He didn't have to think about what would happen next.
"When Jo comes back, everything will be clear. And then you and I can talk again. But for now... as always, Jerome, you think too much."
Her words were direct and honest, and though they weren't soft, Jerome felt something settle in his chest. He knew what she meant, but he couldn't ignore the uneasiness inside. There was no room for levity in this world. Everything was too serious.
"You're right," he said, standing up. "But I guess I just need more time to get used to it."
Delia nodded, but said nothing. She returned to the paper, immersed in reading again. There was nothing in her calm manner that could betray her thoughts or emotions. She was like that statue, motionless, but with an inner strength.
Jerome clearly remembered Jo telling them to stay home, but the feeling of unease was stronger. He couldn't sit inside four walls, wondering what would happen next. There were too many unknowns, too many questions he couldn't answer. He needed to feel, at least a little, in control.
In the hallway, he pulled on his coat, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake anyone sleeping. His fingers trembled slightly as he buttoned his collar, and he tried not to think about leaving Delia alone while Jo went about her business. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that he felt out of place. In Rome. In an unfamiliar place, among people he barely knew. Too many new faces and situations.
He carefully opened the front door, as if he didn't want to disturb the silence of the house, and stepped into the cold air. The rain was pouring down, the moisture instantly seeping under his collar, but Jerome didn't pay attention to it. He quickly headed down the street, trying to get as far away from the house as possible.
The streets were empty, only the occasional car running in the rain left behind a gleam of wet asphalt. It seemed as if the city was hiding under a heavy blanket of gray sky. There were no people, no bustle, only the rustle of the rain and the howl of the wind that penetrated under his coat and reminded him that he was alone in this huge city.
Jerome kept walking, thinking that maybe he shouldn't have left the house. He didn't know what to do with this feeling of unease that wouldn't leave him. He kept remembering Delia's words, her cold confidence, and how she seemed unattainable. He was sure that she didn't need his protection, but some strange feeling made him doubt it.
He turned into one of the small streets where the houses seemed to blend in with the rain, and walked on without thinking. The noise of the city could be heard from far away, but it was so empty and quiet that it only increased his feeling of loneliness. He took out his phone to check the time. That strange sound was still in his ears - the patter of rain, which was much louder than it should have been.
He dialed Jo's number, but the phone went straight to voicemail. Jerome knew it was a bad time to bother her, but his thoughts kept returning to that conversation with Louis Hastings. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something. Louis was too quiet, too reserved. What could he be hiding? And who else could be involved in this? Jerome couldn't figure it out.
He continued walking until he found himself on the main street of the town. Jerome froze in his tracks as his gaze caught on what was happening across the street. A crowd was standing in front of a store window, clearly absorbed in something that had caught their attention. He took a few steps towards them, intuitively sensing that something was wrong. At first he thought it was just another furniture display, but the longer he looked, the more his doubts grew.
The shop looked like an old antique shop – the furniture in the window was luxuriously decorated, with exquisite chairs and tables in the style of the 18th century. However, it was not just the decoration – all the objects looked strange, as if they were part of the decor and not intended for sale. Jerome took a closer look. In the center of the window stood several statues, of which one seemed especially unusual – a small figure of a person, made in a realistic manner, but there was some kind of empty look in its eyes, and it itself was standing in an odd pose.
The crowd around the display case was noisy, oblivious to the rain, which was now pouring even harder. Jerome came closer, hiding behind one of the pillars so as not to be noticed. He noticed that the people, discussing something, could hardly contain their delight, as if each new look at the exhibits caused them to admire.
"What are they doing here?" Jerome whispered, casting a quick glance around.
He tried to push his way through the crowd to get a better look at the display. The people here were strange. They didn't talk about what had caught their attention. On the contrary, Jerome noticed how everyone he happened to bump into seemed almost hypnotized.
As he was about to reach the display case, his gaze fell on one of the objects. It was a painting hanging just above the furniture. It depicted an ancient Italian town that looked so real that it seemed as if the scene could come to life right before his eyes. The painting depicted a street similar to the one he had just walked down. Every detail was drawn with such precision that Jerome felt a chill run down his spine. In the center of the painting stood a house. It was the same house he had moved into. Black windows, narrow doors... everything was just like in the painting.
Then a small sign by the window caught his attention. He raised his hand to get a better look. It read: "Old memories that bring back lost moments."