The hotel room looked like a Category 5 hurricane had just swept through it.
Link told the hotel manager to handle the reporters downstairs, charging everything to Pangu's tab. He then locked the door behind him, sealing off the outside world.
Cameron got a hot towel from the bathroom and offered it to Russell, who was huddled in the corner. Russell didn't take it; he just kept his face buried in his arms, knees pulled up to his chest.
Jennifer didn't say a word and started tidying up the room. She picked up the scattered pages of the script, aligned the edges, and stacked them neatly. She righted the overturned liquor bottles and used a napkin to blot the spilled wine from the carpet. Her movements were quiet and efficient, not making any unnecessary noise.
Watching the scene unfold, Link felt a throbbing pain in his temples.
He walked up to Russell and crouched down, meeting him at eye level.
"Russell."
No response.
"Russell, look at me." Link's voice was steady.
Russell slowly, stiffly lifted his head. His blue eyes were bloodshot and clouded with exhaustion.
"I have to get out of here," Russell whispered, his voice hoarse. "I need a place with... no walls."
Link held his gaze for a few seconds.
He stood up, pulled out his phone, and dialed Lawrence Band.
"Lawrence, get me a plane."
Band's voice on the other end was muffled. "A plane? Where to? Did the Academy decide to reissue your award?"
"Montana," Link said, walking to the window and looking down at the reporters. "And rent me a ranch. Make it big, remote, and preferably with zero cell service."
Band was silent for a moment.
"Link ... are you serious?"
"Do I sound like I'm joking?" Link said. "Our lead actor needs some serious R&R."
---
Two days later, Montana, on the shore of Flathead Lake.
The plane bounced as it landed on a makeshift runway, finally rumbling to a stop.
When the cabin door opened, a blast of crisp, cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp earth.
In front of them stood a huge log house, its walls made of thick, stacked timber. Behind the house was a deep blue lake, stretching as far as the eye could see, with a thin layer of mist floating above the water. In the distance, snow-capped mountains rose majestically.
It was utterly silent, broken only by the sound of the wind and their own heartbeats.
Russell stepped off the plane, stood still, took a deep breath, and then forcibly exhaled, as if trying to expel the toxicity of the last few months.
Cameron took off like an unleashed husky, screaming as she charged into the grassy field and rolled around.
Jennifer walked to the lakeshore, picked up a flat stone, made a graceful arc with her body, and flicked her wrist. The stone skipped across the mirror-like surface of the lake—tap, tap, tap—seven or eight times.
Link watched the three of them, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
The following days were like an unscripted reality show.
No one mentioned the movie, no one mentioned Hollywood.
Every morning before dawn, Cameron would head to the dock with a fishing rod. She never caught anything, but she didn't care, often talking to the lake or humming off-key songs.
Jennifer spent most of her time in the rocking chair by the fireplace, reading. The pine logs crackled gently in the hearth. She flipped pages quickly, occasionally pausing, her gaze drifting over the window frame to the distant snow line, unmoving for long stretches.
Russell chopped wood, every single day.
Bare-chested, he swung the axe, splitting log after log. Sweat poured down his back. He stacked the split firewood against the house, one piece on top of the other, building a high, sturdy fortress.
Link's role was essentially that of a caretaker.
He was responsible for driving tens of miles to the nearest small town for supplies and then returning to cook for the three of them.
At dinner, the four of them sat around the long table, the only sounds being the faint clinking of cutlery and plates.
This scene, Link thought, could be used for a promotional poster for The Godfather Part IV.
---
That evening, Link was washing dishes in the kitchen, his stomach burning from too much caffeine.
A warm body pressed against his back. Cameron rested her chin on his shoulder.
"Hey," she mumbled.
"Mhm."
"You seem... down."
Link turned off the water and turned around, trapping her between himself and the sink. He looked into her eyes, which were shining like stars in the dim light, and countered, "Do I look like I should be cheerful?"
"At least there are no paparazzi here," she said, smiling. Then, her expression turned serious. "Link , you don't have to carry the weight of everything yourself."
Link didn't reply. He just raised his hand and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. Her skin was warm.
Just then, Jennifer walked in. She was holding two mugs of milk. She paused for a beat when she saw their posture, but her face remained neutral.
She handed one mug to Cameron.
"Drink this before bed. It's good for your skin."
Then, she offered the other one to Link.
"Yours. No sugar."
Cameron took the milk, looked at Jennifer with a complex expression, but smiled anyway.
"Thanks."
Link took his cup and took a sip.
It was warm.
---
The next day, Russell stopped building his fortress.
He took Cameron's flimsy fishing rod and sat alone on the dock, casting the hook—without bait—into the water, staring at the lake.
Link watched him through the window all morning. He saw Russell's line get tangled. He angrily tugged at it a few times, nearly throwing the rod into the lake. But finally, he sat back down and spent about half an hour, patiently unraveling the mess like a surgeon.
Russell returned around noon.
He was holding a thrashing rainbow trout.
He slammed the fish into the sink with a splash, getting water all over Link. He looked at Link and grinned, flashing a set of white teeth.
It was the first genuine smile Link had seen on him since they arrived.
"Dinner special tonight."
---
That night, the fire in the hearth was roaring.
The four of them sat around the fire. The lights were off, and the flames made their faces flicker between bright and shadow.
Russell was drinking beer, Jennifer was reading, and Cameron was leaning on Link's shoulder, her breathing steady.
"Link ."
Russell suddenly spoke. He stared at the dancing flames, his voice low, almost a monologue.
"Sometimes, I feel like you're not real."
Link's hand, holding the beer bottle, paused mid-air.
Russell turned his head. His blue eyes, which had been clouded by alcohol and exhaustion for days, were now shockingly clear in the firelight. He looked at Link, not with judgment, but with pure curiosity.
"You just showed up in Hollywood out of nowhere, with your company, with your scripts. It's like... you didn't come here to play the game," he paused, searching for the right word. "You came here to declare the results."
Link's hand suddenly trembled.
He felt a bead of condensation on the beer bottle detach and slide down his knuckles. The cold trail felt like a snake, slithering right into his heart.