The firelight in the fireplace flickered, throwing Russell's face into light and shadow.
Link didn't say anything.
Russell's comment was like a probe, precisely hitting a secret deep in his soul that he didn't even want to touch himself.
He picked up a poker, reached into the flames, and poked the burning log. The wood crackled, sending up sparks. He used the action to mask his moment of distraction.
Russell didn't look away; he just watched Link calmly, as if waiting for an inevitable answer.
"I've played a lot of roles," Russell began, his voice low, breaking the silence. "Crazy guys, gladiators, captains... I know what it feels like to act out someone else's life. But you..."
He paused, and his blue eyes in the firelight were as clear as ice.
"You feel like you're performing a life you already know."
Link stopped poking the fire.
He slowly looked up and smiled, a smile without much warmth.
"You got it," he placed the poker gently against the hearth. "Except I'm not performing, I'm experiencing."
Cameron, whose head was resting on his shoulder, stirred slightly. She didn't understand.
Jennifer, however, closed the book in her hands, looked up, and for the first time actively engaged in the topic: "Experiencing life?"
Link's gaze swept across her face, but then returned to the flames, as if looking at a distant past.
"Experiencing a life I could never have," his voice was so soft that the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. "In the last story..."
"I was just... a spectator in the last row."
Cameron couldn't help but ask, "A spectator? What do you mean?"
"It means," Link twisted his lips in a self-deprecating smile, "watching others succeed, watching others fail, watching others shine on stage. But I could only ever watch it all from the audience."
Only the sound of the burning wood remained in the room.
Cameron said nothing. She simply stood up, fetched a blanket from the nearby rack, and gently draped it over him. The blanket smelled faintly of sunshine.
Russell finished his beer in one gulp and placed the empty bottle on the floor with a thunk.
"So," he spoke, his voice hoarse, "everything you're doing now is just trying to move from the last row onto the stage?"
Link nodded.
"I want to personally," he said, emphasizing each word, "turn on the lights."
The air was silent for a few seconds.
He looked at the three people in front of him, all staring intently as if listening to a doomsday prophecy.
Link broke the damn solemnity by laughing first.
He spread his hands and switched to a producer's tone: "Alright, I admit, that line sounds pretty good. Got a bit of an epic feel, right? Don't look at me like that; I haven't figured out who to cast in that role yet."
That joke, like a pin, instantly popped the taut balloon.
Russell was stunned for a moment, then he, too, laughed, a hearty and genuine laugh that chased away the last bit of gloom. He stood up, walked over to Link, and offered his hand.
"Welcome to the stage, boss," he said. This time, his tone was full of ease and acknowledgment.
Link stood up and took his hand. The handshake was firm, like two conspirators making a deal.
Cameron playfully punched his arm: "You scared the heck out of us! I thought you were about to run for president or something." But she was smiling, and the tears in her eyes had turned to laughter.
This time, no one spoke again, but the atmosphere was no longer oppressive.
Link sat back down on the couch. Cameron naturally rested her head back on his shoulder, but this time, she pulled his hand over and wrapped hers around it. It was warm.
Russell didn't open another beer. He just sat next to Link, watching the slowly diminishing flames in the fireplace.
Jennifer reopened her book, but for a long time, she didn't turn the page.
They were like four travelers long lost in a snowstorm who had finally found a safe cave to rest in.
After an unknown period, the fire in the hearth died down, leaving only glowing embers emitting their final warmth and light.
In this near-perfect harmony, the satellite phone on the window table suddenly rang.
The jarring ring, like a sharp blade, violently tore a hole in the warm stillness, dragging back the noisy, cold world of Hollywood.
It was Bender. Only he had this emergency number.
Link frowned, gently patted Cameron's hand, stood up, and walked to the window to answer.
"Link !" Bender's voice on the other end was a mix of excitement and terror. "Big trouble!"
"Harvey?"
"Bigger than that!" Bender yelled. "The entire damn Hollywood just had an earthquake! It's MGM!"
Link froze, phone in hand. MGM... The Lion was in trouble?
"That movie of theirs, Heavenly Dance, you remember it? The hundred-million-dollar musical—it premiered last week and CRASHED! The opening weekend box office didn't even hit eight million!"
Link felt a chill run down his spine.
He remembered it, of course. In the other timeline, that movie, Boat of Dreams (or similar), had directly dragged MGM into the abyss of bankruptcy.
"Now the stock is plummeting, the board is looking for a buyer, or they'll file for Chapter 11 protection!"
Bender's voice dropped to a low whisper. "Wall Street is buzzing—some buyer had already contacted the creditor banks and rushed in with cash as soon as the news broke."
"Who?" Link asked, his voice barely audible.
"Who else?"
Bender's voice stretched into a thin wire.
"Harvey Weinstein."
"The son of a gun is going to buy the Lion."
"And he's already put the word out: the first thing he's going to do once the deal is closed—"
"is to reboot the most valuable IP in the MGM vault."
The air completely froze.
"Link ..." Bender's voice was almost a whisper. "He's going to make—'007'."