After he left, the cafe was quiet for a whole minute.
Leah sat in the same position, as if to give her heartbeat a little time to slowly retreat.
The remaining coffee marks on the wall of the cup turned brown in the light. She stretched out her hand to push the cup aside, changed her posture and sat down, with her back against the cold back of the chair.
Only then did her shoulders really relax.
The small piece of skin that was touched seemed to return to normal temperature a beat later than other places.
She knows it's unreasonable.
She has seen too many eyes, too many gestures, and too many purposeful approaches. Those details should be archived and become "intelligence" instead of remaining in physical memory.
However, the body is the most difficult to persuade.
She slowly stood up and picked up her coat. When the cloth crossed the side of her neck, she couldn't help taking a breath - she felt that the action was unnecessary.
When I walked out of the cafe, it was completely sunny.
The whole street was painted light gold by the sunset, and the air was mixed with the smell of detergent from washed sheets, the fragrance of fried snacks, and the smell of flower soil just watered at the door of a store.
She walked out along the street.
The mobile phone shook in the bag.
This time it's the London number.
She glanced at the screen and didn't pick it up immediately. After the ringing was shaken twice, she pressed the answer button and put the mobile phone to her ear.
"You don't sound like you're in a meeting now."
As soon as Eliza's voice came out, she had the familiar sense of laziness and censorship.
"Then what do you want me to sound like?" Leah turned sideways to avoid a speeding motorcycle. The skirt was lifted a little by the wind, and then quickly fell back to her legs.
"It's not like she just came out of a man's arms."
"Your imagination has always been too specific."
"I've always been specific to you."
The conversation stabilized a habitual rhythm in the back and forth pull.
"You saw him." It's not a question, but a statement.
"The information is still spread very fast."
"This is the city," Eliza smiled, "not a small town. Once some names appear during the day, they will appear in the report at night.
"Then which one do you want to listen to first?" Leah said, "Daytime or nighttime?"
"Tell me first, did he make you feel--" she deliberately paused, "It's worth wasting time."
"Time is a resource." Leah said, "I won't waste it casually."
"Which one were you wasting just now? Working hours, or something else?"
Leah stopped at the corner of the street and raised her hand to block the dazzling light.
"I'm approaching an important goal." She said this sentence flawlessly, "You should be satisfied."
The other end of the phone was quiet for two seconds.
"Lia."
Eliza's voice suddenly tightened a little, "I'm not questioning whether you can complete the task. What I question is, which way are you going to finish it?
"An effective way."
"I have seen many 'effective' ways of you."
There was the sound of turning the paper over there.
"You will choose a person, get close to him, understand his habits, his expression when he likes to lie, whether he will touch the edge of the cup when he is nervous, and you will tear him apart very carefully. And then what?"
Leah didn't answer.
"Then you will hand him over in person when necessary." Eliza said slowly, "You are used to it. Because in this way, you can control the loss.
"This is work."
"Yes."
Eliza sighed softly.
"So I need to make sure that your current curiosity is still within your control."
Leah looked up at a mottled poster on the opposite wall. The paper has been faded by the sun, and the corners are upturned, revealing the lower layer of older advertisements.
"You called," she said, "just to remind me not to 'emote my emotions'?"
"I'm calling because," said the person over there, "I know very well that when someone makes you feel 'dangerous and interesting', you will make mistakes more easily than ever."
"Are you worried about me?"
"I'm worried about the task." Eliza corrected, "I'm worried about you by the way."
"By the way." Leah repeated it, and the corners of her mouth rose slightly.
"Don't get me wrong."
On the other end of the phone, the woman smiled softly, "I have never been like those who work for emotional interference. Who do you want to drink coffee or even sleep with? As long as it doesn't affect what you hand in, I won't say much.
Those words sounded too lightly, but they accurately poked the idea she had just deliberately avoided.
"But," Eliza slowly added, "You know, I don't like to share you with others."
Leah stood quietly, her fingers clasped the edge of the mobile phone, and her knUCKLEs were a little white because of the force.
"I'm on a mission, not in love." She said.
"I hope you can remember this."
The call ended with a soft and decisive "good night".
She closed her mobile phone and threw it back into her bag.
The sun shone on her shoulders, making the skin that had just been touched slightly hot.
She looked up and looked over the eaves of a row of old houses and looked at the blurred sea line in the distance.
The wind is blowing from the port.
She stood in place for a while, then turned around and walked to another street.
Instead of going back to the apartment directly, she walked into a small supermarket.
I bought milk, bread, a few vegetables, and a small bottle of men's shower gel that she took without reading the label clearly.
She didn't realize it until she paid the bill.
The cashier was a young girl. He glanced at her and then looked at the things in the bag with an ambiguous smile.
"Prepare dinner for your boyfriend?"
Leah was stunned for half a second, and then showed a decent and alienated smile.
"Prepare for work." She said.
The girl couldn't understand the multiple meanings of her sentence. She just thought she was joking and smiled more happily.
Back to the apartment, it was already dark.
She skillfully closed the door, locked it, and fastened the door chain by the way.
The whole room became quiet, leaving only the slight buzzing of the refrigerator and the occasional sound of cars in the distance outside the window.
She put things away one by one and acted mechanically and orderly.
Finally, she put the bottle of shower gel in the corner of the bathroom washstand.
The packaging is dark blue, with a little woody fragrance annotation.
She stared at the line for two seconds, and then opened the bottle cap.
A faint smell came out.
It's not exactly the same.
Compared with the smell on his body, it's just a cheap imitation - but it's enough for her brain to quickly grasp the connection.
She suddenly felt a little ridiculous.
She closed the bottle cap, put it back aside almost roughly, turned on the shower, let the cold water rinse for a while, and then slowly adjusted it to warm.
The sound of water soon filled the whole space.
She took off her clothes one by one, and her movements were crisp, without any deliberate delay or self-pity.
The mirror soon became foggy.
The water flowed on her shoulders, the back of her neck and her spine, sliding all the way down, washing away the dust on the day, and also washing away the residual touch she did not want to admit.
She closed her eyes and let the water flow through her face.
But some pictures appeared in my mind uncontrollably--
When he sat down beside her, the sound of clothes rubbing.
When his knuckles stopped above the fabric on the side of her neck, he paused for a moment.
And the moment she really encountered, which was so short that it was almost negligible, but she focused her whole attention on that small piece of skin.
She cooled down the water a little.
"Control." She said to herself under the sound of water.
This is an order.
She has always carried out orders very thoroughly.
After taking a shower, she put on loose home clothes and dried her hair with a towel at will. She didn't blow it neatly. Wet hair is attached to the side of the neck, making that piece of skin a little more sensitive on the fabric.
She sat down at the desk and turned on the computer.
Create a new document with the title:
[Napoli · Art Smuggling Case · Stage Record]
The cursor flashed twice on the blank page.
She began to type.
——
[Target: Luca Rosano]
[Identity: Heir of the Rosano Family, Director of the Rosano Art Foundation]
[On-site observation:]
· Habitually be late for less than ten minutes and master the sense of rhythm.
· Dress cleanly, and the shirt collar is not fully buttoned all the year round, showing moderate "relaxation".
· Intentionally test the distance and get close frequently, but avoid really crossing the line uncontrollably.
· The eyes consciously stay on the side of the other party's neck, lip line and other positions, with a clear omen of possessiveness.
When she knocked this sentence, she stopped unconsciously.
"A sign of possessiveness."
She deleted the word "omen" and "possessiveness" to replace it with a more neutral one:
[The target has high-intensity attention to the observer and has the ability to accurately capture details.]
She stared at the line for two seconds, and the corners of her mouth twitched slightly.
It's so clean.
It's so clean that you can hardly see his real danger.
She typed a line below again:
[Remarks: Rather than being an 'interviewee', it is more like an interrogator who is under reverse observation at the same time.]
After typing this sentence, she leaned back on the back of the chair and raised her hand to press her eyebrows.
Time pops out in the corner of the screen.
22:47.
The mobile phone is lying quietly on the side.
She remembered the unknown number.
At this time, will he send something again?
She hates this idea.
It was also because of the hatred that she realized again that it was true.
She brought her mobile phone and turned it on.
At the top of the message list, it is still on the two in the afternoon.
[The rain has stopped tonight, are you still standing on the side? --L]
[This is not a farewell, diplomat. It's just the beginning. ——L]
Her thumb stopped at the top of the screen, hanging.
When I was hesitating whether to delete the chat record, a new message reminder popped up at the top of the screen.
Sender: the same number.
[The way you drink black coffee is not suitable for this city. ——L]
She was stunned for a second.
Of course, he can know from others which coffee shop she appeared in, but the tone of this sentence is obviously not "information feedback", but--
He is watching her.
And don't be in a hurry to cover up this observation.
She replied:
[And what do you drink that is suitable for this city?]
The other party almost replied in seconds.
[I usually drink.]
[But today is an exception.]
[Why?]
[Because I don't want to get drunk when I sit with you.]
This sentence stopped on the screen.
There are no emojis and no extra words.
Simple, direct and dangerous.
She stared at the line for a long time.
She should have replied, "We are talking about work," or "You misunderstood my nature" to cool down the line in a calm way.
But she didn't do that.
She typed a line:
[Do you think I will believe it?]
After sending it out, she found that this was actually a kind of acquiescence - acquiescence that he was qualified to say such words, and acquiesced that she was qualified to question.
Three small dots appear in the dialogue window, indicating that the other party is typing.
After a few seconds, a new message popped up:
[You can not believe it.]
[You just need to remember that I'm not drunk today.]
[So what I saw was that every moment you didn't retreat was real.]
Her stomach seemed to be lightly hit by something invisible.
There is no pain, just a brief sense of weightlessness.
She put her mobile phone on the table with the screen facing down.
The document on the computer screen is still there, and the cursor continues to flash on the last line.
[Conclusion: The target has extremely high social skills and is used to blur the boundary between ambiguity and cooperation.]
She knocked on the end.
After stopping for a moment, start a new line below:
[Note: It is more like a mirror than a "goal".]
She didn't continue to fight.
The room is quiet.
She suddenly had a strong premonition--
Soon, there will be a night that makes their so-called "testing", "cooperation" and "too close", from the edge of language and skin, stepping into a place where it is really difficult to retreat.
She didn't know when that night would be.
All I know is that from today on, they are no longer just a chance encounter in the rain.
Instead, clearly, they began to let each other into their respective dangerous areas.