The air felt like it had been grabbed by something invisible. Time seemed to freeze.
Nash stared at the chessboard, his eyes flickering with light.
Suddenly, he reached out. His fingertips touched the board, tracing the path of Link's last move, slowly sliding it backward.
"Do you know what kind of move that was?" he asked.
His tone sounded like a lecture—detached, slightly drifting.
Link thought for a moment. "A counterintuitive decision from game theory."
Nash's hand paused.
"Everyone else sees a loss," Link went on calmly. "But you saw that your opponent was also afraid of losing."
"So you made that move," he said evenly, "to make him think he'd already won."
Nash looked up, his eyes suddenly sharp and clear.
In that instant, the floating haze in his gaze snapped back into focus—like he'd briefly returned to the present.
"You studied mathematics?" Nash asked.
Link smiled. "No. I just make movies."
Nash fell silent, as if rearranging equations in his head.
A few seconds later, he nodded slightly.
"Alright."
He turned to Alicia, his voice softening. "They can stay."
Alicia hesitated, surprised, and glanced at her husband.
Nash turned away and walked toward the desk, his fingers brushing over a stack of old notebooks.
The tension in the room eased—just a little.
Russell let out a quiet breath and was about to speak when Link raised a hand, signaling him to wait.
Link stepped forward, his tone gentle but firm. "Professor Nash, we're here to ask for your cooperation."
"Cooperation?" Nash repeated, chewing on the word.
He walked to the window. Sunlight slanted across his temples, revealing strands of silver in his hair.
On the windowsill sat an old tape recorder, dust settled into its cassette slot.
He reached out and nudged it, his finger lingering over the REC button.
It had been left behind by former students. Back then, they'd used the same words—cooperate, document genius.
Those recordings had later become evidence others used to label him insane.
He stared at the recorder, his gaze slowly darkening.
He let out a low laugh, cold around the edges. "You want to turn my life into a two-hour circus."
"And trade cheap tears for a little gold statue."
He picked up the white queen Link had set down, spinning it between his fingers.
"You don't understand anything," he said flatly.
"How could you possibly film the sounds inside my head?"
The air froze again.
Russell and Jennifer said nothing.
Link didn't respond right away. He walked to the window and looked out at the neatly trimmed lawn.
"You're right," he said quietly. "I can't film what's inside your head."
Then he turned back to Nash.
"But I can let the audience see this."
He raised his hand, sketching shapes in the air.
"When a formula starts coming together in your mind, the raindrops on the window will turn into numbers and symbols—flowing, rearranging themselves, like living fireflies."
Something flickered in Nash's eyes.
"When the hallucinations speak to you," Link continued, "the lighting won't change. The sound won't change either."
"But in your shadow," he said softly, "there'll be one more person."
"He copies your movements. Smiles at you."
"Only you can see him."
Russell held his breath, the image forming vividly in his mind.
Link smiled—there was a hint of creative madness in it.
"As for that line," he said, spreading his hands slightly,
"the line between genius and madness—"
"We won't draw it."
"We'll let the audience find it themselves."
"One second, they're applauding you for cracking the Riemann Hypothesis."
"The next, they're watching you talk to a little girl who doesn't exist."
"They'll feel it on their own—"
"That place that's half heaven, half hell."
The living room fell silent, save for the steady tick-tock of the grandfather clock.
The white queen in Nash's hand stopped spinning.
He looked at Link. In those all-seeing eyes, something appeared for the first time—something beyond confusion.
Like a king imprisoned by loneliness, hearing a voice from another world.
He stayed quiet for a long time.
So long that Alicia began to think he wouldn't speak again.
"That movie…" Nash finally said, his voice rough, like a door slowly opening after years of being shut.
"Tell me more about it."
Alicia gently placed her hand on his shoulder.
Outside, sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering across the chessboard in dappled patterns.
The white queen glimmered softly.