The Past Lover's Surprise

The fishy smell filled the hotel in Southshore. For the locals, this was a familiar smell, but when Jorgen walked in, he still twitched his nose. At this time, there were not many people. He went straight to the owner's counter and sat down.

"Is there anything I can help with, Mr. Jorgen? I hope you just came for a drink." The owner said.

"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed," Jorgen said, "A week ago, on the night Henry was killed, how many guests stayed on the second floor here?"

"I have to check the registration book for this. Although there weren't many people, you know, we don't have many tourists here - most are businessmen and couples. But haven't you already asked everyone?"

"You don't need to worry about anything else. Give me the registration book. Also, a glass of Morning Dew wine."

The wine came faster than the registration book. Jorgen picked up the glass, sniffed hard without showing any expression, as if he had to smell the fishy smell he hated before being satisfied. Then he drank half the glass in one gulp. When he put down the glass, he happened to see a woman in indigo dress standing at the door. Their eyes met for a moment, then looked away, and met again the next moment; they had recognized each other.

The woman walked over to Jorgen with a restrained and cautious smile. Jorgen straightened his back unnaturally, his fingers rubbing the glass, his eyes staring at the ground, until the indigo skirt entered his line of sight, then looked up and forced himself to say, "Oh. I didn't expect to meet you here."

"It's been four years, you couldn't have forgotten my name, Jorgen."

Although the woman's voice had changed somewhat - after all, the last time they met she was only sixteen - but this voice immediately grabbed Jorgen's heart, as if a warm mist drifted from his ears all the way into his body. How could I forget your name? - Shelley Mareb.

"Shelley," Jorgen smiled unconsciously, but his mouth seemed to be pulled to both sides forcibly, "I'm here for work."

Hearing this inappropriate explanation, Shelley Mareb pretended to frown exaggeratedly. "What are you busy explaining, Jorgen. Seeing you again is actually - a surprise, I guess. So I'm in an irrational mood and won't listen to your explanation."

"Ha ha," Jorgen was also amused by his own silly words just now, with half a glass of wine still in his mouth, "Yes, a surprise. That's right. In fact, that's what I think too."

Jorgen looked at Shelley and couldn't say exactly what parts of her face had changed compared to her memory four years ago, although he was very aware that she was no longer the naive little girl. She used to be very afraid of thunder and swaying boats. Now she was a mature woman, would she still be afraid of the same things?

"Look at your chin," Shelley lightly placed her index and middle fingers on Jorgen's left lower jaw, "How long has it been since you shaved? If you go on like this, I won't recognize you in less than a month. You used to hate having a beard the most."

Jorgen knew she was born in Southshore, but didn't expect to meet her here today. Compared to the scene when they parted, the current scene seemed unnaturally calm.

"Um - am I interrupting you?" The owner said so, but still placed the registration book directly in front of Jorgen's eyes, then said to Shelley, "What's the matter, Shelley? This is the first time I've seen you make eye contact with a man here."

"No," Shelley was obviously used to the owner's sour and joking words, "We knew each other before. When I was in Menethil."

"Oh - it sounds interesting. Please take this registration book to look at as much as you like, Mr. Jorgen. No need to return it in a hurry. Anyway, at most I can only make a little money from the guys registered in here."

"What do you want to see this for?" Shelley asked.

"This is because I have some -"

At that moment, the entrance of the hotel suddenly became extremely noisy, interrupting the two's conversation. A group of soldiers squeezed into the hotel, like uninvited guests at a banquet about to end, spitting out indistinct curses and shouts, deliberately pretending ferocious eyes to frighten the quiet guests. Although dressed as soldiers, they all looked slovenly and filthy,with their crooked armor covered in mud. Most of them were also injured, hastily tied with yellow bandages.

They soon occupied several tables, moving them privately to form a circle and sitting around a one-armed wounded soldier. The one-armed wounded soldier spoke in a low voice, while the others listened with interest, occasionally letting out a few cough-like sneers. The poor waitress timidly walked over to them, asked them to order dishes, and did not know what one of the wounded soldiers said, her face immediately turned red with embarrassment, unconsciously taking two steps back.

"Who are these people?" Jorgen asked.

"Just a bunch of useless disabled soldiers," the owner said in a low voice with his elbows close to the table, "It seems that they were sent by Stormwind to raid Syndicate, went out in full dress, and came back like this, didn't even see a prisoner brought back. Now they still have the cheek to 'recuperate' here. Originally they were stationed outside the town, and today they were finally released into the town. Mr. Jorgen, perhaps with your identity, you can talk to their captain? If this continues, I can't do business."

Jorgen was attracted by the dangerous aura emanating from the one-armed leader who acted like a leader, and the wounded soldiers surrounding him. He knew only too well what a defeated army out of control could do. Although this was not his responsibility at the moment, Jorgen still decided to pay more attention to these guys.

Syndicate, defeated army, murdered tycoon, suspect. For a little while Jorgen's mind was completely occupied by these things, completely forgetting that his former lover from four years ago was sitting next to him - until he felt Shelley anxiously put her hand on his forearm.

Jorgen immediately noticed the gloom on Shelley's face. This made his heart sink.

"If there's nothing to do here, let me take you home?" Jorgen said, holding the registration book in his hand.

"Okay," Shelley stood up faster than Jorgen.

As the two walked out the door, they did receive some frivolous and threatening looks. Jorgen blocked Shelley with his body, while Shelley hugged his right arm, and the two walked out together through the narrow doorway.

The decision to take her home was right, Jorgen thought. Because wounded soldiers in groups could be found everywhere in town, and these people outside behaved in the same vulgar and indecent manner as those who stormed into the hotel, just lacking an explosive violent aura. That was brought by the one-armed leader.

Shelley was obviously very scared, clinging tightly to Jorgen's arm until the two were far from the avenue and came to a relatively secluded path. There were several times that Jorgen had the urge to put his arm around her waist and pull her closer, but he restrained himself in the end.

"My house is just up ahead," she said, letting go of his hand, "Can you tell me what kind of work you do for Stormwind now?"

"Some official business -" Jorgen vaguely changed his mouth and said, "Handling some cases."

"Handling cases? Are you a detective now?"

"You can say that." In fact, using this word to describe my work is a bit too romantic, Jorgen thought.

"It sounds good. It was indeed worth your leaving Menethil."

When Jorgen heard this ambiguous sentence, he did not capture any special changes in Shelley's calm expression.

The two walked in silence for a while, but Shelley suddenly stopped.

"You said ... you're a detective? Could it be that you're working for Military Intelligence Section 7?"

Hearing this from Shelley's mouth, Jorgen was obviously somewhat surprised. He didn't want Shelley to know too much, but was unwilling to lie to her. "Yes, it's Military Intelligence Section 7." He said.

"...Are you here to investigate a murder case?"

"That wasn't my original mission, but ..."

"David did not kill anyone, he is innocent, he absolutely would not do such a thing."

David? Why would she mention that suspect? Jorgen looked at Shelley in confusion, but saw a hint of anger brewing in her face.

"Besides, at most he's just a suspect, do you have to beat him like that?"

"Me? I didn't beat him."

"Then why is he covered in bruises? And one eye is so swollen he can barely open it! He said it was the people who interrogated him who did it."

"I don't know, Shelley. I didn't beat him." Now Jorgen felt like he had been hit silly: How did she know David Langston, and why did she speak up for him?

Shelley said so, like a sudden storm descending on Southshore, splashing Jorgen wet all over in a clatter. He already felt that the reunion between the two was unnaturally calm, and it seemed that the gods had heard his thoughts and arranged such a play to prove his thinking.

Jorgen couldn't help but smile bitterly. The suspect turned out to be an old childhood friend of his former lover, what a mess. He watched Shelley angrily walk away, making the little intimacy he had felt for a few minutes seem ridiculous. He began to imagine how David pitifully told Shelley how he was tortured by detectives from Military Intelligence Section 7, it must have been a scene that made people cry and laugh.

He sighed, and walked back the way he had come. Although he had gone through such an unpleasant experience, Shelley's figure kept appearing in his mind, occupying much of the space he used to consider the murder case.