Chapter 452 The Shadow of the Dream

Silva shook her head. “You’ll have to ask him yourself. There are too many mysteries in this world. I can only sense a little, but I can’t explain everything.”

Just then, Silva’s phone rang.

“Sorry, Tilda,” she said, picking up the call. “The film crew needs me. Today’s the final scene of the movie, and I guess they want me there.”

“That’s fine. We’ll meet again next time. It was nice to meet you.”

“Same here.”

Tilda watched Silva walk away.

Her eyes narrowed with thought.

Something about it left her uneasy, as if something huge was happening around her without her knowing.

“Well,” she muttered, “since I’m here, I’ll handle it. I’ve already come back from the edge of death once. What else is there in this world that scares me now?”

Silva arrived at the movie set.

The director stood there bundled up—hat, sunglasses, gloves, and all—rubbing his hands together nervously. The moment he saw her, he hurried over. “Ms. Silva, thank goodness you’re here."

Silva gave him a small Nomari-style bow. “Director, what’s going on?”

“It’s Mr. Jenson… sigh. Today’s the big finale scene. He’s performed it several times already. We think it looks fine, but he’s not happy. He keeps demanding to redo it.”

He lowered his voice, almost desperate. “We’re running out of time. I thought maybe you could talk to him and give him some kind of advice.”

Silva blinked in confusion. “But I don’t know anything about acting.”

The director threw up his hands. “Right now, we’re desperate. If you can just calm him down and help him finish the scene so we can deliver to the investors, that would be enough. We’ve spent so much time on this movie already. We promised the investor today would be the last shoot. We can’t delay anymore. Please, Ms. Silva.”

“I’ll do my best,” Silva said, drawing in a deep breath.

She walked toward Darell.

The cast was on a break, each actor taking time to adjust their mood before the cameras rolled again.

Darell’s face was dark as he stared at the script.

Cindy stood nearby, her face full of worry.

She knew Darell’s temper.

Once he set his mind on something, no one could change it—especially when it came to acting.

This final scene was the wrap-up, the grand finale. It was the most important moment, the twist that tied everything together.

The ending had been written brilliantly—sharp, surprising, and beyond anyone’s imagination.

If Darell didn’t deliver it well, all the buildup before—all the effort, all the emotion—would lose its impact.

He would regret it for the rest of his life.

Better to keep pushing than settle for less, but dragging it out wasted time, and the investors were growing restless.

“Darell, Mr. Jenson,” Cindy said carefully, “the fourth take was really good. The director even thought about using it. Maybe we should…”

Without looking up, Darell flipped another page. “Cindy, that’s enough. You know me. I won’t stop until I hit the level I’m aiming for.”

Just then, a voice came from the side.

“Hello there.”

Silva walked over, waving lightly at both of them.

“You? The psychic?” Darell frowned.

The moment he saw her, last night’s strange dream flashed in his mind.

Darell knew he wasn’t in his best shape today.

The reason was clear—it was that dream again.

No matter how much he tried to push through, forcing himself to focus on the role, the cloud in his chest refused to lift.

“The director asked me to come,” Silva said. “He thought maybe I could help. Are there parts of the character you still don’t understand?”

Darell leaned forward. He had always been quick to learn, always hungry for knowledge. And this movie—this role—was everything to him. Not just his career, but his pride.

Silva spoke with him for a long time about psychics and old legends passed down in Yaflana.

Darell absorbed every word, locking it in memory, shaping it into the way he carried himself. He wanted to show the character’s true spirit, down to the smallest habit.

At last, Silva had nothing left to add.

“Cindy,” Darell said, his tone softer now, “I want to talk to Silva alone.”

“Darell,” Cindy hesitated.

“Please.”

He rarely spoke like that. Cindy sighed, then stepped back.

“Please, take a seat, Ms. Silva,” Darell said.

“Thank you.” Silva sat quietly at his side.

Darell placed the script on the small coffee table beside him. “I had that dream again last night. But this time, it was different.”

Maybe it was because of something Silva had told him before.

He didn’t want to admit it, but Silva’s earlier words had shaken him.

Two straight weeks of the same dream—only to have it twist and change last night.

It was beyond reason.

Beyond the science he trusted.

When he finished explaining, Silva’s expression turned heavy.

“You know something, don’t you, Ms. Silva?” Darell pressed.

“Mr. Jenson,” she said slowly, “remember what I told you? Your body, your very being, is unusual. Stronger than mine. You could have been an extraordinary psychic or excelled in almost any path you chose."