Avery pulled into the studio parking lot earlier than usual, hoping for a calm start. Instead, she found someone parked in her assigned spot. A production assistant rushed over.

“Sorry! Evan told us to move his car closer for equipment loading. They put him here.”

Avery stared at the space, her jaw tightening. “This is not an equipment zone.”

“I know, I know,” the PA stammered. “They said it would be just for today.”

Avery didn’t raise her voice, but her tone was sharp. “Move it. Now.”

The PA ran off. Avery parked two rows over, grabbed her bag, and walked toward Stage Six with quick, clipped steps. The morning air felt heavy, and she hadn’t even stepped inside yet.

When she reached the hallway, Evan was already there talking with two camera operators. He turned as she approached.

“You took my spot,” she said.

Evan frowned. “I didn’t. I told them to move equipment closer, not my car.”

“Well, your car was in my space.”

“They misheard,” Evan replied. “Calm down.”

Avery’s stomach twisted. “Don’t tell me to calm down. I’m not overreacting.”

“I didn’t say you were. I said calm down.”

“That’s worse.”

The camera operators slowly wandered away to avoid the collision forming between them.

Evan crossed his arms. “It’s a parking spot.”

“It’s my parking spot.”

“You think I did it on purpose?”

“I think you don’t pay attention,” Avery snapped.

Evan's expression shifted, something unreadable flickering. “If you want it moved, I’ll move it.”

“It’s already being moved.”

“Then what are we arguing about?”

“You tell me,” she said quietly.

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Jonah arrived behind her, holding coffee.

“Morning! Wow. Okay. What's going on?”

Avery didn’t answer. She turned away and walked toward the stage entrance. Jonah gave Evan a suspicious look before jogging after her.

“Ave,” Jonah said softly, “do you want to—”

“No,” she said. “Let’s just work.”

Inside the stage, crew members were setting up for the first scene of the day—a three-camera sequence in the living room set. The energy was tense, everyone walking like they were afraid to trigger something.

Jonah leaned closer. “Today’s gonna be rough. You okay?”

“I’m working,” she said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

Before Jonah could push further, Liam walked over holding the updated script.

“Are we seriously doing the new version?” he asked. “These lines feel wrong.”

Avery took the script. She had seen the late-night rewrite email, but she hadn't had the energy to process it. Now she read the changes quickly.

They were bad. Not unusable, but sloppy—like someone rushed to adjust the tone and missed the meaning.

Avery exhaled. “These changes weren’t approved.”

Evan approached from behind. “They were. I sent notes last night.”

Avery turned to him. “You rewrote the emotional beat.”

“It needed more impact.”

“You removed the subtlety.”

“The scene was too soft.”

“It was supposed to be soft.”

“No,” Evan said, “it was supposed to hurt.”

Avery narrowed her eyes. “You can’t rewrite the tone alone.”

“I didn’t rewrite it alone,” he said. “I suggested changes.”

“And someone blindly accepted them.”

Liam raised a hand. “Uh… can someone tell me if I’m supposed to yell in this version? Because the new lines make me sound like I’m auditioning for an action movie.”

Avery rubbed her forehead. “No yelling. Ignore that.”

Evan crossed his arms again. “Stick to the script.”

“Not this script,” Avery replied.

Crew members watched quietly from behind monitors, eyes bouncing between them like a tennis match.

Avery stepped away from Evan and flipped through the pages. “We’re reverting to the original version.”

“You can’t just ignore approved pages,” Evan said.

“I can when the changes weren’t discussed with directing.”

Evan stepped forward. “I’m not trying to fight you.”

“You’re doing a great job at it.”

A long silence followed. Jonah stood awkwardly between them, like he expected one of them to throw something.

Finally he said, “How about we run both versions? We’ll see which one lands.”

Avery looked at him, exasperated. “That will take twice the time.”

“Yeah,” Jonah said, “but it might stop you two from killing each other.”

Avery closed her eyes for a second. “Fine. Original version first.”

Evan didn’t argue. That bothered her more than the argument would have.

The crew reset the cameras. The actors moved into position. Avery took her place behind the monitor, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest.

“Rolling,” Jonah called.

Liam began the scene with the old script. His delivery matched the tension from yesterday’s emotional breakthrough—quiet, painful, grounded. Mia responded with the softer pacing Avery loved, letting the hurt bleed through instead of exploding.

Halfway through the scene, Avery felt it: the emotional weight she wanted. It was raw, slow, devastating.

When the take ended, she whispered, “That's it.”

Evan said nothing.

Jonah looked relieved.

Then they shot the rewritten version. Liam raised his voice too sharply. Mia stumbled through the harsher lines, forcing emotions that didn’t belong. The entire thing felt wrong.

When the take ended, Avery didn’t even breathe. She just looked at Evan.

He looked back, expression tight.

“You were right,” he said quietly.

Avery wasn’t ready for that.

Not the words.  

Not the tone.  

Not the sincerity.

It knocked her off balance.

She looked away. “We’re using the original version.”

Evan nodded once and stepped back.

The day continued with more complications—missed props, a wardrobe malfunction, a technical glitch that delayed the next setup. Avery pushed through everything like she always did, but her shoulders felt heavier than usual.

By late afternoon, she stepped outside for air. Jonah followed her.

“You’ve been on fire all day,” he said. “But not in the fun way.”

Avery leaned against the wall. “Everything is happening at once.”

“You need a break.”

“I don’t get one.”

Jonah softened his voice. “You’re allowed to be tired. You’re human.”

Avery let out a shaky breath. “I don’t feel human right now.”

“That’s because of him.” Jonah said it without hesitation.

Avery didn’t deny it.

She couldn’t.

When she finally gathered herself and walked back toward the set, she saw Evan standing near a lighting rig, talking to a grip. He looked up at the same moment she did.

Their eyes met.

Avery looked away first.

Because today had already taken too much out of her.

And tomorrow wasn’t going to be any easier.