Avery walked into Stage Six expecting a long day, but not a disastrous one. The moment she stepped inside, she knew something was wrong. Half the lights were off, and the set was full of people standing around with nothing in their hands. The usual morning noise was gone, replaced by a low, frustrated buzz.

Jonah rushed over, already sweating. “We’ve got a problem. A big one.”

Avery didn’t even bother guessing. “Tell me.”

“The main power distributor fried. The whole lighting grid is down.”

Avery blinked once. “How long?”

“They don’t know,” Jonah said. “They’re running diagnostics, but it could be hours.”

Hours. That meant every shot they planned for the day was impossible.

Avery took a breath. “Okay. We pivot. We still have the exterior sets. Can we move outside?”

Jonah winced. “Wind advisory. They won’t let us set stands.”

“So we can’t shoot inside, and we can’t shoot outside?”

“Correct.”

Avery rubbed her temples. “Perfect. Great. Amazing.”

Before she could regroup, Evan approached, holding a tablet. “You heard?”

“I heard,” she said.

“We need to reorganize the day.”

“I’m aware.”

Evan frowned. “Avery, we don’t have time for passive-aggressive comments.”

“I’m not being passive-aggressive,” she said. “I’m being realistic.”

Crew members pretended not to listen but absolutely listened.

Avery looked around. Equipment was unplugged. Cameras were covered. The whole set felt frozen.

“Okay,” she said, snapping into work mode. “We need something we can shoot with minimal lighting. What do we have?”

Evan swiped through the schedule. “Not much. Everything today relies on the main setup.”

“What about the rehearsal footage pickups?” Avery asked. “The handheld inserts?”

“Not enough natural light. They’d look muddy.”

Avery closed her eyes for a second. “Then we rewrite.”

Evan stiffened. “Rewrite what?”

“The living room confrontation scene. We can simplify it and shoot it with a basic bounce light.”

Evan shook his head. “That scene needs atmosphere. It’s supposed to feel cold.”

“Well, right now we don’t have lights to make it cold,” she snapped. “So we adapt.”

Evan didn’t like it, but he didn’t argue.

Jonah jogged back over. “Power team says the board is cooked. They have to replace a part. Minimum three hours.”

Avery muttered a quiet swear under her breath.

Evan ran a hand through his hair. “This will push the entire week.”

Avery’s voice was flat. “I’m aware.”

Jonah added, “We can rearrange. Maybe shoot the hallway dialogue scene? It’s small.”

Avery nodded. “Okay. Let’s reset for that.”

The hallway was a tight, simple set with barely any lighting needs. It wasn’t ideal, but it kept them from losing the day completely.

They moved quickly. Crew repositioned cameras. Actors were called in earlier than planned. Avery rewrote two lines on the fly to match the new order.

As she walked the blocking with Mia and Liam, Mia’s voice wavered. “Avery… I don’t know if I can flip into this scene right away. My head’s still in yesterday’s version.”

Avery softened her tone. “I know. But you’ve done harder things.”

Mia nodded, though her eyes looked glassy.

Avery squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll guide you. You’re not alone.”

Evan watched from across the set, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

The first take went okay, but Mia missed her cue. The second take had Liam stepping too early. By the third take, tension was building.

Avery walked toward them. “Okay. Stop. We need a reset.”

Mia looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I can’t switch my emotion that fast.”

“You don’t need to switch,” Avery said. “Just ground yourself. What’s your objective?”

Mia hesitated. “To confront him without breaking.”

“Good. Then stay focused on that. Don’t chase yesterday.”

Evan suddenly stepped in. “Or she could take five minutes to reset instead of pushing through.”

Avery turned. “We don’t have five minutes.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “And pushing her is helping?”

Avery’s voice went sharp. “Stop assuming I’m hurting her.”

“I’m not assuming. I’m watching.”

Jonah stepped between them—again. “Hey! Not now. Please.”

Avery looked at Mia. “Do you want five minutes?”

Mia nodded quickly. “Yes… please.”

Avery stepped back. “Take it.”

She didn’t look at Evan as she walked away.

But she felt him looking at her.

Avery paced near the props table, trying to calm her breathing. Everything was piling on top of everything: the power failure, the rewrites, the schedule collapse, the parking fight, the emotional weight of the cast. And Evan. Always Evan.

Jonah joined her. “You’re stretched thin.”

“I’m fine,” Avery said.

“No, you’re not.”

Avery clenched her jaw. “I don’t get to not be fine.”

Before Jonah could answer, a crash echoed across the set.

They spun toward the sound.

A lighting stand—one of the few still plugged into auxiliary power—had tipped over and nearly hit a grip. People scattered. Someone yelled that the safety latch failed.

Avery’s heart jumped into her throat. “Is anyone hurt?!”

The grip waved. “I’m fine!”

But Avery wasn’t fine. Her hands shook.

She walked toward the fallen stand, kneeling to check the latch. It was rusted, worn. Should’ve been replaced weeks ago.

Evan crouched next to her. “Let them handle it. You don’t need to be the one checking that.”

Avery didn’t look at him. “If it had fallen two feet to the left, it would have crushed his shoulder.”

“You’re shaking,” Evan said quietly.

Avery’s breath hitched. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he said. “Stop for a second.”

Avery stood abruptly. “Get the stand replaced. Now.”

Crew rushed to handle it.

Avery stepped away, heading toward a darker corner of the set. She tried to inhale, but her chest wouldn’t open fully.

Jonah followed her. “Avery, stop. Just stop.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“You need to.”

Avery stared at him, eyes wide but unfocused. “Everything is falling apart today.”

Jonah’s voice softened. “Then let it fall apart without tearing yourself with it.”

Avery swallowed hard. “I don’t know how.”

Before Jonah could say anything else, the assistant director called out that Mia was ready.

Avery straightened her posture—barely—but she did.

She walked back onto the set even though her legs felt unsteady.

They ran the scene again.

This time Mia delivered a strong performance—fragile but focused. Liam matched it. The scene finally clicked, and Avery gave a small nod.

“That’s the one,” she said.

The crew moved on, but Avery felt the weight still sitting heavy on her chest.

Hours later, when they wrapped, everyone dragged their feet out of the stage. Avery stayed behind, checking tomorrow’s schedule, making notes, anything to avoid stopping.

Evan approached from the opposite side of the set.

“Avery.”

She didn’t look up. “What.”

“You need to go home.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“I’m functioning.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Avery finally looked at him. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were tired. “This production doesn’t slow down for my feelings.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to do everything alone.”

Avery’s expression flickered—but only for a second.

She packed her bag. “Goodnight, Evan.”

She walked past him before he could say more.

Outside, the sky was dark. Her car felt miles away. She leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to breathe.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from Jonah:

**“Text me when you get home. Just making sure you don’t pass out in your driveway.”**

Avery closed her eyes.

Then she typed:

**“I’m fine. I’ll text.”**

She didn’t know if it was true.

But she walked toward her car anyway.

Because tomorrow was already waiting.