Avery walked into the production office holding her coffee like a lifeline. She’d slept less than four hours, and her body felt like it was trying to operate on fumes. The morning meeting was already underway. The assistant director, the script supervisor, and the department heads all sat around a long table full of papers.

She slipped into her chair, hoping no one noticed the way her hands shook.

Jonah leaned close. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she whispered.

He didn’t believe her, but he didn’t push.

The production manager cleared his throat. “Today we’re making up for yesterday’s downtime. We need to move fast. Lighting’s repaired, so we’re back to full setups. Scene twenty-two is first.”

Avery nodded automatically.

Then the script supervisor added, “Avery, can you approve the blocking sheets for scene twenty-two before we start?”

Avery reached for the stack of papers. She blinked at them once. Then twice. The words blurred. Her brain wouldn’t click into gear.

Jonah watched her quietly. He knew something was off.

The room waited.

Avery swallowed hard and forced herself to read. But she couldn’t make sense of the margins or camera notes. Everything looked wrong.

The production manager frowned. “Avery?”

“I’m reading it,” she said.

But she wasn’t. She couldn’t.

Her chest tightened.

Evan sat across the table, arms folded. His eyes were on her, studying her. Avery felt it like pressure on her skin.

Finally, he spoke. “Those are yesterday’s blocking sheets.”

Avery froze.

Everyone turned toward him.

He added, “Someone put the wrong packet on the table.”

The script supervisor flipped the corner of the papers and went pale. “Oh—oh my god. You’re right. Those are from last week’s version. Sorry. I don’t know how—”

Avery exhaled sharply, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

Evan slid the correct packet across the table. “These are the new ones.”

She hesitated before taking them.

Jonah whispered, “It’s fine. It was a mix-up.”

But Avery felt humiliated.  

Not because of the mistake—  

but because she couldn’t even catch it.

The meeting moved on, but Avery barely heard anything. Her mind lagged behind every sentence like she was underwater.

When the meeting ended, she gathered her things and headed toward the door, but Evan caught up to her.

“Avery.”

“No,” she said immediately.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I said no.”

Evan stepped in front of her. “Stop walking for one second.”

She stopped, but only because she was too tired to push past him.

“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you,” he said. “I saw you struggling. I was trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

He sighed. “Clearly, you do.”

Avery flinched at that. “Back off.”

Evan lowered his voice. “You’re exhausted. Anyone can see it.”

“Not your problem.”

“Actually,” Evan said, “it is. I can’t work with you like this.”

Avery felt something crack inside her. “Then don’t.”

He stared at her like she’d hit him.

Before either of them said another word, the AD called, “We need blocking on set now!”

Avery walked away without looking back.

On Stage Six, actors were already in costume, waiting for direction. Avery forced her posture straight and gave instructions with a steady voice that didn’t match the tremor in her hands.

“Liam, enter from the right. Pause at the counter. Mia, follow him on the second line.”

They ran through it once. Then again.

On the third run, Mia pulled Avery aside.

“Avery… are you okay?”

Avery stiffened. “Why is everyone asking me that?”

Mia shrank slightly. “You look pale. And you’re… I don’t know. You look like you’re somewhere else.”

Avery didn’t want to hear it. “Focus on your scene.”

“I am,” Mia said gently. “But I’m also worried about you.”

Avery closed her eyes for a second. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t fine.  

She knew it.  

But she couldn’t afford to admit it.

They moved into camera rehearsal. The moment the cameras rolled, Liam stumbled over a line.

“That’s not it,” Avery said. “Take it again.”

They did.

Then Mia fumbled her movement.

“Reset,” Avery said.

Her voice was sharper than intended.

Jonah approached quietly. “Hey. Tone down a bit.”

“Don’t start,” Avery said.

“Avery—”

“I said don’t.”

Jonah stepped back, raising his hands. “Okay. I’m not fighting you.”

The crew exchanged cautious looks.

Avery braced herself against the monitor stand, trying to breathe. She could feel everything slipping: her patience, her clarity, her control.

Then a high-ranking executive—Dale, the network representative—walked in unexpectedly.

Everyone tensed.

Dale scanned the set. “Why are we behind?”

Avery’s stomach dropped.

Jonah stepped forward before she could speak. “Lighting was down yesterday. We’re catching up.”

Dale ignored him. “Avery, you’re the director. Are you leading this efficiently?”

Avery froze.

Evan stepped closer, watching.

Jonah cut in again. “She’s doing everything she can.”

Dale barely glanced at him. “I asked Avery.”

Avery opened her mouth, but her brain blanked. Words wouldn’t form.

Dale narrowed his eyes. “This production cannot afford delays. If you can’t keep pace, we’ll need to reconsider how we structure supervision.”

It hit her like a slap.

Jonah stepped between them, full volume now. “She’s not the problem. The system is. The equipment failures are. If you’re going to threaten someone, threaten me, but don’t blame her for something she’s been fixing all week.”

The entire set went silent.

Even Evan looked stunned.

Dale’s expression hardened. “You’re out of line.”

“No,” Jonah said. “I’m telling you the truth.”

Dale glared at him, then stormed out.

Avery stood frozen, heart pounding.

Jonah turned to her, softer now. “He was wrong. You’re doing fine.”

Avery swallowed hard. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Avery turned away before he could say more.

Later, during lunch break, Avery went outside to breathe. The air was warm, the sun too bright. She sat on a curb, elbows on her knees.

A shadow moved beside her.

Evan sat down a foot away.

“I’m not here to fight,” he said.

Avery didn’t respond.

“You’re burning out,” he said. “And pretending you’re not won’t change it.”

She stared at the ground. “I don’t get the luxury of falling apart.”

“You think I do?”

Avery didn’t answer.

Evan continued quietly. “You’re carrying too much. Let someone else hold part of it.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because every time I let someone help,” Avery said, voice cracking, “they drop it.”

Evan’s expression shifted—something like guilt, something like regret.

He spoke softer. “I’m not trying to take your work. I’m trying to keep you standing.”

Avery forced herself to her feet. “I can stand.”

“Avery—”

She didn’t let him finish.

She walked away.

When shooting resumed, Avery pushed through the afternoon with pure will. She directed, corrected, adjusted, guided, forced the entire day back into shape. No one else could see how much effort it took.

By the time they wrapped, she felt hollow.

Jonah walked beside her as they left the stage. “I’m driving behind you,” he said. “If you swerve once, I’m pulling you over.”

Avery almost laughed. Almost.

But instead she said, “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t believe her.

And she didn’t believe herself.

She walked toward her car, the parking lot spinning slightly when she blinked.

Tomorrow was waiting.

And she didn’t know how many tomorrows like this she had left in her.