“Places!” the AD yells.
We step onto the set. It’s the tunnel corridor again—black metal walls, faux damage, orange strobes. Miles wants to re-shoot the moment my character meets the Reaper. Yesterday, Gyon crashed this scene. Today, we have to pretend it’s happening for the first time.
“Action!”
I run through the tunnel, sneakers squeaking on the chevron flooring. Fake sparks pop. I skid to a halt, panting, looking back at the invisible pursuit.
Then I turn.
Gyon is there.
He doesn’t wobble like Kane. He doesn’t posture. He justexists. A wall of darkness and heat. He steps forward, the sound of his heavy boots echoing on the soundstage floor.
“Fear is a scent,” he says. The line is from the script, but he says it like an observation. “And you reek of it.”
I stumble back, hitting the prop wall. The terror I’m supposed to act comes easily. Too easily. Because looking at him, I remember the real Maze. I remember the smell of blood. I remember falling in love with a monster who could snap me in half.
“Stay back,” I whisper.
He leans in. The camera drone buzzes inches from our faces.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he improvises, his voice a low rumble that isn’t in the script.
“Cut!” Miles screams. “Perfect! Print it! My god, the chemistry! It burns!”
The crew breaks into applause. Gyon straightens up, the menace vanishing instantly as he offers me a hand to help me off the floor.
I take it. His grip is warm, rough, and familiar.
“You went off script,” I hiss as we walk off the set.
“The script is garbage,” he replies calmly.
I pull my hand away, my heart hammering. I walk to the monitor bank to grab my coffee, needing something to do with my hands.
Pepper is there.
She’s perched on a crate in the safe zone, watching the monitors with intense fascination. The image inducer hums at her temple, keeping her eyes brown, but her focus is razor-sharp.
“Mommy!” she calls out. “You looked really scared!”
I force a laugh, crouching down. “That’s the job, bug.”
She looks past me to Gyon, who is unclasping his gauntlets nearby. She waves.
“Hi, Dad-guy!”
My blood freezes. Several crew members turn.
Gyon pauses. He looks at Pepper, then at me. A slow, dangerous smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Hello, little star,” he says.
“He’s playing your dad in the movie,” I say loudly, perhaps too loudly, for the benefit of the crew. “It’s... a method acting thing.”
The crew members shrug and go back to work.
Gyon walks over, looming over us. “Method acting,” he repeats, dryly. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
