“Of course he knows.” Bash leans forward, his voice dropping. “He’s been watching her for weeks. Haven’t you noticed? Every time she walks into a room, he finds a reason to be there. Every time she’s checking props or talking to a PA or running schedules, he’s somewhere nearby. Just... watching her.”
I think back, scanning through the last few months of filming. Bash is right. Elias has been there—always at the edges, never directly involved, but never far from wherever Maya is working.I'd noticed it vaguely, the way you notice background details in a scene you're filming. I'd just never stopped to ask why.
“He recognized what was happening before we did,” I say.
Bash tilts his head slightly, watching me.
“That's not the point though,” I continue.
“Then what is?” Bash questions.
“He was already watching her.”
“Yeah,” Bash says after a beat. “And you’re acting like you haven’t been watching her too.”
His eyes narrow. “You just didn’t have a reason to question it before.”
I look away first, crossing to the window. Outside, the crew is still working—breaking down the set for tomorrow‘s rebuild, hauling cable, checking equipment.
“What do we do?” I ask, turning back to face Bash. “Because we can’t just ignore this.”
He raises an eyebrow. “We? There’s a we in this now?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?” He stands, crossing to the small kitchenette. “Because five minutes ago, we were just two actors who happened to walk into a room where a beta you’ve been watching for months started presenting as an omega. Now we’re a we, and somehow we’re already acting like that means something.”
He pulls a beer from the fridge, popping the top with a sharp hiss. “Meanwhile, Elias has been watching her too. He just didn’t pretend it didn’t mean anything.”
His eyes flick back to mine. “So tell me what the plan is here, Adrian.” His tone is challenging, but I can hear the concern underneath.
“I don’t have a plan,” I admit. “But we can’t just pretend nothing happened. She needs—”
“She needs space,” Bash interrupts. “She needs time to figure out what’s happening to her without three alphas breathing down her neck telling her what it means.”
The words land harder than I expect. He’s right. Of course he’s right. But the thought of leaving her alone when she’s so clearly in the middle of a presentation makes my chest ache.
“We can’t just leave her alone,” I say. “You saw her. The way she froze. The way she didn’t know what to do. And if Elias is already—”
“If Elias is already involved, then she has someone watching out for her,” Bash finishes. “Which is exactly what you’re worried about, right? That he’s going to swoop in and claim her before we even have a chance to figure out what we want?”
The question hangs between us. What we want. As if it’s that simple. As if that’s the part that matters.
“That’s not what this is! This is about making sure she’s okay. About being there if she needs us.”
Bash’s expression softens slightly. “I know that. But she’s not going to see it that way. Not right now. Not when she’s still figuring out what’s happening to her.”
He takes a long pull from his beer. “She doesn’t move like someone used to being watched. She keeps her head down. Answers before people finish asking. Moves on before anyone can thank her. And now she’s presenting as an omega on a film set with three alphas who can’t take their eyes off her.” He shakes his head once. “We need to be careful.”
The anger drains out of me as quickly as it came. Bash is right. Again. We do need to be careful. This isn’t about what we want.
“So what do we do?” I ask again, the question quieter this time.
Bash considers for a moment, his eyes on the ceiling of the trailer. “We stay close,” he says finally. “Not enough to make it obvious. But enough that she knows we’re here. That she has options.”
The knot in my stomach eases slightly. Maya doesn't need answers tonight. She doesn't need promises or pressure. She just needs room to figure things out.
“We don’t crowd her,” I say. It feels right. Or close enough. “But we don’t leave her alone either.”
