“Your pre-heat’s progressing,” Nadia says, her voice low. “Faster than it should.”
The word hangs between us. But saying it out loud—admitting what’s happening, naming the change that‘s rippling through my body with each passing hour—makes it real in a way I‘m not ready to face.
“I know what’s happening,” I say, which isn’t quite the same as understanding it. “My body’s just… reacting. And Elias is helping me manage it. That’s all.”
Something shifts in her expression—concern replacing frustration, understanding softening the edges of her worry. “Okay,” she says finally. “I believe you. But we’re talking about this later. For real. No deflecting, no changing the subject, no pretending everything’s fine when it’s clearly not. Deal?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. My body feels like it belongs to someone else half the time lately. And the people I spent years watching from the edges are suddenly paying attention right back.
I still don't know what to do with that.
“Deal,” I say finally. “After wrap. I promise.”
She studies my face for a long moment, then nods once. “After wrap,” she agrees. “And Maya? Whatever’s happening now—whatever you need—I’m here. Okay?”
The words settle somewhere deeper than they should—not just because she’s offering help, but because she already knows more than I’ve said. She’s been watching, putting it together piece by piece, seeing the parts I’ve been trying to keep separate. And she’s still here. Like she’s always been. Showing up without asking permission, without waiting for me to say I need her. Just… there. Solid in a way I don’t question, even when everything else starts to shift.
“I know,” I say, and mean it.
She nods again, then steps away, heading for the director with the kind of confidence that makes people move aside without being asked.
I turn back to my tablet, forcing myself to focus on the next scene, the next problem, the next thing that needs my attention. But even as I check prop placements and confirm actor availability and answer the dozen questions that have built up since lunch, I‘m aware of a fundamental truth I’m not ready to face.
This is no longer just a job I’m good at or a production I’m keeping running. Adrian and Bash are making room for my input, valuing my perspective in a way that goes beyond professional respect. They're choosing to include me.
And I'm letting them.
And the part that sits heavier than it should is the realization that I liked it.
Chapter 14
Maya
The day is winding down on set, the energy shifting as people pack up equipment and finalize notes for tomorrow. I move through my checklist carefully, marking off completed tasks and confirming the schedule, but my focus keeps slipping.
No matter what I'm doing, I'm aware of all three of them.
I’ve always been aware of them—it’s part of my job to know where people are and what they’re doing. But this is different. This isn’t a professional observation or a practical necessity. This is my attention snagging every time Adrian laughs at something Bash says. This is my throat tightening when Elias shifts closer to me, the lessened distance making something inside me ease.
I finish the last item on my list and power down my tablet, avoiding the conversations happening nearby. People have been giving me a wider berth all day. It feels like they can sense the changes within me, even if the blockers are still working just enough to mask the worst of my scent.
“Just about done?” Elias’s voice cuts through my thoughts, calm and matter-of-fact.
“I need to talk to Nadia first,” I say. “She wants to check in before we go.”
He nods once. “I’ll meet you outside,” he says. He moves away before I can answer, heading for the nearest door. I watch him go, aware of more than one glance following his movement across the set. Nobody says anything.
They don't have to.
I grab my bag from my office, checking to make sure I have everything I need. Phone, keys, and the small bottle of water I’ve been nursing since lunch. The blockers are definitely wearing off. I can feel it in the heightened awareness humming beneath my skin, in the way scents linger longer than they should.
But I’m not struggling the way I was this morning.
That realization follows me out of the office.
Like having him here—having all of them here—is helping, even when I’m trying so hard not to need them.
I head for Nadia’s trailer, my steps quick and purposeful. The set is quieter now, and most of the crew is already packing up for the day. A few people nod as I pass—the prop master with his clipboard, the assistant director confirming the next day’s call sheet—but no one stops to talk. No one asks the questions I can see in their eyes.
