Morning on set was never quiet, but today it was loud in the wrong way.
Not the normal chaos—carts clattering, assistants shouting times, the director's voice cracking like a whip. This was the soft noise underneath: the whispering that stopped when Mirae looked over, the micro-pauses in conversation when Seo-yeon walked past, the phones that lifted and dipped like people were trying to breathe through glass.
Joon-ho kept his face neutral anyway. Public protocol. Boredom as armor.
He stood near the gear tent with a paper cup of coffee he hadn't tasted, watching the crew reset a dolly track while Mirae adjusted her costume with the wardrobe lead. She laughed at something small, bright and practiced, her smile as sharp as a blade. Seo-yeon hovered a step behind her, clutching her script like a shield, but she wasn't crumbling. She was trying. That mattered.
