The last shot didn't end with a shout.
It ended with a quiet kind of focus—the kind you only get when everyone has been running on caffeine, muscle memory, and stubborn pride for weeks. The set lights warmed the air, the boom hung like a patient question over Seo-yeon's head, and the PD watched the monitor without blinking, lips slightly parted as if he didn't dare jinx it.
Seo-yeon stood in her mark, shoulders squared, palms damp against the sides of her skirt. Mirae was off-camera, leaning against a prop wall with her arms folded, expression unreadable except for the tiny tilt of her head—an actress's stillness that was also a friend's attention.
Joon-ho stayed near the monitor, close enough for the PD to feel him but not so close he crowded. He'd learned the rhythm of this crew: when to talk, when to shut up, when to just be a steady presence so someone else could do their job.
"Rolling," the PD said quietly.
The assistant called it. The clapper snapped.
