When we wrapped, the crew began breaking down with the practiced speed of people who didn’t carry their work home in their backpacks.
René started past me, then paused.
“You will assist Cyrus tomorrow,” he said.
My stomach tightened. Not fear—something closer to pride and dread tangled together.
“Okay.”
“And Wednesday, Margaux. Thursday, a freelancer. I am widening you.” He said it like he was describing a camera angle. “You will learn other styles.”
I blinked. “You’re… farming me out?”
He finally looked at me fully, expression unreadable. “I do not need you attached to me like a charm,” he said. “I need youcapable.”
I didn’t know whether to be insulted or grateful. Probably both.
He took a sip of his coffee, still too calm. “Do not make me regret it.”
“I won’t,” I said immediately.
His mouth tightened faintly, not quite a smile. “You will try.”
Then he turned and walked away, coat swaying behind him like a villain’s cape. Funnily enough, I was pretty sure René wouldrockthat look.
I stood there for a second longer than necessary, the lens still warm in my hand, as if it held the proof that I hadn’t been cut.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
A calendar alert.
Right.Wake up, Rachel.
Something else to do.
Of course.
Campus smelled like damp stone,ambition, and too many people trying to become something all at once. At least the rain had stopped, even if the skies remained a gloomy kind of half-gray.
I arrived with my bag biting into my shoulder and the faint sense that I’d already lived a full day before noon. The courtyard was busy—students drifting in clusters, smoke and laughter and the low hum of conversation threading through everything.
Thomas waved at me from the upper tier, pen in hand like a conductor’s baton. Noor gave me a tired smile that saidI’m not okay either, but we’re here.I jogged up the steps to sit beside them and forced my mouth into something that resembled normal.
Mischa didn’t enter the classroom so much as sheclaimedit. She moved with that same measured precision, black coat, sharp gaze, posture immaculate like her body didn’t know how to slump.
She set her bag down.
Placed her notes.
Looked up.
Waiting.
Not for silence. Not for permission.
Just waiting for someone to be brave.
Today—that wouldn’t be me. I was here and I was functioning. I had no interest in pushing it. Class went by in a blur of critique and vocabulary—composition, intention, risk, presence. Words that were supposed to feel like oxygen and lately kind of wrapped around my throat like dead weight.
