Chapter 65

• The green room was colder than it needed to be. I could feel it in my arms even though I wore long sleeves, and I kept trying not to pull at the cuffs. The sleeves were slightly too long, by design—meant to brush the wrist and cover the part of the hand that always felt exposed in front of cameras. Someone had handed me a bottle of water earlier, the kind with a twist cap and a silent label, and I’d opened it and then forgotten it on the side table. I hadn’t touched it since.
• My makeup was already done, soft tones under the lights but defined enough to hold the frame. My hair was pulled back the way Julian said looked strongest on me. I hadn’t asked him to clarify what he meant. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I didn’t feel strong, not the way people meant when they used that word. My strength didn’t feel physical. It didn’t feel like posture or clothing or the steadiness of my voice. It felt like something bruised but refusing to stay down. It felt like something buried that kept finding a way to surface, no matter how often someone tried to cover it in doubt.
• A voice crackled softly in my ear—someone from production letting me know we were five minutes out. I didn’t nod or reply. I just sat there and listened to the humming silence of my own heartbeat. My hands were folded in my lap, one thumb moving gently over the other. I wasn’t rehearsing anymore. I was just sitting still.