Chapter 7
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On the isolated location, bitter winds howled across the barren landscape, causing the massive lighting rigs to creak ominously.
Sophia huddled in a heavy parka behind the director's monitor, analyzing the playback of a particularly demanding stunt sequence they'd just captured.
Her on-camera work remained impeccable, but the toll of consecutive eighteen-hour days showed in the shadows beneath her eyes and the slight tremor in her script-holding fingers.
When the director finally called cut, the crew practically melted into puddles of exhaustion. Emma materialized at Sophia's side with a steaming thermos. "You're running on fumes, Soph. Maybe we should ask them to push the rest to tomorrow?"
Sophia shook her head and accepted the tea, letting the warmth seep into her frozen hands before taking a careful sip.
"Everyone's just as tired as I am," she replied, her normally smooth voice slightly raspy. "Better to push through and give the crew a proper break tomorrow."
The quiet murmur of exhausted crew members suddenly shifted. Heads turned toward the entrance where a convoy of sleek black vehicles had materialized, their engines nearly silent despite the rough terrain.
Kevin emerged first, efficiently directing a team in chef's whites as they unloaded what appeared to be industrial-grade catering equipment. Within moments, the unmistakable aroma of gourmet food began wafting through the bitter cold, causing audible stomach growls throughout the set.
"Mr. Trent sends his regards to the cast and crew of 'Event Horizon,'" Kevin announced, his professional voice carrying just far enough. "He thought everyone might appreciate a proper midnight meal."
After a moment of stunned silence, spontaneous cheers erupted from the crew. After weeks of vending machine snacks and lukewarm coffee, the prospect of actual hot food bordered on miraculous.
James emerged from the final vehicle, forgoing his usual business armor for a simple but exquisitely tailored cashmere coat that somehow looked more expensive than most people's entire wardrobes.
His eyes swept past everyone else, locking onto Sophia with unerring precision.
He approached her directly, carrying a separate container that was smaller but clearly designed with more care than the others.
"Professor Sullivan." He stopped at a respectful distance, his voice lacking its usual boardroom edge. "I heard about the extended night shoots. Thought some actual food might help everyone push through."
His eyes tracked over her exhausted features, something like genuine concern flickering across his usually impassive face.
Sophia blinked in surprise. Of all places, she hadn't expected to see James Trent standing in the middle of a muddy film set at 2 AM.
Around them, the mood of the entire set transformed as people gathered around steaming containers of food that looked like it belonged in a Michelin-starred restaurant. The genuine care behind the gesture—arriving without cameras or publicity, at the most difficult moment rather than a convenient photo opportunity—struck her as fundamentally different from the calculated "support" she was accustomed to receiving.
"This is incredibly thoughtful," she said quietly, her smile reaching her eyes for once. "The crew really needed this boost. Thank you."
"It's nothing," he dismissed, though his eyes remained intent on hers. "You should eat while it's hot." He offered her the container he'd been carrying.
Inside were not the hearty stews being served to the crew, but a selection of delicate broths and nutrient-rich small plates—foods that would energize without causing the drowsiness that comes after heavy meals. She recognized dishes she'd once mentioned preferring during intense work periods in a years-old interview.
Something shifted in Sophia's chest—a small but unmistakable movement. This quiet attentiveness, this careful observation of her actual needs rather than what would impress her, was more disarming than any grand gesture could ever be.
She accepted the container and began eating slowly, feeling warmth spread through her body, pushing back the bone-deep chill that had settled in hours ago.
James positioned himself nearby—not hovering, but present. He made occasional quiet comments about the production or asked thoughtful questions about her role, his tall frame subtly blocking the worst of the wind without making a show of it.
The harsh work lights created a small pocket of shadow where they stood, a quiet island amid the controlled chaos of the film set. Despite the noise and activity surrounding them, a comfortable silence settled between them.
Sophia realized, with mild surprise, that the brutal conditions seemed significantly more tolerable with his steady presence beside her.
Something warm and unfamiliar rippled through her—a small disturbance in the carefully maintained stillness of her emotional landscape.
