Chapter 29
LIORA
They know. Everyone knows.
Gyon is already there.
He towers by the props rack, silent and brooding. He’s fully armored—his real armor, not the plastic junk Kane was wearing yesterday. The scorch marks on his plating catch the spotlight. He looks less like an actor and more like a weapon someone left leaning against the wall.
The ensemble cast gives him a wide berth. Kane DeSoto—now demoted to "Background Reaper #1"—slinks near the craft services table, holding his plastic horns and looking like he wants to cry.
“Morning, Ms. Rin!” Miles Maximus booms from his perch. He looks like he hasn't slept in a week, fueled entirely by the prospect of box office records. “Big day! The re-shoot of the ‘First Contact’ sequence. Now with 100% more authentic terror!”
I nod and force a smile. My stomach twists. My coffee is already cold in my hand.
I walk toward Gyon. He doesn’t look at me at first; he’s staring at a monitor screen, cables looping around his boots.
“Hi,” I whisper.
He turns. The red glow of his eyes—no visor to hide them today—drills into me. “You didn’t sleep.”
“Neither did you,” I counter.
“I don’t need to sleep when I’m hunting,” he says low enough that only I can hear. “And right now, I’m hunting for the truth.”
I flush, glancing around to see if anyone heard. “Gyon, please. Not here.”
He grunts but says nothing else. The tension between us is thick enough to choke on.
“Places!” the AD yells.
We step onto the set. It’s the tunnel corridor again—black metal walls, faux damage, orange strobes. Miles wants to re-shoot the moment my character meets the Reaper. Yesterday, Gyon crashed this scene. Today, we have to pretend it’s happening for the first time.
“Action!”
I run through the tunnel, sneakers squeaking on the chevron flooring. Fake sparks pop. I skid to a halt, panting, looking back at the invisible pursuit.
Then I turn.
Gyon is there.
He doesn’t wobble like Kane. He doesn’t posture. He just exists. A wall of darkness and heat. He steps forward, the sound of his heavy boots echoing on the soundstage floor.
“Fear is a scent,” he says. The line is from the script, but he says it like an observation. “And you reek of it.”
I stumble back, hitting the prop wall. The terror I’m supposed to act comes easily. Too easily. Because looking at him, I remember the real Maze. I remember the smell of blood. I remember falling in love with a monster who could snap me in half.
“Stay back,” I whisper.
He leans in. The camera drone buzzes inches from our faces.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he improvises, his voice a low rumble that isn’t in the script.
“Cut!” Miles screams. “Perfect! Print it! My god, the chemistry! It burns!”
The crew breaks into applause. Gyon straightens up, the menace vanishing instantly as he offers me a hand to help me off the floor.
I take it. His grip is warm, rough, and familiar.
“You went off script,” I hiss as we walk off the set.
“The script is garbage,” he replies calmly.
I pull my hand away, my heart hammering. I walk to the monitor bank to grab my coffee, needing something to do with my hands.
Pepper is there.
She’s perched on a crate in the safe zone, watching the monitors with intense fascination. The image inducer hums at her temple, keeping her eyes brown, but her focus is razor-sharp.
“Mommy!” she calls out. “You looked really scared!”
I force a laugh, crouching down. “That’s the job, bug.”
She looks past me to Gyon, who is unclasping his gauntlets nearby. She waves.
“Hi, Dad-guy!”
My blood freezes. Several crew members turn.
Gyon pauses. He looks at Pepper, then at me. A slow, dangerous smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Hello, little star,” he says.
“He’s playing your dad in the movie,” I say loudly, perhaps too loudly, for the benefit of the crew. “It’s... a method acting thing.”
The crew members shrug and go back to work.
Gyon walks over, looming over us. “Method acting,” he repeats, dryly. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Gyon,” I warn.
He reaches into his pouch and pulls out a juice pack he must have snagged from craft services. He hands it to Pepper.
“Grape,” he says. “For the space pirate.”
Pepper beams. “You remembered!”
I watch them. He’s huge, scarred, and terrifying to everyone else in the room. But he hands her the juice with a gentleness that makes my chest ache.
He looks at me over her head.
Tell me, his eyes say. Tell me she’s mine.
I look away.
“Lunch break!” the AD calls out.
“Come on, Pepper,” I say, grabbing her hand. “Let’s go.”
I drag her away toward the trailer, feeling Gyon’s gaze burning a hole in my back every step of the way. This isn’t going to work. I can’t keep this up.
But as I look down at Pepper, who is happily sucking down the juice he gave her, I know I have to try. Because if the world finds out what she really is, the movie set will be the least of our problems.