Super Strong Initiative
Avery's costume was an elegant, light green period dress with wide sleeves.
The fabric seemed to flow around her, and the sprigs of orchids adorning the diagonal collar gave it a look that was simple yet perfect.
When she put it on, the hem of her skirt fluttered as she walked, and even without a touch of makeup, she had an almost otherworldly air about her.
When Avery stepped out of the changing room, Shane Croft, who had been waiting outside, turned at the sound of the door.
His gaze lingered on her for a beat before he reached out and took the clothes she'd changed out of.
"I asked around about that screenwriter, Jude Finch," he said, his voice its usual gruff rasp.
"Seems like he's got a good reputation. Probably means no harm."
Avery looked at him, surprised. "You already asked about him?"
He'd been surprisingly quick. She'd barely had time to change, and he'd already gotten the rundown on Jude.
Shane nodded. "He was a little too enthusiastic. Just being careful."
He didn't need to say more. Before they'd even left for California, her brother Cole had given him and Wyatt Riggs an earful about the entertainment industry and its "unspoken rules." He'd made them promise to look after Avery and make sure no one took advantage of her.
A flash of understanding crossed Avery's face. It really did make a difference, having someone in your corner.
Still, the screenwriter's attitude had been... odd. He'd been friendly enough at the audition a few days ago, but not like this. Today's enthusiasm felt forced.
*He wants to tell me something,* she thought, her gaze dropping, *but he doesn't know how to bring it up.*
She hadn't sensed any actual malice from him. Besides, she only had six scenes. If he had something to say, he'd probably get around to it before she wrapped.
"I'm heading out," Avery announced.
Shane stepped forward, holding the curtain for her. She gave him a faint smile, gathered the hem of her costume, and walked out.
Shane watched her go, a rare smile touching the corners of his mouth. It was just a flicker, but it softened the hard lines of his face.
*Seven years,* he thought, *and she's still so guarded.*
But she was braver, too. He remembered a time when she'd been so nervous talking to classmates that her voice was a whisper, her eyes fixed on the floor. Now look at her, taking on the entire entertainment industry by herself.
Shane let out a low chuckle and shook his head, then gathered Avery's things and followed her to the set.
The set was already buzzing with activity. Avery found a quiet corner to sit, but not far away, two actresses running lines shot each other a look, their lips curling into identical smirks before they lowered their voices and continued rehearsing.
They were filming a scene between the male lead and the second male lead, both heavyweights in the industry.
It was a dialogue-heavy scene set in a study, the two men discussing the recent floods in the Mississippi Delta.
The tension between them was incredible, their performances crackling with power.
The second male lead was especially captivating.
He'd pause for just a fraction of a second at the most critical point in a line, and the whole emotional weight of the scene would slam into you.
When he finally looked up, his eyes were like a gathering storm.
Avery, who'd spent all day at home practicing her own expressions in the mirror, suddenly saw the vast gulf between a classically trained actor and a self-taught amateur.
The scenes with the two leads went off without a hitch. During a break, the director, Simon Vance, glanced over at Avery and gave a satisfied nod. "The costume fits, and she has the right look for it," he said. "Jude, take her to makeup. Go over the scene with her on the way."
As the screenwriter, Jude Finch's understanding of the characters was even deeper than the actors', and he was happy to chat with Avery. He'd already revised her upcoming lines, plus, he had a favor to ask.
He walked over, smiling as he took in her costume. "See? I told you that color would be perfect on you."
Avery stood. "Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Finch," she said with a polite smile.
"Makeup's this way," Jude said, already turning to lead the way. "We can talk about the scene while we walk."
Avery followed, maintaining her polite smile. But just then, a crew member carrying a heavy weapon rack caught his foot on a cable. He stumbled, and the entire rack tilted, slamming hard into the on-site producer, Dylan Nash. It hit him squarely in the shoulder and chest with a sickening thud.
Dylan let out a muffled grunt and crumpled to the ground.
It all happened in a flash, the crash of the rack, the clatter of props, and the two men tangled in a heap on the floor. Crew members nearby dropped what they were doing and rushed over.
"What's going on over there?" Director Vance looked up from the monitor, annoyed by the commotion. Seeing that people were already rushing to help, he turned back to the footage.
A crewman reached Dylan first and knew immediately something was wrong. He patted the producer's face. "Dylan? Hey, Dylan, what's wrong?" Why were his lips turning blue? He looked like he couldn't breathe.
Realizing this was serious, the crewman twisted around and yelled, "Director Vance, something's wrong! I think he's really hurt!"
That cry cut through the set's low hum. Simon Vance threw his walkie-talkie onto a chair and sprinted toward the huddle of people, yelling as he ran. "What happened? What's wrong with him?"
Avery and Jude, who had been on their way to makeup, froze. They both craned their necks, trying to see into the center of the chaos.
"Nash! Nash, where are you hurt?" Vance knelt beside the producer, but Dylan was unresponsive. With every second that passed, his face was turning a darker, bluish-purple. He was suffocating. Simon frantically tried to help him breathe, but nothing worked.
Jude took an instinctive step forward, then froze. He remembered. Avery. She used to be a doctor. His eyes lit up as he turned and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the scene. "Avery, please! You have to take a look!"
Over in the huddle, Dylan's face was now a horrifying shade of purplish-blue. "What are you all standing around for?" Simon roared in a panic. "Call 911! Now!"
By the time he finished shouting, Jude had pulled Avery to the edge of the circle.
The moment she saw the man on the ground, a single medical term flashed through her mind: *Tension pneumothorax.*
"Everyone, move back," she said. Her voice was clear and cold, cutting through the panic.
Avery pushed through the crowd and knelt beside Dylan, her fingers going straight to his Adam's apple. The trachea had already shifted to one side.
Her heart sank. It confirmed her diagnosis.
She looked up, her calm, sharp voice silencing the noise around them. "There's no time to wait for an ambulance. Get me the on-set medical kit. Now."
This was a classic complication of severe chest trauma. Without immediate intervention, he would be dead in minutes.
A few seconds later, a breathless crew member ran over. "Here! It's here!"
Avery took the kit, her expression instantly focused. She ripped it open, found a large-bore syringe, and snapped the cap off the needle.
"Everyone step back. Give him air," she ordered, her hands moving with practiced speed. "Director Vance, get his shirt off."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it held the absolute confidence of a professional, an anchor that instantly steadied the chaos.