The last sip of coffee had gone cold, untouched on the table. Outside, the city brightened with noise and movement, but inside — the apartment remained wrapped in the quiet hush of an untouched morning.
Billy sat at the table, one hand on the phone Camila had brought back, the other idly tracing a faint scar on his wrist — something from before.
Camila stood by the window, glancing down at the street, arms loosely crossed.
"You know… there's a studio not far from here," she said casually. "One of your old directors still works there."
Billy looked up, unsure.
"The studio?"
She turned, nodding.
"Yeah. Not the set where everything happened. That's further out. But this place… you used to go there to rehearse. Sometimes even when you weren't working. It was quieter."
"Did I like it?" he asked.
Camila tilted her head, thinking.
"I think you liked the quiet parts. The stuff between the lights. The moments you got to disappear into a role without the cameras."
