"Tomas?" Claire's voice cut through the VIP lane noise. A flash of camera light answered her. Reporters shoved microphones. A cluster of security cleared a narrow path. "Mr. Knudsen, is the film still on schedule?" shouted a reporter. Georgia stepped forward with a smile that was all armor. "Tomas will speak at the press room. No comment now." "Is Alonso here? Is it true it's a Spanish co‑production?" another reporter pressed. Emilia, hovering at Georgia’s elbow, passed her a schedule folder without looking at the microphones. "Director Cantrell is on his way. Please respect private arrivals." Tomas moved with the ease of someone used to control. He nodded at the cameras. He didn't raise his voice. He let his body answer. "Will you promote it here, Mr. Knudsen? There are rumors about Boyer funding." The question landed like a thrown coin. Georgia's smile sharpened. "The Boyer Group invests in the arts. That is a business matter. We have no statements at the moment." A flashbulb popped. Someone laughed too loud. Claire stood at the edge of the press crush, Summit's badge clipped to her blazer, logistics folder against her hip. She had come to coordinate booths for a later conference. She had not expected to run into the man who had left university on a winter afternoon and closed a door behind him. "Are you Claire Perrin from Summit?" Emilia tilted her head and scanned Claire's badge. "Do you work translation?" "Senior