Song sprinted across the sun-baked sidewalk, hat clutched in one hand and a stack of crumpled headshots in the other. "Song, slow down," Xiao Wu's voice came through the phone, breathless. "I have the elevator key," Song snapped, not stopping. "Where are you even running to?" Xiao Wu asked. "Home. I need to breathe," Song said. "Okay, okay. Tell me—how did it go?" Xiao Wu pressed. "They liked my cold read," Song said, mouth dry. "They didn't laugh at my choices." "That's progress," Xiao Wu said. "Did you get a callback?" "Maybe. They said they'd call for sides." Song's steps were a blur. "That's better than nothing." "Save your energy," Xiao Wu ordered. "Eat something. Text Chen if you can. He'll put in a good word." Song frowned. "I can't owe him too many favors." "You already owe him one more than I can count," Xiao Wu said. "You used it all on that last shoot." Song reached her building and fumbled with keys. The lobby smelled like cheap coffee and perfumed laundry. She climbed three flights, every step a complaint from old knees, every breath a pep talk she didn't have time to deliver. Inside the apartment, she dropped the headshots on the couch and pulled off her jacket. The air-conditioning hummed like a small machine willing to be friendlier than most people she'd met all day. Song opened her phone and scrolled to the fan