Next week would be grim—strict rations, fewer privileges, and more grueling tasks as punishment.
All because they couldn't pull it together.
And through it all, Ross sat in the back corner, arms crossed, watching quietly.
He hadn't said a single word the entire screening. Not a comment. Not a joke.
Not a sneer.
But his silence spoke volumes.
Those who knew him—especially his women—could see it in his eyes.
He'd been right.
They had ignored him, brushed aside his offer, gave him a throwaway role, and now they were paying the price.
Cara, seated near the middle of the group, didn't dare turn around, but she could feel Ross's gaze on the back of her neck.
It burned.
The tension in the room was thick—cloying, almost physical. Everyone felt it.
It wasn't just the weight of disappointment or the sting of a failed project—it was the suffocating awareness that they had run out of time, options, and, worst of all, hope.
