Aren's mouth fell open slightly. "That's… actually better. I didn't think of it like that."
"That's the point," Rex said quietly. "You want the audience to walk out of the theater and still glance over their shoulder at night. The less you explain, the longer it stays with them."
For the next half hour, Aren talked, Rex nudged. Aren described shots, angles, even how he wanted the sound of footsteps to echo differently in each part of the house. Rex pushed back, asking questions, pointing out where audiences might tune out, where things could tighten.
The two of them fell into it, trading ideas, tweaking beats, talking scares and suspense like they'd been at it for years. Rex kept steering, trimming fat, pushing tension, while Aren defended his favorite shots like they were his children. And in that back-and-forth, the breakfast was forgotten, their voices carrying over clinking cups and muttered conversations around them.
