Colin slid a heavy black pen across the desk. "Then let's make it official."
Rex didn't rush. He adjusted the stack, squared the edges, and sat with the signature page before him for a beat too long, as if weighing more than just paper. Then, with a steady hand, he signed. His name cut across the page in clean strokes... measured, decisive.
Colin turned the contract toward Aren next. "And you, Mr. Aren. Director, writer… rights holder."
Aren's fingers trembled slightly as he took the pen. The leather chair beneath him still felt too soft, too much for someone like him, but now his pulse drowned everything else out. He stared at the line where his name was supposed to go. A week ago, he'd been invisible... a kid with a script and nothing to his name but late nights and empty coffee cups. Now his signature would sit on the same document as Rex's, carrying weight in an industry designed to crush people like him.
