Phoenix glared at Zeno. His fingers dug into Zeno's collar, feeling his body fill with hatred.
He had told himself again and again that it was a coincidence—life was full of coincidences, wasn't it? That was what he believed when he first picked up the script. It was only a story. A common narrative. A tale of neglect, abandonment, a father who vanished, and a boy who grew up furious at the world. Many children had grown up like that, scarred by parents who failed them. It didn't have to mean anything.
But as Phoenix read, line by line, his certainty faltered.
Some of the phrases, some of the exact words—he remembered them. Words spoken in anger when he was just a boy. Words whispered in apology. Promises that were never kept. Promises that shattered into silence when the man he once called Dad disappeared from his life. The memory of that forsaken figure haunted him in every scene.
