By the time the evening rehearsal rolled around, Mia's body felt like it had been put through a washing machine and hung out to dry. Every muscle ached—from calves to shoulders—but beneath the dull fatigue thrummed a strange, stubborn energy. Defiance, maybe. Or adrenaline. Whatever it was, it kept her upright and vaguely functional as she entered the theater space, mentally bracing herself for whatever chaos Ms. Dubois had in store.
Tonight's scene was more dynamic than their usual blocking drills: Hermia and Lysander's midnight escape. The dialogue crackled with tension and yearning, each line a spark of desperation and hope. Ms. Dubois wanted them to "feel the stakes," as she put it, dramatically sweeping her arms with every instruction.
"My soul, my life, my love, fair Helena!"
Kris's voice rang through the darkened stage, rich and fervent. His eyes locked onto Mia's with unnerving intensity, their stage chemistry sparking like a live wire. The words weren't meant for Hermia, not really—but in that moment, they felt raw and real. Mia felt her heart beat just a little faster.
She matched his energy, slipping into Hermia's shoes with surprising ease. It was becoming harder to tell where the roles ended and real emotions began.
During the brief break that followed, she dropped onto the edge of the stage, stretching her sore calves and rolling her neck. That's when Leo approached, his usual easygoing smile tinged with concern.
"Hey," he said, kneeling beside her, "you seem a bit... off today." He reached out, lightly pressing a hand to her arm. "You feel like you've run a marathon."
Mia let out a tired, crooked laugh. "Close," she muttered, cracking her neck. "Kris decided today's 'punishment' meant dragging me through his full training session. Laps. Drills. Something called 'death sprints,' which, by the way, were appropriately named."
Leo's eyebrows lifted. "He made you do his morning training?" There was a sharp edge of disbelief in his tone. "That's a bit much. Even for a bet." He shook his head, sighing. "You really shouldn't push yourself like that, especially with the showcase so close. You're doing great, Mia. You don't need to break yourself just to prove something to him."
"I'm not," she replied quietly. "Not really. I'm just... not backing down."
Leo nodded slowly, understanding glinting in his expression. Then his face softened. "If you ever need a ride somewhere, or want to skip walking across campus after rehearsals—just say the word. My car's free."
That small offer, unassuming but kind, hit Mia harder than she expected. It was such a contrast—Leo's warmth, his quiet steadiness. A moment of normalcy.
She smiled, grateful. "Thanks, Leo. That's really... sweet."
But from across the stage, someone had been watching.
Kris's conversation with Ms. Dubois came to an abrupt halt as his gaze zeroed in on the pair of them. His movements shifted—no longer languid, but sharp, purposeful. He crossed the stage with long, clipped strides, his jaw visibly clenched.
He didn't speak to Leo. Not directly.
Instead, he addressed Mia, his tone cool and clipped. "About that final sprint," he said. "Your form was still off. We'll review the footage tonight. I recorded it so you can see where you're losing momentum. Hip rotation and stride efficiency. It's all there."
Mia blinked, stunned by the sudden, impersonal critique. "Footage?"
"Of course," he replied, like it was obvious. "You want to improve, don't you?"
Before she could respond, Kris stepped forward—just enough to insert himself between her and Leo, physically severing their conversation without ever acknowledging Leo's presence. His stance was subtle, but unmistakable. Guarded. Possessive.
He didn't look at Leo, not directly, but the air between them turned brittle. Mia felt it in the silence that stretched a second too long, the way Kris's shoulder tilted just enough to block her view of Leo entirely.
"Let's run the escape scene again," Kris said sharply, turning his attention back to her. "Focus on the urgency this time, Hermia. Your life depends on it."
Mia, still sitting, glanced around Kris's shoulder to see Leo's jaw tighten just slightly. There was no snarky comeback, no challenge—just a small, stiff nod.
"Got it," Leo said to Mia, with a little less warmth this time. "I'll catch you after."
He turned and walked off without another word.
Ms. Dubois clapped enthusiastically from the front row. "Yes! That tension, that energy—I felt that, Kris! And Mia, darling, the vulnerability in your eyes—magnifique! Now, channel it. Places for the escape scene!"
Mia stood, her limbs heavy but her mind racing. She was caught in a current she hadn't anticipated. Kris's increasingly blatant possessiveness, Leo's quiet disappointment, and her own muddled reaction to it all created a storm of conflicting emotions.
As she took her place center stage, she could still feel Kris standing too close, his voice lowered as he said, "Try not to trip this time."
It was teasing—but there was something underneath it. A tension she didn't know how to name.
The stage lights came up. Mia exhaled, let Hermia take over again. But part of her—the very human, very non-theatrical part—was painfully aware of the off-stage drama brewing just below the surface.
Day four down.
And somehow, she had a feeling that the real performance had only just begun.