"Cut!" Caleb's voice rang out across the set. Then he quickly added, "Thanks, everyone—great job! See you after the holidays!"
Such an early wrap was unusual for this director, but even Darren O'Shea, the star of Red Light, let out a sigh of relief. He couldn't wait to finally shed his costume—a police uniform—and step under a shower. The last few days had been hellishly hot for December, even by Los Angeles standards.
"Darren, come here for a second."
He raised his brows, automatically responding "Merry Christmas!" to one of the crew members as he passed, then jogged over to the director.
"What's up?" he asked.
Caleb wrinkled his nose—a reflex he had whenever the news wasn't good.
Tiny insects of unease crawled down Darren's spine.
"Listen, I really didn't want to bring this up right before the holidays, but… there's been a lot of talk online lately. About your acting."
Darren clenched his jaw.
He was probably looking at the Caleb the same way the Caleb looked at him—with that mix of reluctance and disbelief that a handful of internet comments could matter so much.
Every production got its share of mud thrown at it; the industry had always just ignored it, counting on the half of the audience that actually watched shows instead of making a hobby out of tearing them apart.
"People are saying your pretty face isn't enough anymore," Caleb went on carefully. "That you're not growing as an actor. That your character feels stiff. Predictable…."
As if Darren hadn't read those comments. Opinions about him had always been split.
Some loved him for his looks—unusual ones, with naturally tan skin, glossy black hair, and those striking dark-green eyes. Others admired his on-screen presence.
He had a beautiful face, objectively so—symmetrical and well-proportioned, with a sharp jawline that leaned more triangular than square, emphasizing his chin.
His lips were full, but not overly so—he'd even won the "Most Kissable Lips" poll three years in a row, though he never took that seriously. After all, he'd always believed only one pair of lips had the right to kiss him, so everyone else's opinion didn't really matter.
He was tall, lean-hipped but broad-shouldered, with a fit, athletic body that had easily landed him his first role in a hit beach lifeguard series.
That was where he'd made his name. So when that show ended, he quickly moved up from a supporting role to the lead in a new project—this time as a rookie cop working undercover.
Of course, many believed he'd gotten the part solely because of his looks—a blend of Navajo ancestry, Spanish settlers, and Irish freedom fighters who had fled to America. They thought that face was perfect for playing a sun-kissed young man sprinting along the beach in swim trunks, but when the role demanded nuance—the delicate balance between cop and criminal—he just didn't deliver.
Some days, Darren O'Shea believed those comments more than his own director.
He bit his lower lip and looked down.
"It's not your fault, Darren—it's the writers," Caleb said, trying to console him. "Ever since Terry left, we've been missing someone who really knew the craft. Let's be honest, Sarah isn't exactly the right person to run a show like this."
Both men sighed.
It wasn't that Sarah lacked talent. She'd successfully led a team of showrunners on a popular teen drama, but Red Light wasn't a coming-of-age story. It was raw and often brutal—a clash between good and evil, both the external kind, between cops and criminals, and the internal kind, raging inside the main character's heart.
The first season, under Terry's direction, had been phenomenal. But when he left for personal reasons and Sarah took over, that's when the trouble began.
"Am I getting fired?" Darren asked quietly.
"What? No! Absolutely not!" Caleb waved dismissively at a passing group of crew members. "The producers just thought you and Sarah, should get some extra training. You know, to see how real police work looks."
Darren blinked.
"Wait—both of us?"
"It all came together fast, and it's moving even faster. They're planning to rewrite the season two finale to make it more dramatic, so we're short on time. Long story short—the producers convinced the mayor, the mayor convinced the police commissioner, and the two of you start this week at one of LAPD's precincts. You'll get to talk with real officers, maybe even do a few ride-alongs. I hope you didn't have any big holiday plans."
As it happened, Darren did have plans—good ones. He'd been meaning to go home for Christmas. His hometown wasn't far from Los Angeles, but somehow he never found the time to visit. He hadn't even made it back for Thanksgiving.
Still, ever since he'd started this project, he'd secretly dreamed of doing proper police training. A ride-along—shadowing officers on patrol—could add so much depth to his role. Especially if it happened in…
He swallowed hard.
"Alright," he said, trying not to sound too eager. "I'll do it for the sake of the role. Which precinct is it?"
When he heard the answer, his heart and body caught fire. His knees nearly buckled, but he stood tall, refusing to waver.
He couldn't believe it—absolutely couldn't believe his luck. He'd be spending the next few days at the very precinct where his first, and only, love worked.
Chris Landry.