She did not flinch. She did not look away.
For a woman who dealt in the visceral reality of images and truth, she had expected the collision, but the sheer, unadorned weight of the word "cabin" sent a microscopic tremor through her composure.
Her eyes didn't widen; they sharpened. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible adjustment of her expression, a tightening of the muscles around her jaw, before she settled back into her stillness.
The air between them suddenly turned heavy and suffocating, replacing the previous intellectual hum of film editing. The library around them seemed to fade into a blurred, silent background, leaving only the two of them in a vacuum of memory.
