The worst thing about rejection wasn't the silence.
It was the polite smile. The thank-you-for-coming. The way casting directors scribbled nothing on their pads before moving on to the next blonde with Broadway parents and unlimited vocal coaching.
Elara Quinn stood outside the back door of the Delmont Theatre, arms crossed, lipstick fading. Rain drizzled, soft and persistent, like the universe knew she'd failed again and was too tired to thunder.
"You were too much," they told her.
"You need to tone it down."
"The role isn't… emotional."
How could she not be emotional? That stage was her one shot at mattering.
She stared at her reflection in the dark window — her curls were frizzing, and her eyeliner had begun its slow, miserable descent. Twenty-three, talented, and broke. Again.
Just as she turned to leave, the old rusted door behind her creaked open.
A voice, low and gravelled, spoke without looking.
"You want work or not?"
Elara froze.
In the doorway stood a man, tall, hoodie up, carrying a box of tangled lighting cables. His eyes met hers—grey, unreadable, and entirely unimpressed.
"You're the actress, right? Quinn?"
"Yeah," she said cautiously. "You are…?"
"Jace. I run the lights. Show starts in two weeks. They want you for the lead."
Her heart thudded. She hadn't even gotten the callback.
"Why me?"
"Director quit. You're the only one who didn't storm out."
She followed him inside without thinking.
The theater smelled like damp wood and broken dreams, but to Elara, it might as well have been a palace.
Jace didn't say another word, just walked past the busted seats, flipped on a breaker, and watched as a single spotlight flickered to life above the stage.
Elara stepped into it instinctively. And something inside her clicked.
"You going to stare," Jace said, "or actually be good?"
She turned to him, lifted her chin.
"I'm not here to be good," she said.
"I'm here to be unforgettable."
Jace's eyes narrowed — just a flicker of surprise.
"Then try not to screw it up."
The light went dark.
And their story began.