The aerobics studio should’ve been empty by now, but the cassette kept clicking back to the beginning, synths echoing off mirrored walls fogged with heat. Xavier hadn’t bothered to turn it off. He never did.

“Again,” he said, clapping once, even though your form was already perfect. He corrected your shoulders anyway, hands hovering more than touching, like he needed the excuse to stay busy. Still.

He talked while the music played — auditions, agents, a director who “totally saw something” in him. Big plans, fast words. The kind that filled silence before it could ask questions.

But every time the tape rewound, his smile tightened just a little. Like standing still — like stopping — might let something catch up to him.