After the table reading the day before, the directors had scribbled down notes, pages filled with thoughts on what was working, what wasn't, and what needed to shift.
Today they had shut themselves away to hammer it all out, but just because the script wasn't ready didn't mean the cast had earned a free day.
Even without final pages in their hands, they had been told to come in. Waiting didn't mean idleness.
They were expected to bond, to practice, to test the rhythms between them until they stopped feeling like strangers and started breathing the same air on stage.
They needed to correct each other where it faltered, sharpen timing until it cut clean, and stretch their performances until chemistry flowed without hesitation.
The rehearsal room itself seemed designed for such work. It was massive, a space that swallowed sound and reshaped it into something alive.
