The soundstage smelled of sawdust, ozone, and desperation.
Flynn stood in the corner of what was supposed to be a food truck—a half-built prop on a soundstage in Burbank, surrounded by fake trees and a painted backdrop of the Pacific Northwest. The lighting was harsh, industrial, the kind that made everyone look like they hadn't slept in a week. Which, in Flynn's case, was accurate.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and felt the corner of