The TV hummed in the background—some random late-night talk show none of them was actually watching. Kira sat with her legs tucked under her on one end of the couch, a half-empty bowl of popcorn precarious on the armrest. Her eyes kept drifting, losing focus on the glowing screen. On the other end, Lia was totally sprawled out, one leg hanging off the side and her toes brushing the scratchy carpet. A lamp in the corner cast a dim, yellow light over the room, making their mismatched furniture and the stacks of head-shots on the coffee table look a little less cluttered than they really were. It was that heavy kind of quiet that follows a really long, crappy day—the kind that isn't actually peaceful, just exhausting.

The place was small\, but it definitely looked lived-in. You could see their lives in the faded floral pillows Kira had grabbed at a thrift store months ago\, the string of fairy lights Lia had tacked over the window\, and the sticky notes covered in motivational quotes above the TV. *Your time is coming. Keep pushing. Stars don't shine without darkness.* They'd written those on a good day\, back when good days happened more often. Now\, they mostly just looked at them because they were there.

This was life at Bellamy House. It was a four-story building tucked away on a side street, just far enough from the fancy part of the city to feel like a different world, but close enough that you could almost smell the "big break" when the wind blew right. The building was full of dreamers—actresses, models, singers, you name it. Girls who showed up from small towns with portfolios and big plans. Some had been there a few months; others, like Kira, had been there for years.

The front door gave its usual loud creak, and Emma walked in. Both Kira and Lia looked up immediately. They didn't have to ask how it went. You could see it in the way she let her bag thud onto the floor and the long, heavy breath she let out the second she stepped inside.

Emma was pretty in a real way—not like the airbrushed girls on the billboards, but more natural. Her gray eyes were sharp even when she was wiped out, and right now, they were just full of frustration. She kicked off her shoes and walked across the room in her socks, collapsing onto the couch between them like she'd just come home from a war zone.

"Any luck today, Em?" Kira asked, hitting the mute button.

Emma stared at the ceiling for a long beat, like talking was just too much work.

"No," she said flatly. Then she sat up a little, because Emma wasn't really the type to stay down for long. "I hit fifteen places today. Fifteen, Kira. I even wore the good heels." She pointed a thumb at her shoes by the door. "Everyone was 'out' or 'in meetings.' Every single one." She gave a dry, annoyed laugh. "This is seriously getting on my nerves. I've been to every agency in this city, and it's always the same script. The producers are busy. They're at lunch. No auditions today. Just leave your head shot at the desk." She made a face. "As if those don't go right in the trash."

Lia, who knew exactly how that felt, flopped over onto the cushion. "I get the same thing every time," she said to the ceiling. "Every single time. Why is this so hard?" She wasn't really asking them; she was asking the universe, hoping for an answer that probably wasn't coming.

Emma straightened her back. There was something about her that just wouldn't break. "Because we want this too much to quit," she said. She wasn't trying to be deep; she was just stating a fact.

Lia sighed—one of those long, tired sighs. "I guess. I'm just ready for my turn. Ready to actually get paid." She sat up and rubbed her hands together like she was plotting to get rich, and finally, Kira and Emma lost it. They started laughing—a real, genuine laugh that only happens when you're all stuck in the same mess together.

Emma shook her head, a small smile finally breaking through. "What happened to that passion we were just talking about?"

"Oh, I've still got passion," Lia said, trying to look dignified. "I just also have a landlord. And passion doesn't pay the rent." She stopped for a second. "Speaking of which—Kira, who are you even trying to sign with? You've been way too quiet tonight."

Kira had been mostly listening. She reached over, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and chewed it slowly before she said anything. That was just Kira. While Emma was like a fire and Lia was all over the place, Kira was steady and quiet. She was the kind of person who kept everything tucked deep inside where you couldn't see it unless you were really looking.

"I honestly don't care\," she said\, and you could tell she meant it. "At this point\, as long as it's a legit company\, I'll sign with whoever." She set the bowl down and hugged her knees to her chest. "You two have been at this for a year. I've been doing this for *four*. Four years\, Lia. When I finally get signed\, it's gonna be worth every second of this crap. Every 'no\,' every boring waiting room\, every receptionist who looked at me like I was invisible." She said it softly\, but the words felt heavy in the room.

The three of them just sat there for a minute. Four years is a long time. Four years of doors slamming in your face and holding onto a dream that most people would have given up on ages ago. Kira hadn't just moved to the city with a portfolio; she'd come here to get away from something she never talked about. You could only see it in the way her face went blank whenever her life before this came up.

Emma reached over and squeezed Kira's hand. "You're gonna be a star," she said. She wasn't just saying it to be nice; she really meant it. "All the hard work is going to pay off. I know it."

Lia looked at them both, and her expression softened. Under all the jokes and the big talk, she was just as invested as they were. "Okay, fine, I believe it too," she admitted. Then, because she couldn't help herself, she added, "But I'm still gonna be really happy when I'm finally rich."

They all laughed again, but it was lighter this time. It was like a release valve, letting out the pressure of the day before it could turn into something worse.

Kira looked at her, somewhere between amused and annoyed. "Seriously, Lia, do you really want to spend all day on your feet in some lobby just for someone to tell you the director is busy? Especially when you've been there since eight in the morning?"

Lia tilted her head, actually thinking about it. "No," she said. "I just want the struggle to actually mean something."

"It shouldn't be this way," Emma muttered. She was staring at the blank TV screen, her eyes looking far away. "Why is it so hard? There's gotta be a better way to get noticed."

A weird, heavy silence fell over the room. It was the kind of silence that meant someone was thinking something specific.

"I mean\, there *is* one way\," Kira said\, raising an eyebrow.

Both Emma and Lia looked at her. Lia shook her head immediately, even before Kira could finish the thought. "No, thanks," she said firmly. "I haven't given up yet." No one pushed it. In this business, there were plenty of shortcuts that were actually just traps, and all three of them knew it—even Lia, despite all her jokes about money.

Emma stood up, suddenly full of energy, like she'd decided the night wasn't allowed to be depressing anymore. "Well," she said, smoothing out her shirt, "I'm starving. Let's go get food. My treat."

There was the usual back-and-forth—none of them liked being the one who couldn't pay—but it didn't last long. Emma had a way of making it feel like a gift rather than a handout. They grabbed their jackets and headed out the door, moving with the easy rhythm of people who had done this a hundred times before.

The side street outside the dormitory was narrow and lit with the amber glow of streetlamps, the city's noise drifting in from the wider avenues nearby. They walked close together on the sidewalk, their footsteps falling into an unconscious rhythm that spoke of months of shared routine. The bar on the corner was the kind of place that was warm without being crowded, friendly without being loud, exactly the kind of place three tired dreamers needed at the end of a day that had tried its best to knock them flat.

They settled into a corner booth. Ordered food. Ordered beers. The conversation settled into something gentler than it had been back in the apartment, the way it always did when there was food on the table and something cold to drink. It was the particular grace of friendship, the ability to walk through the hard parts of a day together and come out the other side still capable of laughing.

It was Lia who circled back to the harder question, the way she always eventually did, because for all her humor, she was also the one who said the things no one else wanted to say.

"Kira," she said, folding her hands on the table. "You said you'll give it a few more months. What will you actually do if it doesn't work out? If you don't sign with anyone?"

The table went quiet. Emma stilled her bottle halfway to her lips. Kira stared at the rings of condensation on the wooden table surface, tracing one with her fingertip before she answered.

"I don't know," she said finally, in a voice just above a whisper. Then, lower still, as though she was saying something she had only ever said to herself before: "But I would rather die than return to my old life."

Neither Emma nor Lia asked her to elaborate. They didn't push, didn't pry, didn't fill the silence with well-meaning questions she wasn't ready to answer. They simply sat with her in it, the way real friends do. And for the moment, that was enough.

They finished their food and split the last two beers among the three of them. The walk back to the dormitory was quieter than the walk out, but not uncomfortably so. When they returned to the building and climbed the stairs to their floor, the night had softened around them, the way nights sometimes do after you've made it through them together.

Emma and Kira headed toward their shared room. Lia paused in the living room, dropping her jacket over the back of the couch, kicking off her shoes for the second time that evening. The fairy lights above the window cast everything in soft gold.

Her phone rang.

She picked it up, glancing at the unfamiliar number on the screen with the casual suspicion of someone who had given her number to too many agency receptionists to expect anything good from an unknown caller.

"Hello?" she answered.

The voice on the other end of the line was smooth and professional, the kind of voice that belonged to someone accustomed to being listened to.

"Hello, Miss Lia?" it said.

Lia shifted her weight from one foot to the other, still standing in the middle of the living room with her jacket half-draped over the couch. "Yes, that's me," she said carefully, the way she always answered unknown callers  present but guarded, giving nothing away until she knew who she was giving it to.