Night fell over the camp.
Cassius sat in his room trying to read the script, but his mind wouldn't settle.
It was too quiet outside.
Even the usual annoying insect chorus seemed dialed way down.
The silence felt worse than noise—like the forest itself was holding its breath.
He kept thinking about the gray-bearded protest leader from earlier, the crazy intensity in the guy's eyes, and the handful of fired-up young guys in the crowd.
He had a bad feeling this wasn't over.
Next door, Jennifer's room light was still on.
Her leg was doing a little better—the swelling had gone down a lot.
The doctor said she could start putting light weight on it and try slow walking, but no running, no jumping, nothing strenuous.
She'd even wheeled herself around camp that afternoon. Her color looked better than the last few days, but the worry lines between her brows were still there.
It was almost ten p.m.
Cassius was about to brush his teeth and crash when—
BANG!
A muffled gunshot split the night.
Rifle.
Then two more quick cracks—handguns.
The camp exploded.
Shouts everywhere.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
"Guns! Everybody down!"
"Hide!"
Cassius's heart slammed against his ribs, adrenaline flooding his system.
He was off the bed in a flash—Level 5 Body Language making every move fast and silent.
He didn't run outside. First he killed the lights, pressed himself to the window, and peered out using the moonlight and distant emergency lamps.
Flashlight beams slashed wildly across the camp.
Shadows darted everywhere.
Chaos.
The shots had come from the main entrance. That whole area was already a madhouse.
"Jennifer Lawrence! Come out and see what you people did!"
"Destroyers of nature!"
"Movie stars think they're untouchable?!"
The angry shouts mixed with the panic.
Cassius's stomach tightened.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Someone pounded on his door.
"Cassius! You in there?"
It sounded like Jennifer.
He moved to the door, checked the crack first to make sure it really was her, then yanked her inside and slammed the door.
He threw the deadbolt, dragged the only small table over, and wedged it against the door for good measure.
Jennifer half-stumbled, half-fell in.
She wasn't in the wheelchair—clearly she'd limped over on her bad leg the second the shooting started.
She was wearing nothing but a thin sleep shirt and an open jacket, hair messy, face pale as paper in the dim light. Her whole body was trembling.
Even the toughest person on set can lose it when real bullets start flying.
"What the hell is happening out there? They're yelling my name!"
Her voice shook. She grabbed his arm, nails digging in.
Cassius kept his own voice steady while listening hard to the outside noise.
"Some of the radical protesters broke through with guns. They're trying to scare everybody."
He could hear security yelling and running toward the entrance. No more shots had gone off—looked like the intruders wanted panic and viral footage more than actual murder.
But the danger wasn't gone.
Their modular room was toward the back of camp, so they hadn't been hit yet, but the shouting and flashlight beams were getting closer.
"Jennifer Lawrence! We know you're here! Come out! Look what your crew did to the forest!"
A hoarse male voice rang out nearby. Heavy footsteps and a sweeping flashlight beam passed right across their window.
Jennifer flinched hard and buried her face in Cassius's chest, breathing fast.
He wrapped his arms around her—one part comfort, one part ready to move if he had to.
His brain was racing.
"Stay quiet," he whispered almost soundlessly in her ear.
The walls were paper-thin. Any noise would carry.
They stayed pressed together in the blind spot by the window, holding their breath.
Outside, the radicals were talking loud enough to hear clearly.
"Fuck! Those security guys actually fought back—Zack's down!"
"We're outnumbered—don't push it! Find the actress or the director, get them looking scared on camera, then blast it online! Show the world these Hollywood phonies!"
"Check these rooms! I heard something over here!"
Flashlight beams swept closer. Footsteps stopped right outside their door.
Jennifer froze solid, even her trembling stopped—like fear had locked her up completely.
Cassius could hear both their heartbeats hammering.
He scanned the room fast for anything he could use as a weapon. Chair. Metal water cup. That was it.
He was already calculating odds.
If they kicked the door in, could he take one or two armed guys in this tiny space using his Level 5 Body Language and combat skills?
The odds sucked.
Right in the middle of that suffocating standoff, a bigger commotion exploded from the far side of camp—shouts, fighting, and the security chief's voice booming over a bullhorn: "Grab them! Don't let them get away!"
The footsteps outside paused.
"Fuck! Something's happening over there—fall back! You get the footage?"
"Yeah, plenty!"
"Let's go!"
The footsteps retreated fast. The flashlight beams moved away.
Then came the sound of engines starting and vehicles peeling out.
It felt like an hour passed before the camp slowly filled with security and medics calling out.
Someone was hurt.
The security chief himself came around knocking on every door, announcing himself loudly.
Only then did Cassius slide the table away and open up.
The chief and two guys holding riot batons looked grim. Emergency lights stretched their shadows long across the ground.
"Mr. Cassius, Miss Lawrence—you both okay? Anybody hurt?"
"We're fine. We stayed hidden," Cassius said, stepping aside so they could see Jennifer still gripping the back of his shirt, pale and shaken.
The chief exhaled in relief but his face stayed tight. "Sorry—this was on us. Five of them broke in, all armed. They injured two of our guys and smashed some equipment."
"Their target was clearly panic and publicity—focused on the leads and director. We've got people chasing them and the police are on the way."
Jennifer finally let go of Cassius's shirt. Her bad leg buckled and she almost dropped. Cassius caught her instantly.
Her lips were still trembling. She tried to speak but couldn't get a full sentence out.
"Get her some water," Cassius told the chief.
He helped Jennifer sit on the bed and handed her a cup. Her hands shook so badly she spilled half of it.
The chief left one guard nearby and rushed off to handle the rest of the mess.
The camp slowly calmed down, but nobody was sleeping tonight.
Cassius sat beside Jennifer while she sipped water. Color slowly came back to her face, but the fear in her eyes hadn't faded.
"Fuck," she finally croaked. "That was more intense than the arena."
If they'd been even a second slower, one of them could have been shot.
She shivered again and unconsciously leaned into him.
"It's over. They caught them. Police are almost here," Cassius said, rubbing her back a little awkwardly.
He was still riding his own wave of relief. If those radicals had decided to kick doors instead of just scare people, it could have been a bloodbath.
Time to get a damn carry permit and a gun for real.
"Thank you," Jennifer whispered, eyes a little red—not crying, just the aftershock. "When I heard the shots and my name… my brain went blank. I just ran straight to you."
Cassius didn't answer. He just took off his jacket and draped it over her shaking shoulders.
[Jennifer Lawrence Favorability +2. Current: 96]
When the police sirens finally cut through the night and security confirmed the area was clear, both of them finally breathed easy.
The room stayed dark.
Only the emergency lights outside and the occasional red-and-blue flash of cop cars swept across the walls.
Jennifer was still wrapped in Cassius's jacket. Her trembling had stopped.
His arm was around her—started as protection, now just… holding.
Once the adrenaline drained away, the tension snapped.
Jennifer looked up at him in the dim light.
His face—sharper and softer than most of the Western guys around here—looked different in the flickering glow.
No professional distance from set. No playful banter.
Right now he was just the guy who'd made her feel safe when everything went to hell.
The fear still humming in her veins needed something to burn it off—something to prove she was alive and could still feel heat.
Her brain hadn't finished the thought before her body moved.
She leaned in fast, tilted her face up, and kissed him—raw, urgent, a little clumsy.
Her hands fisted in his shirt like she was trying to pull oxygen and courage straight out of him.
Cassius froze for half a second.
The gunshots had left every nerve raw.
That kiss snapped the last thread of restraint.
Fuck it.
He kissed her back hard, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other pulling her tight against him.
Somehow they stumbled backward and fell onto the narrow cot.
The wooden frame groaned.
Jennifer's nails raked down his back. Swears spilled out of her—half English, half the Asiashe'd learned from him.
If the swear jar had been in the room it would've been full in thirty seconds.
The storm didn't last forever. It eventually slowed into long, exhausted waves.
They lay tangled together on the too-small bed, sweat-slick skin pressed close.
Neither spoke. They just listened to each other's heartbeats slowly calm down.
Outside, the sky was starting to lighten.
Between the all-night terror and the frantic release, both of them were wrecked.
Jennifer's bad leg was twisted at an awkward angle, but she didn't seem to care. She clung to him like a koala, face buried in his neck, and fell asleep almost instantly, soft snores puffing against his skin.
Cassius was exhausted too, but a sliver of awareness stayed with him.
He stared at the cheap ceiling, mind spinning.
Everything that had just happened felt… inevitable.
No guilt.
Just relief.
And damn it felt good.
He closed his eyes, tightened his arm around her, and finally drifted off.
Morning light filtered through the thin curtains. Birds sang brightly outside.
After last night's chaos the camp was strangely quiet—only a few crew members quietly cleaning up while the police finished taking statements.
Cassius woke first. His arm had gone numb under Jennifer.
She was still out cold, brown hair a mess across the pillow.
There were still faint smudges of dirt on her face and red pressure lines from the pillow, but she looked peaceful. The corner of her mouth was even tilted up like she was having a good dream.
He carefully slid his arm free. Jennifer frowned in her sleep, mumbled something, and rolled over, stealing most of the thin blanket.
Cassius rubbed the pins-and-needles out of his arm and got dressed.
His body ached in a pleasant way, but his mind felt strangely clear—like something heavy had finally been unclogged.
He walked to the window, lifted the curtain a crack, and looked out.
A few crew members were standing nearby talking in low voices. When they noticed movement at his window they glanced over.
The second they saw Cassius—bed hair, just a T-shirt—they shot him a mix of knowing looks and pure envy.
Cassius met their eyes without flinching and gave a small nod.
Guess the thin walls had broadcast last night's "activities" to half the camp.
Whatever.
In Hollywood, people hooking up because of a movie or because the stress got too heavy was more common than craft-service chicken.
As long as it didn't mess up the shoot or turn into drama, everybody just shrugged and moved on.