Filming on 24 hours moved fast and stayed on schedule.
Every morning, Zoe orbited Landon: she sharpened his jawline, aged him with a scrupulously glued-on stubble, all so Tony Almeida would look seasoned and steady.
After a few days she'd grown used to doubling as assistant and Makeup Artist—though her daily 'taxes' on Landon never stopped; if anything, they escalated.
Landon, meanwhile, thrived in the frantic pace. His take on Tony Almeida kept sharpening, each scene delivered ahead of expectation, earning quiet nods of respect.
Because the show shot in blocks, nearly all his early material was set inside the CTU bullpen.
When he shared the frame with Kiefer Sutherland he bent to the star's shifting schedule; with everyone else he simply followed the board.
Though Tony's airtime in these CTU arcs would be limited, the shooting days were front-loaded—clearly the director was protecting Landon's calendar.
As for Mia Kirshner, she'd flirted outrageously on day one, yet season one gave her and Landon zero shared scenes.
Still, two people on the same lot will keep crossing paths. Between set-ups Mia hovered, her words and body language anything but subtle.
The older cast members cheered her on—especially Dennis Haysbert, who played the President. The man acted like he couldn't wait to see Landon caught in Mia's net.
Landon did share a fair bit of screen time with Elisha Cuthbert, another eighteen-year-old, though most of it was split by a phone line.
Close in age they might be, yet Landon's Tony had to feel like a calm, reliable shield—no small leap.
He carried the contrast so convincingly that crew forgot the gap altogether.
"Cut."
The instant the director called it, Elisha Cuthbert sprang from her crouch in the corner.
The emotional scene had left her forehead beaded with sweat, strands of hair plastered flat.
She snatched a bottle of water from the nearest chair, gulped, didn't bother wiping the drip, and headed for the CTU set still glistening.
Landon remained in his seat, head down, fingers drumming the script.
A chilled bottle tapped his arm.
He looked up: Elisha stood there, smiling.
"Hydrate, Landon," she said breezily. "You look more drained than me, and I was the one getting chased."
He hesitated, then took the bottle. The cap was already loose; lipstick ringed the mouth, and her eyes waited.
He said nothing, drank.
Pleased, Elisha leaned against the console beside him, watching.
"When you ran in to save me, didn't you think about the danger?" she asked, blinking.
Landon screwed the cap back on and set the bottle down.
"Danger?" He shrugged. "No time. Someone I knew needed help, so I moved."
"Besides," he added, "I knew I could handle it."
"Wow." Wonder and curiosity sparkled in her gaze. "Handle it? Pretty cocky." She laughed softly.
"Half the crew's dying to know," she whispered. "You fight like that, look like that, and nail takes in one go. What planet did they find you on?"
Landon cracked a grin and lifted a shoulder—
A waft of gardenia announced Mia Kirshner.
She wasn't called today, but jeans and a tight tee still traced every curve; ignoring her was impossible.
Mia brushed past Elisha, eyes only for Landon. "Hey. That last beat you played? Perfect." She flicked a glance at Elisha.
Elisha's smile cooled. She straightened. "See you on set, Landon." A polite nod to Mia, and she left.
Landon found the scene absurd—Elisha acting the elder. Since day one both girls had circled, though he'd done nothing to encourage it. Far off, Dennis watched like it was comedy night; even Sarah Clarke, who played Nina Myers, enjoyed the show.
Mia watched Elisha go, gave a soft snort.
She hopped onto the console Elisha had just vacated, now half a head taller than Landon, looking down.
"Little girl's glued to you," she teased.
Landon met her gaze. From this angle Mia looked predatory, magnetic.
He steadied his pulse, smiled. "Just talking. You're off today?"
"Mmm." She leaned closer, voice a warm breath. "So I'm bored. There's a bar nearby. Wrap party for one? We could talk script—your dark turn coming up. I might help you find it."
They shared no scenes; talking script was Hollywood code for something else.
His pulse quickened all the same—Mia's raw, direct heat was hard to ignore.
Before he could answer, his phone buzzed: Rachel—Early shift tonight. Making pasta. Come home. Love you.
As he pocketed it, another text arrived—Tracy confirming the Marie Claire cover date, signed with a grinning :D.