It had been a week since the first round of auditions.
A long, draining week filled with callbacks, sterile waiting rooms, and the same faces appearing again and again—some growing more confident, others visibly unraveling. Henry had learned quickly that auditions weren't just about talent. They were about endurance. About how well you handled silence, rejection, and the slow erosion of certainty.
Somehow, he'd survived all of it.
Now, he was in the final round.
Henry sat across from Jeff in a quiet diner a few blocks away from the casting office, the hum of traffic leaking in through the windows. A laminated menu sat between them, untouched. Jeff, unusually serious, stirred his coffee like he was stalling for time.
That alone made Henry uneasy.
"So," Jeff finally said, leaning back in his chair, "we're down to three."
Henry raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"
"That's it."
Jeff tapped the table once, then again. "You. Jesse Eisenberg. Jay Baruchel."
Henry leaned back, letting the names settle.
Jesse Eisenberg.Jay Baruchel.
Yeah. That tracked.
"Fantastic," Henry muttered. "Two guys who look like they belong in this movie."
Jeff smirked. "And you don't?"
Henry shrugged. "I'm adaptable."
Jeff nodded approvingly. "Your biggest competition is Eisenberg. I've heard—unofficially—that a few casting people favor him over Jay."
"Of course they do," Henry said.
"He's consistent. Smart. Safe," Jeff continued. "Jay's still in the mix because of his connections with the Frat Pack crowd. People like him. Studios trust him."
"And me?"
Jeff leaned forward. "You're the wildcard."
Henry met his eyes.
"They already know what Jesse and Jay will give them," Jeff said. "You? They don't. And if you nail this last round, you stop being risky and start being interesting."
Henry exhaled slowly.
In his past life, he'd played it safe. It hadn't saved him then.
"I don't want safe anyway," Henry said.
Jeff grinned. "Good. Safe doesn't book careers."
The waiting room was quieter than Henry expected.
Three chairs. One wall clock. No small talk. No nervous pacing. Just tension sitting heavy in the air.
Henry took the middle chair.
Across from him sat Jesse Eisenberg, legs crossed neatly, script folded with care, eyes flicking up every few seconds to check the clock like it might change the outcome.
To Henry's left, Jay Baruchel slouched back in his seat, hoodie half-zipped, arms folded like he'd wandered in by accident and decided not to leave.
"Well," Jay said after a moment, "this is either the calm before the storm or the part where one of us throws up."
Jesse glanced at him. "Statistically speaking, it's more likely to be the former."
Jay squinted. "You rehearse that?"
"What?"
"That line," Jay said. "Feels rehearsed."
Henry hid a smile.
"I just talk like that," Jesse replied stiffly.
"Right," Jay nodded. "I just swear like this. We all have our curses."
Henry cleared his throat lightly. "Henry. Guess we're the finalists."
Jesse shook his hand quickly. "Jesse."
"Jay," Baruchel said, grinning. "So which one of you is secretly confident and pretending not to be?"
Henry shrugged. "Depends. Which one of you is pretending not to care?"
Jay laughed. Jesse didn't.
The casting assistant appeared at the door.
"Jay Baruchel."
Jay stood, stretching lazily. "If I don't come back, tell my parents I peaked in this hallway."
He vanished inside.
Silence returned.
"He's… different," Jesse said.
Henry nodded. "Yeah. But that's not always bad."
Jesse glanced at him. "You seem calm."
"I've had worse rooms."
"Like?"
Henry smiled faintly. "Rooms where I already knew I'd lost."
Jay returned fifteen minutes later, expression unreadable. Jesse went in next.
When it was finally Henry's turn, the room felt sharper—smaller somehow.
Four people sat behind the table. No smiles.
"No direction this time," the director said. "Show us what you bring."
Henry didn't touch the script.
He let the silence stretch.
Then he started.
He didn't act like he was trying to win. He didn't push. He let frustration slip through humor, let pauses breathe, let restraint do the work. He trusted the moment.
When he finished, the room stayed quiet.
"That was different," the director said.
Henry met his eyes. "I stopped trying to impress you."
A pause.
Then the producer smiled.
"Thank you, Henry," the casting director said. "That'll be all."
Outside, Jay looked up. "Well?"
"No idea," Henry replied honestly.
Jesse joined them a moment later, tension still clinging to him.
Jay grinned. "Statistically speaking, one of us is gonna be insufferable about this."
Jesse snorted.
Henry smiled.
For the first time, he realized something important.
He didn't need this role.
But if they were smart?
They'd give it to him anyway.
And somewhere behind that door, a decision was being made.