The scream came late.
Not from fear—
From disbelief.
What the Set Saw
From the ground, it looked impossible.
Aria didn't just hit the wall.
She used it.
Her boots struck concrete at an angle that shouldn't have held.
Her knees bent, absorbed, redirected.
Her body aligned along the surface instead of away from it.
And then—
She ran.
Not upward.
Not sideways.
Somewhere in between.
Like gravity had briefly forgotten what it was supposed to do.
Physics Tries to Intervene
Ben whispered to himself:
"That friction coefficient isn't enough…"
The stunt coordinator shook his head.
"No one can generate that much lateral control mid-fall."
The wire tech stared, pale.
"She didn't decelerate… she redistributed."
Daniel screamed:
"SHE TURNED FALLING INTO PARKOUR—HOW IS THAT FAIR?!"
The Footwork No One Expected
Frame by frame, later, they would count it.
Three steps.
Only three.
Each one violent.
Each one precise.
First step:
—brutal contact, maximum energy loss.
Second step:
—redirection, bleeding speed sideways.
Third step:
—push-off, converting remaining momentum into distance instead of impact.
A trained stunt performer might manage one.
A professional freerunner, two.
Three—
Three was something else.
The Sound of the Wall
Concrete screamed.
Paint exploded.
Dust burst outward like smoke from a gunshot.
Every footfall echoed too loud, too sharp.
Mason flinched at each one.
"Oh god… oh god…"
He didn't know what he was reacting to anymore.
Fear for her—
Or the realization that no safety briefing in existence covered this.
Aria's Focus Narrows
In that brief sideways run, the world reduced itself to essentials.
Surface.
Grip.
Exit point.
Her vision tunneled.
Her body aligned.
There was no room for doubt.
Only timing.
Only execution.
Only—
Now.
The Push That Changed Everything
On the third step, Aria pushed off.
Not hard.
Correctly.
Her body rotated mid-air, smooth and economical.
Momentum carried her away from the wall, down and forward instead of straight down.
Physics protested.
She ignored it.
The Set Loses Control
Someone screamed her name.
Someone dropped a camera.
Someone else fell to their knees.
The stunt team exploded in noise.
"That's not choreography!"
"That's not rehearsal!"
"That's not—"
Ben finished it in a whisper:
"That's instinct."
Julian's breath caught—not in fear.
In awe.
The Landing Approaches
The ground rushed up.
Fast.
But not fatal.
Not anymore.
Aria adjusted one last time, rotating her hips, aligning her spine.
She landed.
Rolled.
Came up.
Alive.
Silence, Again
This time, the silence was different.
Not frozen.
Reverent.
The kind that follows something no one knows how to respond to.
Aria stood there, dust on her jacket, breathing steady.
She looked around.
"…Did it look strange?" she asked.
No one answered.
Daniel finally choked out:
"STRANGE IS NOT THE WORD I WOULD USE."
Mason Finally Finds His Voice
His voice came out thin.
"Aria…"
She turned.
"Yes?"
He swallowed.
"…You ran on a wall."
She considered this.
"…Briefly."
The stunt coordinator laughed once, sharp and hysterical.
"BRIEFLY?!"
The Truth Hits the Room
Ben lowered his headset.
"There is no safety protocol for what you just did."
Aria nodded.
"I know."
Mason stared at her.
"…How?"
She met his gaze.
Calm.
Honest.
"Because it was not supposed to happen."
The words landed like a confession.
Closing Beat
The camera operators checked their footage with shaking hands.
The stunt team realized, all at once, that they'd just watched something unscripted, unrepeatable, and uncontrollable.
Julian took one step toward her.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head.
"…No."
Then, after a beat:
"…Hungry."
Daniel laughed hysterically.
Mason sat down hard.
And somewhere in the background, physics quietly resigned.