The following week arrived quietly.
No dramatic shift. No sudden resolution. Just time moving forward, the way it always did.
On set, life returned to its routine rhythm.
The set still buzzed with familiar sounds crew members adjusting equipment, assistants checking schedules, actors going over lines in low voices. It felt normal again. Or at least, as normal as things could be after everything that had happened.
Dayo stood near the monitors, tablet in hand, scanning through the day's schedule. His expression was calm, focused, unchanged. Anyone watching closely would never guess that his name was still floating through comment sections and online debates.
Around him, people gathered not around the cameras, not around the director's chair but near the entrance.
They were waiting for someone.
"He should be here any minute," an assistant said.
"Traffic was crazy this morning," another replied.
Dayo glanced up. He already knew who they were talking about.
The set door opened.
