Page 14 of The Drama King

"I—I cannot say," I managed, staying in character despite the way my pulse quickened.

"Were you surprised when you discovered his lechery?" Corvus stepped closer, using his height and Alpha presence to maximum intimidating effect. "Surprised to find that your husband was not the man you believed?"

The questions continued, each one delivered with increasing intensity, Corvus masterfully blending Danforth's judicial authority with his own Alpha dominance. He circled me as he spoke, forcing me to track his movement, keeping me off balance and reactive.

But something strange happened as we worked through the scene. Despite the psychological pressure, despite his obvious attempts to break my composure, I found myself rising to meet his performance. Elizabeth's strength became my strength, her refusal to be cowed translating into my own determination not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me crack.

"I know my husband," I said, injecting steel into Elizabeth's voice. "Whatever he may have done, I know his heart."

Corvus paused mid-stride, thrown off by my unflinching response.

"Your husband confessed to lechery," he pressed, returning to the script but maintaining that dangerous intensity. "Do you doubt his confession?"

"If my husband confessed, then... then he confessed," I replied, finding my footing in Elizabeth's impossible position. "But I know him to be a good man."

"Good?" Corvus's laugh was cold, calculated. "He used you, manipulated your affections, made you complicit in his deception. And still you defend him?"

We'd moved away from the script now, I realized. This was no longer Cruz's dialogue but Corvus's own psychological warfare, using the scene as a vehicle for more personal attacks.

"I know what's in his heart," I repeated, refusing to break character or acknowledge his manipulation. "And I know what's in mine."

The standoff stretched between us, two wills clashing across the small studio. Gradually, Corvus's expression shifted to cool appraisal.

"Interesting," he murmured, stepping back and allowing the scene's tension to dissipate. "Most people crumble under sustained pressure. You find strength in it."

I set down my script with hands that trembled only slightly. "Elizabeth Proctor is one of literature's strongest female characters. She deserves to be played with full commitment."

"Indeed." He studied me with new interest, as if recalculating some internal assessment. "You bring natural instincts to the role that many trained actors struggle to achieve."

The compliment was unexpected and more unsettling than his earlier intimidation. I couldn't tell if he genuinely appreciated my work or was setting another trap.

"We should work through the emotional transitions," I said, trying to redirect us back to legitimate scene work. "Elizabeth's arc from terror to determination to heartbreak is complex."

"Agreed." He resumed his seat, his manner shifting to something approaching professional collaboration. "Though I'd argue her most challenging moment isn't the interrogation itself but the final choice. Whether to lie to save John or tell the truth and damn him."

We spent the next hour working through the scene's technical elements. Blocking, emotional beats, character motivations. Corvus proved to be a skilled scene partner when he focused on the actual craft, bringing insights that challenged me to dig deeper into Elizabeth's psychology.

But I never forgot that this was all part of a larger campaign, that every moment of apparent collaboration could be turned against me later. When he offered genuine acting notes, I had to wonder if he was setting up ways to undermine my performance in front of the professor. When he praised my interpretation, I questioned whether he was gathering intelligence on my vulnerabilities.

"I think that's enough for today," I finally said as we reached a natural stopping point. "We've established the basic framework."

"Indeed we have." Corvus stood, gathering his materials with characteristic precision. "I must say, you're a more resilient scene partner than I anticipated."

"Thank you," I replied carefully, unsure whether the comment was meant as a compliment or a threat.

"One more thing," he said as I reached for the door. His voice carried a note of casual menace that made my skin prickle. "Professor De Scarzis will be evaluating not just our individual performances but our partnership dynamic. How well we work together, support each other's choices, create believable intimacy..."

The word hung in the air between us, loaded with implication.

"I'm sure we'll manage professional collaboration," I said firmly.

"Oh, I'm counting on it." His smile was sharp-edged. "After all, Elizabeth's entire arc depends on her relationship with the men who hold power over her. The audience needs to believe she'struly vulnerable to them, truly at their mercy. It won't work if you hold back."

With that parting shot, he left, leaving me alone in the studio with my racing heart and the uncomfortable certainty that our scene study sessions were going to be far more challenging than any academic assignment should be.

As I left the studio, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirrored wall. My cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with adrenaline, posture still carrying Elizabeth's determined defiance. I looked like someone who'd been through an ordeal but emerged intact.

Whether that appearance was strength or simply the calm before a much worse storm remained to be seen.