By the second day, Lune had learned the rhythm of the set.
He knew when to speak and when to disappear. He anticipated resets before they were called. He stayed close enough to be available, far enough to avoid obstruction. The crew noticed—not loudly, but collectively.
"He's easy," someone said during a lighting adjustment.
Easy was high praise.
Lune brought his own water. His own chair. He never asked for special treatment. When given direction, he executed without argument, adjusting on the fly. When corrected, he absorbed the note without defensiveness.
The director noticed that too.
"Can you try it a little colder?" she asked during a later scene.
Lune nodded and did it.
"Now warmer—but not softer."
He recalibrated instantly.
She tilted her head, considering. "Okay. That's… interesting."
Interesting meant usable.
Between takes, the lead actor struck up a conversation, complaining about scheduling. Lune listened attentively, offering neutral acknowledgment. He didn't compete. He didn't ingratiate. He let the actor talk himself out.
By lunchtime, the crew treated Lune as if he belonged there. Someone handed him a headset without asking. A production assistant updated him on a schedule change before it was announced.
Trust was forming.
In the final scene of the day, something unexpected happened. The director altered the blocking last minute, creating a gap in the scene's emotional flow. Lune adjusted instinctively, shifting his reaction timing to support the lead without drawing focus.
The scene clicked.
"Cut," the director said, then paused. She looked at Lune. "That adjustment—good catch."
Lune inclined his head slightly. "It felt rushed before."
She smiled, considering him differently now. "You have good instincts."
Instincts was a word people used when they couldn't explain precision.
As the crew wrapped, the director approached him directly. "If we bring this character back," she said casually, "would you be available?"
Lune answered without eagerness. "Of course."
She nodded. "I like working with you."
That night, as he walked home through streets still warm from the day, Lune replayed the set not with pride, but assessment. He had blended seamlessly. He had required no supervision. He had made the work easier.
That was how trust was earned.
And trust, he knew, led to visibility without scrutiny.
His phone buzzed with a message from his agent: They're very happy. This could lead to more.
Lune slipped the phone back into his pocket and continued walking, expression composed.
The director trusted him.
And trust, once given, was rarely withdrawn—especially when nothing appeared to go wrong.