Ink & Crown

Chapter 71 – The Usual Process

The silence lingered for a moment after Taren’s words, but it no longer felt as heavy as before.

Eiran leaned back slightly, the earlier tension easing now that something had finally been said, something that felt… settled.

Taren picked up his utensil again, finishing what was left on his plate without hurry. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then, as if deciding to leave the earlier topic where it was, Taren glanced up at him.

“That’s enough about the book,” he said. “How are things going for you?”

Eiran blinked. “For me?”

Taren nodded. “Your acting.”

There was a brief pause.

Eiran let out a small breath, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, though there was a hint of bitterness in it.

“Same as always,” he said. “You already know how it is.”

Taren didn’t interrupt.

Eiran continued, his tone casual at first, but it didn’t stay that way for long.

“Still doing extra roles,” he said. “Small background parts, side work on sets… whatever I can get.”

He gave a small shrug.

“I just try to stay around as much as possible. Watch how things work. Learn what I can.”

His fingers tapped lightly against the table, unconsciously.

“But actually getting noticed…” he added, trailing off slightly. “That’s the hard part.”

Taren remained quiet, letting him speak.

Eiran let out a short breath, a faint frustration slipping through now.

“There are too many people,” he said. “Everyone wants the same thing. Even for the smallest roles, there are dozens… sometimes hundreds trying for it.”

He shook his head slightly.

“And half of them are already better prepared, or have connections, or just… get lucky.”

There was no anger in his voice, just tired honesty.

“I keep trying,” he said. “I do whatever I can on set. Help out, observe, pick things up… but it still feels like I’m just standing in the same place.”

The words came a little faster now, as if they had been sitting there for a while.

“Some days it feels like I’m getting closer,” he added. “Then the next day, it’s back to nothing again.”

He let out a quiet breath and leaned back slightly.

For a moment, the room fell silent again.

Then Eiran blinked, as if realizing something.

“…Sorry,” he said, a small, awkward smile forming. “I didn’t mean to just dump all that on you.”

A faint laugh escaped him.

Taren looked at him for a moment, then let out a quiet chuckle of his own.

“It’s fine,” he said. “If you can’t say it here, where will you say it?”

Eiran smiled a little at that, the tension easing.

Taren leaned back slightly.

“Just don’t let your mother hear all of that at once,” he added. “You’ll worry her.”

Eiran nodded. “Yeah… I know.”

There was a brief pause.

Then Taren’s expression softened slightly, though his tone remained steady.

“Don’t give up on it,” he said.

Eiran looked up.

“Whatever you’re doing now,” Taren continued, “keep at it.”

His gaze remained on him.

“It’s not easy. It won’t be for a while.”

He paused briefly, then added,

“But that doesn’t mean it won’t work.”

Eiran didn’t say anything.

Taren continued, calmly,

“You said it yourself. You’re learning, you’re staying around it, you’re trying.”

A small pause.

“That matters.”

Eiran held his gaze.

“And even if it gets frustrating sometimes,” Taren said, “even if you feel like stopping… don’t.”

His voice didn’t rise.

It didn’t need to.

“Push through it.”

The words were simple.

But they carried weight.

“I’ll support you as long as you’re willing to keep going,” he added.

Eiran’s expression shifted slightly.

There was no immediate reply.

Just a quiet understanding.

He nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” he said. “I will.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Eiran looked down briefly, his thoughts drifting.

There wasn’t much he could say in return.

Taren had already done more than enough for him and his mother over the years. Supported them, helped them through things he didn’t even fully understand at the time.

There wasn’t really a way to repay that.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

That was why, when he had found the book…

A faint smile formed at the corner of his mouth.

At least this time, he thought, I might be able to help him.

He didn’t say it out loud.

He didn’t need to.

Taren finished his meal and set the utensil aside.

The conversation had settled again.

He glanced at the table, then back at Eiran.

“I’ll clean this up,” he said. “You should get some sleep. It’s getting late.”

Eiran shook his head immediately. “I’ll do it,” he said, already reaching for the plates. “You go. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

There was a small grin on his face as he said it.

Taren looked at him for a moment, then pointed at him lightly, a faint laugh escaping.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Don’t take all night.”

He paused briefly, then added, “Finish up and go to sleep.”

Eiran nodded. “I will.”

Taren turned and took a few steps toward his room before stopping slightly.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Uncle.”

Morning came quietly.

By the time Taren stepped out, the streets were already beginning to fill, the steady rhythm of the city returning as if nothing had paused at all. Vendors were setting up their stalls, workers moved with purpose, and the familiar flow of routine settled back into place.

Taren walked through it without distraction, his pace steady and his expression unchanged, though his thoughts were already ahead of him.

When he reached the building, the front entrance had just been opened for the day.

Greyford Publishing was not large by any measure. The structure was modest, built more for function than appearance, with tall windows that let in enough light to keep the space active even in its quieter hours. Near the entrance, a small plaque bore the company’s name, its edges worn slightly from years of use.

Inside, the air carried the faint scent of paper and ink.

A few early staff members were already present, moving through their routines without much conversation. One of them glanced up as Taren entered, gave a brief nod, then returned to their work. Taren acknowledged it with a slight tilt of his head and continued in.

His desk remained as he had left it.

Stacks of manuscripts were arranged in a way that only he seemed to fully understand, with notes placed between pages and markers indicating sections that needed attention. To anyone else, it might have looked like clutter. To him, it was structure.

He set his bag down, took his seat, and reached for the top stack.

For a while, he worked as he always did, reading, marking, and adjusting without pause. As more people arrived, the quiet of the early hour gradually gave way to a low hum of activity. Conversations began in short bursts, chairs shifted, and papers moved from one desk to another.

At some point, a junior editor approached his desk, holding a thin stack of papers.

“Taren,” he called lightly.

Taren looked up.

“Could you take a look at this when you get a moment? I’m not sure about the pacing in the middle section.”

Taren glanced at the manuscript, then gave a small nod. “Leave it.”

“Thanks,” the man said, placing it carefully on the corner of the desk before stepping away.

It wasn’t unusual.

More often than not, the work found its way to him one way or another.

Taren didn’t comment. He adjusted the stack slightly and returned to what he had been doing.

Time passed.

Another editor walked by, picking up a manuscript from a nearby desk and flipping through it briefly.

“This one’s decent,” he said casually to someone else. “Might push it forward later.”

Taren didn’t look up.

He didn’t need to.

He had already read it, made notes on it, and suggested revisions.

The conversation moved on.

So did the credit.

Nothing new.

His pen continued to move steadily across the page, line by line, until it paused.

Only for a moment.

His gaze shifted slightly, not toward anything in front of him, but toward something he no longer needed to see.

A Study in Scarlet.

It wasn’t on his desk, but it didn’t need to be. He could recall it clearly, the structure, the control, the consistency. It stood apart, not by demanding attention, but by keeping it from slipping.

Taren leaned back slightly.

The manuscript in front of him no longer carried the same weight.

He closed it and set it aside.

This couldn’t go through the usual process.

The thought settled without resistance.

His gaze moved toward the inner section of the office, where decisions were made, where things were approved, and where they were often simplified into something easier to process.

He already knew how this would go if he followed the same path.

Submission, review, standard terms.

And then…

He stopped the thought there.

Reaching for a clean sheet, Taren began to write again, not for corrections this time, but for structure. He outlined what mattered, what needed to be said, and what could not be overlooked. He did not rush it. Each line served a purpose.

When he was done, he read through it once, then set it aside neatly.

By then, the office had filled out, voices clearer, movement more frequent as the day settled fully into place.

Taren stood, the paper still in his hand.

He did not hesitate.

That alone was enough to draw attention.

At this hour, he was usually still at his desk, working through whatever had been left unfinished, moving from one manuscript to the next without pause until the day forced him to stop.

Today, he wasn’t.

A few heads turned as he stepped away.

The shift was subtle at first, a glance here, a pause there, but it didn’t take long for the change to spread.

“Where’s he going?” someone murmured quietly.

“Chief’s office?” another replied, not bothering to lower his voice much.

“At this time?”

A faint chuckle followed.

As Taren walked past one of the desks, a voice called out lightly.

“Found something good?”

He didn’t stop.

“If it’s something worth pushing,” the same voice continued, “I can take it up for you.”

Another voice joined in almost immediately.

“Yeah, leave it to us. No need to trouble yourself.”

A few quiet laughs spread through the room.

It wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

Taren didn’t react.

He had heard it before.

More times than he cared to count.

He continued walking, his pace unchanged.

The voices faded behind him, though the tone remained the same, light on the surface, something else underneath.

Near the far end of the room, two of the newer staff members glanced up from their desks.

The young man hesitated slightly, as if about to say something, then leaned a little closer instead.

“They do this every time,” he muttered under his breath.

Beside him, the young woman’s expression tightened for a brief moment.

“He’s the one who helps everyone,” she said quietly. “Even us.”

The young man gave a small nod.

“And they still treat him like that.”

She glanced briefly toward Taren’s back as he walked away.

“He never says anything.”

“That’s why they keep doing it,” he replied just as quietly.

There was a short pause.

The young woman lowered her gaze again.

“Still…” she said, softer now. “It’s not right.”

The young man didn’t respond immediately, then gave a faint nod.

“Yeah.”

They fell silent after that.

There wasn’t much they could do.

Taren passed them without slowing, the paper still held steady in his hand.

The corridor leading to the inner offices was quieter.

The noise from the main floor softened behind him with each step.

Ahead, the door to the chief editor’s office stood closed.

Taren stopped in front of it for a brief moment.

Then he raised his hand and knocked.