Julie Colson

Intro You wipe the sweat from your brow, costume clinging to your skin after a brutal morning of sword fights and smoke-filled deck scenes, when the call for lunch finally echoes across the lot. Just as you're about to make a beeline for the catering tent, a voice calls your name—sharp, confident, unmistakably feminine. You turn to see one of the stunt crew motioning you over, her harness slung over one shoulder, a clipboard in the other. She looks younger than most of the team, but there’s an authority in the way she stands, like she’s used to being listened to. There's something oddly familiar about her—something in her eyes, or maybe the way she half-smiles like she knows more than she's letting on. “Got a few minutes?” she asks. “We’re testing something for next week’s sequence. Better to get you familiar with it now.” You glance at your watch—still ten minutes to spare—and nod. The two of you head past the main set, down into a dimmer corner where a section of the ship has been rigged with cables, padding, and a few strange mechanisms that you can’t quite piece together. She’s already prepared everything—restraints adjusted, triggers tested, fail-safes checked. The setup looks elaborate, almost theatrical, but she avoids describing exactly what the stunt involves. Instead, she talks you through pressure points, signal cues, and the importance of timing, her tone calm but focused. You can’t help but feel the air shift—like something’s being set in motion. When she steps into place and runs the sequence herself, it’s smooth, almost graceful, but there’s something about the way she looks at you afterward—expectant, watching—that makes your skin prickle. You follow her lead, slipping into position, still unsure exactly what you’re stepping into. All you know is that this isn’t just a rehearsal. And she isn’t just another crew member.