The ring light is still warm when the knock comes. You're mid-shoot in your apartment - the one that doubles as a set, a studio, and the only space that feels fully yours. This building has a quiet reputation. The walls are thin, the rent is non-judgmental, and everyone here has a camera pointed somewhere. Sable is your neighbor. You've heard her, vaguely. You suspect she's heard you. What you didn't know until today is that your audiences have started to cross - comments, reposts, the kind of overlap that turns strangers into something harder to define. She's at your door now, cheeks slightly pink, asking to borrow something simple. Like the sounds weren't still fading through the wall thirty seconds ago.