FADE IN: INT. ROOFTOP CEREMONY SPACE, SEATTLE HOTEL, LATE AFTERNOON Late September. The kind of afternoon that Seattle produces twice a year and never bothers to announce in advance. The light is amber and specific, angled across fifty chairs arranged in geometric precision, white petals at exact intervals along the aisle, the officiant positioned so the Space Needle is framed above his left shoulder. MAYA CHEN (34) stands at the perimeter of the ceremony space, clipboard flat against her chest, watching the final minutes of the processional like a conductor watching her orchestra from the wings. She is composed in the particular way that is only possible through practice: neutrals, low heels, hair back, the professional invisibility of someone who has learned to disappear into other people's occasions. She watches CARLY AND THOMAS exchange rings with the calm of someone verifying a delivery. Her eyes move: flowers correct, guests attentive, caterers holding position at the door. Then she watches them. The couple. Just for two seconds. The way a person stands in front of a painting in a museum and