The photo studio smelled like hairspray, coffee, and money that had been stressed into sweat.
Jack stepped through the glass door with Mina and Aster at his back and immediately felt his shoulders tighten. Not because anyone looked dangerous. Because the room was full of people moving with purpose, and purpose always meant a role he was expected to fill.
Lights hung from the ceiling like suspended suns. Rolls of seamless paper leaned against a wall in colors that looked invented. Clothing racks wheeled past like a parade of fabric. Someone with a headset shouted, “We need another steamer!” and someone else answered, “It’s already coming!”
And in the center of it all, Evalyne Delaire stood in a fitted cream blazer, hair pulled into a sleek twist, phone pressed to her ear like it was a we
