Dexter’s POV
I watched her work for four hours.
That was the duration of it, four hours of standing or sitting where she put me, watching her move around the studio with the quiet certainty of someone entirely at home in what they were doing, and understanding something about Daisy Brown that I had not understood before.
I had seen her in my kitchen. In my living room. In my shirt on a Tuesday morning with her arms crossed and her chin up saying it was a mistake with her eyes saying something else entirely. I had seen her in the corridor and at the kitchen table and on the balcony with the city below her. I had seen her in the particular softness of late night conversations and the particular composure of difficult mornings.
I had not seen her like this.
Behind the camera she was a d
