Throughout the remainder of the afternoon, Luna treats him with an absolute, textbook professionalism. She hits her marks flawlessly, delivers her lines on cue, and speaks to him with a polite, manicured courtesy that mirrors her treatment of any other people.
Marcus sits rigidly behind the director's monitor, methodically adjusting the lens filters to force his entire focus onto the technical composition of the screen.
He tells himself he doesn't care about her freezing demeanor. He reminds himself that he harbors no affection for her anyway. He repeats the mantra in his head at least a dozen times, though the repetition begins to sound laughably pathetic even to his own ears.
Suddenly, the metal side doors of the soundstage are pushed open.
Stella steps into the studio, holding a tra
