The morning after the shoot, the office was unrecognizable. The chaos of lights and lenses had vanished, replaced with the hushed concentration of editors and designers poring over drafts. The air smelled faintly of coffee, ink, and deadlines, sharp and steady.
On the long conference table, contact sheets spilled like cards in a high-stakes game. Pages of transcript lay marked in Sofia's neat, color-coded handwriting. Joan sat at the head of the table with her laptop, clicking through mock-ups, sunglasses perched like a crown. Damien floated from corner to corner, lifting photographs toward the ceiling as though waiting for divine revelation.
"This one," Damien declared, stabbing at a black-and-white shot where Anita leaned forward, gaze direct, jaw tight. "It's power. It's intimacy. It'
