For a few seconds after the director lowered the phone, nothing stopped.
The photographer was still bent over the monitor, scrolling through exposure settings. A lighting technician stood on a ladder near the ceiling, tightening a clamp. Near the wardrobe rack, the stylist brushed invisible lint from a pale silk dress.
Everyone assumed the call was about traffic. A delay. A revised arrival time.
But the director didn't return the phone. He stood near the edge of the set, listening, his gaze drifting across the studio.
Franz saw it first.
From the makeup chair beneath the main lighting rig, he had a clear view. He watched the director's face change. Not dramatically. But the lines near his eyes tightened.
The director nodded once. Then lowered the phone.
The production assistant waited.
The director handed it back. Said nothing.
The photographer glanced up. "Everything alright?"
The director exhaled. "Not exactly."
The rhythm of the room shifted.
