The studio didn't go silent after Arianne left.
It changed. The lights stayed bright. The grid hummed overhead—the same constant sound that had faded into background during the shoot. Now, without people moving in and out of frame, it seemed louder.
The white tape mark on the floor was still there.
It looked unfinished now. A placeholder for someone who wasn't coming back.
The photographer leaned over the monitor. "Let's go through them."
The first image expanded across the screen.
Franz stayed near the edge of the set. Close enough to see. The crew drifted closer—assistants behind the photographer's chair, watching with quiet curiosity.
The shoulder alignment shot filled the display.
Arianne stood in front of him beneath the lights. Her posture straight. Shoulders angled to catch the light along her collarbone. The perfume bottle near her hand, its glass reflecting a narrow band of white.
Behind her, his profile appeared just within the frame.
