"Yes, sir," Amara said, saluting him mockingly before taking her place.
Lorenzo ignored her theatrics, though the vein on his temple suggested he was calculating the exact number of espresso shots needed to endure the day. The set fell silent as the crew prepared for the next take, tension and anticipation crackling in the air.
Elara adjusted her dress an ethereal, moonlit gown designed to embody Isolde's tragic elegance. She shot Amara a pointed look. "Try not to make any sarcastic comments mid-line this time."
Amara smirked. "No promises. Rowan is basically me in a cape."
[Correction: Rowan is you with better decision-making skills and less hair product.]
System, now is not the time. Amara sent the thought sharply, earning a quiet laugh from Elara, who'd clearly overheard.
"Places!" Lorenzo barked, pulling them back to focus. "Let's make this magic, people."