Brandon's POV
The studio was nothing like I'd imagined.
From the moment Seth and I stepped inside, the place swallowed me whole with its buzzing energy. The hum of machines, the shuffle of hurried footsteps, and the low murmur of voices came together like an unpleasant soundtrack. Studio lights hung like suspended suns, hot and glaring, their sharp beams scattering across the room. The glare bounced off everything — the glossy tiled floor polished to a mirror shine, the camera stands with wires curling across the ground like snakes, and the massive backdrop pulled tight against the wall, a sheet of pure white that seemed intent on erasing every shadow in the room.
The place smelled faintly of hairspray and fresh coffee. Voices overlapped from every corner — assistants calling out for props, a photographer adjusting his lens, someone wheeling in a rack of suits that still had tags fluttering from the sleeves.
