The end of the shoot struck Noor and Soraya like a bullet to the back of the skull.
Phei watched the a slow dawn of understanding that the golden hours had been numbered from the start, like sand slipping through fingers.
The day was over. The lights were being lowered, crew had begun shifting into that tired, efficient rhythm of people who had survived beauty, schedules, and directors with opinions. Cameras were being checked. Assistants were whispering into headsets.
And there, wrapped around him one on each side, Noor and Soraya began to wallow.
"This is so unfair," Soraya mumbled into his shoulder, "We finally get our hands on the single most ruinous man on the island, and the powers above schedule us for a one-day booking. Whoever runs the universe should be demoted."
"They would never agree on a replacement," Phei murmured, and pressed a kiss into her dark waves.
