The set fell into an awkward, tense silence after Marcus scurried away.
Aestrea remained seated in the director's chair, with his legs crossed, exuding the kind of effortless authority that came naturally to someone who had spent lifetimes killing gods.
Crew members exchanged nervous glances, but no one dared speak.
The famous Aestrea Voss had always been known for his intense, sometimes terrifying focus on set, but this… this was on another level.
A few minutes later, the director, a well-known auteur named Harlan Reeves, approached cautiously, clipboard in hand and sweat already forming on his brow.
"Aestrea, thank God you're here," Harlan said, forcing a professional smile.
"We're running behind on the night scenes. The lighting is finally set, but we need you in wardrobe for the final touch-ups. The emotional climax of the film depends on this take. Are you… ready?"
Aestrea looked at him for a moment, then stood up smoothly.
"Let's get it done."
