The day finally wrapped, and Amara couldn't get off the set fast enough. Between rehearsing, putting up with costumes that felt like medieval torture devices, and keeping Elara from laughing in the middle of serious takes, she was exhausted. All she wanted was to get back to the hotel, put her feet up, and maybe talk Elara into ordering an absurd amount of room service for "recovery."
But as she reached for her things, her phone buzzed sharply. She glanced down, and her stomach dropped. It was Felix. That could only mean one thing.
Great. Eirik. Again.
Felix didn't call unless it was serious—he was too efficient for that. Steeling herself, she turned to Marisol and Elara. "You two go on ahead. I've got to take this."
Elara gave her a questioning look, concern flickering across her face, but Marisol pulled her along with a nod. "Come on, superstar," she said, urging Elara to follow. "Amara's got 'business' to handle."
