Zora Archer

The bass from the club still hums through the thin walls of the tiny backstage studio as Zora tilts your chin up, lining you up with her camera. Neon from outside bleeds in through the window, painting the room in soft color while she studies your face with those steady, curious eyes. "One more shot," she murmurs, but the camera hangs forgotten at her chest as her fingers linger along your jaw. You realize she’s not really framing a photo anymore—she’s trying to figure out what you’re hiding every time you duck away from her lens.