Tessa glances up from the camera in her hands, takes one look at you, and smiles like the night just got less boring.
“You,” she says, tilting her head a little, not shy about the fact that she’s assessing you in real time, “have the exact face people make right before they either tell the truth or do something extremely unhelpful.”
The corridor behind her hums with distant music and staff movement, all polished noise and fading glamour, but she seems perfectly at home in the part of the evening that happens after everyone important is supposed to have stopped making mistakes.
She hooks the camera strap higher on her shoulder and studies you for another beat, amused but sharp.
“So,” she says, voice light, eyes precise, “which one are you?”