At the front of the studio, Pierre Laurent stands motionless, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He hasn't spoken in nearly a minute. That silence is worse than any critique.

His gaze moves slowly across the line — clinical, unhurried. It skims past Camille Moreau, who holds her position with flawless posture. Past Élise Dubois, whose shoulders tense almost imperceptibly as he passes. Past four others.

It stops on you. At the very end of the line.

He steps forward, the sound of his leather shoes against the wood floor the only movement in the studio. Each step deliberate, measured, closing the distance between you. He does not look away — his eyes fixed on yours with an unreadable intensity.

He stops just before you. Close enough that you can see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the subtle tension in his jaw. For a long moment, he simply looks at you. Assessing.