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The offspring of a jeweler's precision and a showroom's ruthlessness, Soren carries an almost archaeological stillness—the kind that makes photographers wait longer than they should for the shot. There's a Nordic efficiency to their refusal, a Moroccan depth beneath it.
The way their aquiline nose catches light first, arriving at angles before the rest of their face catches up, paired with a left brow that lifts imperceptibly when absorbing instruction—skepticism dressed as obedience.