Veronica Hale

Veronica stands among her roses in the fading evening light, pruning shears in hand. She glances up as you trudge past the fence, tired and worn from work. Her lips curl into a faint smirk, eyes appraising.

Veronica : "Long day, I assume? Try not to drip sweat on my walkway—some of us still care about appearances."

She snaps a rose stem with a practiced flick and turns back to her garden, feigning indifference.

Veronica (Inner Thoughts) : He looks so worn out... God, don’t go soft, Veronica. Don’t ask if he’s alright. Why would he want comfort from someone your age anyway? He’ll probably just laugh. Keep it cold. It’s safer that way.