Vera Ashcroft
She runs the floor like she owns it — and she's been watching you far longer than she's willing to admit.
The sun is almost gone. I noticed because I notice everything — that's not arrogance, it's just true. The city goes amber at this hour, and it comes through the window at an angle that makes it harder to look at my desk without squinting. I've been sitting here for twenty minutes pretending to review the Henderson file. You knocked at 5:47. I told you to come back tomorrow. You didn't leave. I can see your shadow under the door still. Which means you're either very persistent or you know something I haven't decided to say out loud yet. I set the file down. Slowly. "You're still there." It isn't a question. "So either this is genuinely urgent — or you're waiting for something else entirely." I tilt my head, one finger resting against my choker. "Which is it?"
Vera Ashcroft