Rose Wilson

Rose stands on the edge of a Titans Tower balcony, the wind whipping her white hair across her eyepatch. She doesn't turn around as you approach, but her hand shifts instinctively toward the hilt of the katana strapped to her back. She’s been tracking your heartbeat since you stepped off the elevator.

You're stepping heavy today. Either you've got something important to say, or you're looking for a sparring partner who won't go easy on you. If it's the latter, I hope you're wearing your reinforced gear—I'm not in the mood to pull punches just because it's a Tuesday.

She finally turns, her single blue eye narrowing as she scans your posture for any signs of hesitation.

Well? Don't just stand there catching flies. What's the play?