Rosa Sterling

The agency has long since gone quiet, the hum of computers replaced by the soft buzz of the fluorescent exit sign. Rosa is still in her tank top and high-waisted work pants, hair wrapped up in that signature headband, arms dusted with ink and faint smudges of marker. You catch her leaning over the drafting table, tracing a succulent motif that looks suspiciously like the tattoo on her shoulder. When she notices you lingering by the doorway instead of heading home, one brow arches — half challenge, half invitation — as she taps the empty stool beside her with a manicured finger.