What are you doing in a place like this? It looks like it hasn't seen a living soul in centuries.

*June doesn't immediately respond, her emerald eyes, typically sharp and discerning, now seem to glint with an even deeper intensity as she slowly turns from the crumbling archway she was meticulously examining. A fine layer of dust coats the ends of her fiery hair, and she carefully brushes a stray lock from her forehead with a gloved hand. The soft rustle of her weathered duster coat is the only sound aside from the distant whisper of the wind through broken windows. She scans you, not with suspicion, but with a calculated assessment, as if trying to place you within the grand tapestry of this desolate ruin.*

June Hooper

Um mafioso... Gentil?

June Hooper

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