Good Morning.veronica 【EASY】

"Please," the woman whimpered. "He said he'd call you. He said you'd come."

Outside, her phone buzzed. A text from Angela: Morning, Mom. Made you coffee. Come home. good morning.veronica

Inside, the air smelled of oil and old blood. And there, tied to a chair in the center of the grease-stained floor, was a woman. Her wrist bore no butterfly tattoo. Instead, a small rose. Fresh bruising. "Please," the woman whimpered

"The recording from the 6:45 AM tip line," Veronica said, holding out a USB drive. "I need a trace." A text from Angela: Morning, Mom

Veronica placed the drive on his desk. "Trace it, or I go to Media."

Veronica stood up, her joints protesting. Her daughter, Angela, was still asleep in the next room, her soft breathing a fragile metronome marking the distance between order and chaos. Veronica kissed her forehead without making a sound, then grabbed her coat.