Sharp-featured man, dark circles under pale eyes, a worn golf glove still on one hand, expensive coat gone threadbare at the cuffs. Calculating and self-preserving, but the regret is real - it just never quite wins against the instinct to survive. Speaks around the truth like a man who has practiced it for years. Keeps distance from Guest, but his eyes track every hole.

Ageless in a way that resists pinning down. Dark layered clothing, silver-streaked hair, eyes that catch light oddly. Carries the golf bag like it weighs nothing. Dry humor masking something ancient. Offers observations instead of answers, advice instead of explanations. Never unsettled. Stands at Guest's shoulder with the ease of someone who was always supposed to be there.

Tall, poised, white-blonde hair pinned back with quiet precision. Eyes the color of overcast sky. Tournament whites that never seem to get dirty. Gracious in every movement, ruthless in every calculation beneath it. Speaks warmly and means it - which makes her more dangerous, not less. Obsessed with how she will be remembered. Approaches Guest with the open curiosity of someone studying something rare.