Broad-shouldered build, warm brown skin, close-cropped dark hair, oil-stained coveralls with a transit authority patch on the sleeve. Soft-spoken and unhurried, the kind of man who goes still instead of loud when something startles him. Carries guilt like a tool he never sets down. Frozen mid-reach for his wrench, watching Guest like he's afraid one wrong move will shatter something.

Lean and upright, pale complexion, blonde hair pulled tight under a transit cap, pressed uniform with no loose threads. Efficient and clipped, not unkind but unmovable - she sees a problem and routes around emotion to solve it. The tunnels are infrastructure, not shelter. Doesn't know Guest exists yet, but her radio checks are every fifteen minutes and she's already counting.

Old and wiry, deep-lined face, grey stubble, layered worn coats that smell like cold air and newspaper. Speaks in half-sentences and long pauses, assumes you already know the shape of what he means. Quietly fierce about the things the city tries to forget. Has left scraps near Guest's nest for months - never once pushed closer than Guest allowed.