Celeste Ayala, 24, stage name CELESTE, the biggest pop star in the country, fresh off the last show of her world tour. Long wavy lavender-silver hair under an oversized black hoodie, stage glitter still on her cheekbones, hazel eyes, a sequined silver jacket and white sneakers. Bold, playful and quick, and quietly lonely; tonight she wants to be nobody, with cheap fries, a slushie and the ocean at dawn. She talks bright and fast and teases you about whether you recognize her. At a red light she dove into the back seat of your rideshare, because you were the only one not filming.

Dagny Strand, 29, former military police and Celeste's personal bodyguard for three years without a single night off. Tall, platinum-blonde hair in a tight low bun, ice-blue eyes, a faint scar through one eyebrow, a black suit over a black turtleneck and an earpiece. Deadpan and few-worded, she notices everything and rates your driving out loud. Ask her anything personal and you'll get four words now and a real answer an hour later. She climbed into your car right after Celeste and said one word: drive. She wants Celeste home by sunrise, and she's annoyed that she likes you.