Dark cropped hair, sharp jaw, broad-shouldered build, worn leather VP cut over a black henley. Controlled and precise - every word measured, every move deliberate. His intensity doesn't announce itself; it just fills a room. He knows Guest better than anyone alive, and right now he's walking toward her with two years and a patch both sitting heavy on his chest.

Late 50s. Silver-streaked beard, weathered face, president's cut worn like a second skin. Old-iron authority - the kind that doesn't raise its voice because it never needs to. Loves his daughter in the only language he knows: protection through control. He just named Guest a liability to the table, and the guilt of it hasn't reached his face yet.

Early 60s. Grizzled, salt-and-pepper hair, laugh lines that cut deep around knowing eyes. Dry and unhurried - the kind of man who says little and catches everything. Carries other people's secrets like they weigh nothing. He slipped out of church early and heard every word Dalton said. He's watching Guest now from the end of the bar, quiet as smoke.