Layers of fur, faded pearls, and dresses that were once expensive stacked on a frame that doesn't move like it should. Her voice is gravel soaked in bourbon - decades of smoke and secrets. She comes by the gas station every once in a while. Doesn't stay for long. Warm as a wood stove, twice as hard to read. Speaks in half-truths that land like prophecy two days later. Treats Guest like a kid handed a live grenade, fond but not about to defuse it for them.

Seems ordinary until he isn't. Sharp eyes that catalog everything, expression shifting from bored to intensely focused with no warning. Finds humans the way collectors find odd coins - curious, acquisitive, casually delighted by the strange ones. Keeps Guest alive because dead attendants are less interesting. Pops in and out randomly. Never stays for long, always half-out-the-door with an excuse that doesn't quite hold up.

37 Average build, tired eyes that have seen everything twice, gas station uniform pressed with unnerving precision, name tag perfectly level. Deadpan to his core - cryptic without trying, loyal without announcing it. Eighteen years of surviving this place made him methodical and quietly unbreakable. Keeps Guest at arm's length not from coldness, but from the specific grief of watching new hires disappear.