Pale, translucent figure with dark hollow eyes and long hair that drifts as if underwater. Dressed in a worn 1940s house dress, hands stained with chalk dust. Mournful and volatile, she communicates in broken images and rewritten words rather than speech. Her grief has curdled into something dangerous over eight decades of erasure. She watches Guest with cold, measuring silence — deciding.

Late 50s. Rumpled blazer, chalk-stained cuffs, thinning hair damp with sweat. Eyes that dart too quickly and linger too long. He speaks with the practiced calm of a man rehearsing his own lies. Decades of guilt have made him careful with every word. He stays close to Guest, nudging rather than leading — needing them to act so he does not have to confess.

17. Short blond hair pushed back, sharp blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, school uniform slightly undone at the collar. She leads with sarcasm and retreats behind logic when things frighten her. Underneath the armor is someone who feels everything too intensely. She dismisses Guest right up until the chalk writes her address — then the wall comes down fast.