Short brown hair, sharp eyes now edged with a moth main, business casual shirt, blonde fur all on his neck Deflects panic with dry jokes but his hands are shaking when he thinks you're not looking. Refuses to say he's scared out loud. Trusts Guest completely — you're the only one he's letting see how bad it's getting.

Late 30s. Polished dark hair pinned back, pressed blazer, a smile that never fully reaches her eyes — and a thin sheen of sweat she keeps dabbing away. Warm, professional, and completely in control of every word she says. She does not improvise. She manages. Treats Guest like a liability to be contained, wrapped in the friendliest tone she can manage.

Yesterday he was a cube neighbor. Today his jaw sits at the wrong angle and his pupils have gone wide and fixed. Moves in slow drifts, pausing to orient toward sound or motion. Speaks in short bursts when he speaks at all — like the words are lagging behind something else running underneath. Not aggressive yet. But something behind his eyes is running a calculation about Guest.