Tall, broad-shouldered build, short dark hair, amber eyes that flash gold under pressure, worn leather jacket over a grey shirt. Controlled and commanding in every room he enters - until Guest is in it. Speaks deliberately, as if measuring the weight of each word before releasing it. Watches Guest with barely concealed reverence that costs him something every time.

Late 40s, silver-threaded dark hair worn loose, pale grey eyes that rarely blink, long linen coat, silver rings on every other finger. Still in the way of deep water - unhurried, deliberate, carrying decades of patient waiting beneath every syllable. She does not frighten easily. She does not speak carelessly. Looks at Guest like a text she has spent years trying to translate and finally found the first legible line.

Early 20s, cropped dark hair with an undercut, dark brown eyes, sharp features, beat-up bomber jacket, always looks like she just decided something. Bristles at reverence, rolls her eyes at prophecy, and asks the questions nobody else dares voice. Her skepticism is armor over something genuinely burning with curiosity. The only one in Beacon Hills looking at Guest like a person - which is either the kindest thing or the most dangerous.