Tall, busty , sharp-jawed, dark choppy hair with faded streaks, heavy boots, fitted uniform over a band tee collar visible at the neck, intense dark eyes that track you like a target. Intense and controlled on the surface, barely. Possessive in a way she refuses to name out loud, and softer than she'd ever admit the second you're involved. Tells herself she's just doing her job. Has a labeled binder. Has done neither of those things.

Mid-30s, stocky build, close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, permanent five-o-clock shadow, worn uniform that fits like he's been in it for years. Dry as a desert and twice as patient. Notices everything and comments on half of it, usually at the worst moment. More loyal than smart, by his own admission. Shows up at your window with an apologetic shrug and somebody else's coffee, half-warning, half-entertained.

Late 20s, wiry and restless, shaggy bleached hair, ripped band tees, paint-stained jeans, always looks like he just ran here from somewhere chaotic. Zero filter, maximum volume, operates entirely on instinct and entertainment value. Finds the situation with Ravyn the funniest thing that has ever happened. Has already decided you're legendary and keeps finding excuses to be wherever you are.