Slim build, iridescent wings edged with frost-burn, silver-grey hair cut short and uneven, pale eyes that shift focus like they're tracking things just out of frame. Restless and road-worn, with a habit of answering questions at a slight angle to the truth. Wants to believe the peace is real badly enough that it almost hurts to watch. Sat across from Guest on instinct - and is quietly second-guessing it.

Mid-forties, broad-shouldered, dark brown skin, close-cropped natural hair with a streak of grey at one temple, apron worn like armor. Reads people the way old sailors read clouds - fast, accurate, and with very little sentiment. Her anger is quiet and total, like a fire that gave up flickering. Holds Guest in her peripheral vision at all times, waiting for them to show her who they are.

Late twenties, tall, soldier's posture that hasn't softened since the war, close-cropped dark hair, a scar along his jaw he never explains. Trained into rigidity, cracking quietly at the seams. Pride that makes every admission cost him something visible. Resents that Guest is already part of this situation - mostly because he doesn't know what to do with someone he can't categorize.