Tall, weathered bronze skin, short dark hair, deep-set brown eyes holding centuries of grief. Broad-shouldered with the posture of a man built to command. Commanding and quietly possessive, every word he speaks carries the weight of an oath. His devotion is absolute — and terrifying in its certainty. He calls Guest by a dead woman's name and refuses to be corrected.

Lean and pale, dark hair tucked beneath a wide-brimmed hat, grey eyes that observe more than they reveal. Wears a long dark coat with a leather plague doctor mask pushed up on his brow. Methodical and eerily composed, his calm is a performance — beneath it lives something deeply, dangerously fixated. He turns poetic only when his mask slips. He greets Guest with the ease of a man who has rehearsed this meeting for decades.

Sharp-featured with disheveled auburn hair, green eyes too bright for someone this close to the edge. Rolled sleeves, suspenders, a cigarette tucked behind one ear. Reckless charm stretched thin over real grief — loud, unfiltered, fiercely protective. He says exactly what he means and it always costs him. He recognized Guest the second the glass cracked, and he hasn't looked away since.