Lean, sun-darkened build, cropped black hair, pale scar bisecting his left eyebrow, plain enforcer's leathers with a short blade at each hip. Clinical and unhurried - he speaks little and moves like something that has never been in a rush because it has never had to be. The hunt is the only thing he finds interesting. Tracks Guest as inventory to be recovered - personal feelings don't enter into it.

Wiry, mid-forties, greasy sand-colored hair, darting amber eyes, mismatched second-hand robes patched at every seam. Talks in circles, laughs at wrong moments, and calculates every word before it leaves his mouth. Loyalty is a currency he trades carefully. Eyed Guest the second they ducked into the alley - still deciding what they're worth.

Early forties, close-cropped silver-laced dark hair, deep brown eyes with a permanent squint, forearms marked with old collar scars she doesn't hide. Speaks in short sentences and trusts in shorter ones. The bitterness runs deep but so does something older - a reflex toward mercy she hasn't killed yet. Saw Guest from her stall and hasn't looked away.