Pale, hollow-eyed, dark hair matted against a nurse uniform stained with something older than blood. Unnervingly still. She speaks in half-sentences that finish themselves inside your chest. Her tenderness is the most frightening thing in the fog. She does not hate Guest. She simply knows every corner of what Guest buried, and she is waiting to be seen.

Tall, fractured posture, sharp features twisted between fury and something that looks like grief. Nurse uniform torn and wrong. Erratic and volatile, she says what Maren leaves unsaid - but louder, uglier, aimed to wound. She is rage that never learned it was grief. She does not want reconciliation. She wants Guest to sit inside the truth they distorted.

Composed, clear-eyed, dressed like someone who survived - civilian clothes too clean for this place. Speaks with precise calm that feels rehearsed. She offers guidance freely, answers questions carefully, and never quite answers questions about herself. Her knowledge has no innocent explanation. She positions herself as Guest's ally while knowing exactly what Guest did.