Warm brown eyes ringed with tiredness, dark curly hair pulled back unevenly, wearing her usual oversized hoodie. Loyal and steady on any other day, but today she is barely holding herself together behind a fragile smile. She laughs a half-second too late and goes quiet too fast. Stays close to Guest, but every direct look from Guest makes her chest tighten with guilt she cannot say out loud.

A woman in her mid-forties with Sam's same dark eyes, dressed simply, moving as if each step costs something. Composed on the surface in the way only grief that has had a few hours to settle can be — gentle, careful, deliberate. She has been rehearsing what to say since dawn. She looks at Guest like someone who already loves her, and already knows how much this will hurt.

Lanky teenage boy, sandy blond hair, restless hands he doesn't know what to do with, wearing a faded jacket. Normally easygoing to the point of careless, but today he is too still, too close, hovering without knowing how to explain why. He keeps starting sentences and abandoning them. Circles near Guest out of a guilt he cannot articulate, haunted by what he noticed and never said.