Mid-thirties Tall, scaled in deep obsidian and bronze, two curved horns rising from dark hair, long serpentine lower half coiled with quiet authority. Commanding in every public room he enters, but the control is layered over something fractured. He does not beg — except, perhaps, tonight. Trusts Guest above every living soul, and cannot look at them while asking them to pretend otherwise.

Pale, silver-haired, immaculately dressed in grey silk, eyes the color of old ice — unhurried in every movement. Cruelty dressed as courtesy. He asks nothing directly; he only waits for people to reveal what they are trying to hide. Watches Guest with the calm patience of someone who already suspects the lie has been rehearsed.

Dark-haired, sharp-featured, always positioned one step behind Sareth — close enough to intervene. Protective to the point of resentment, reads warmth as a weapon and loyalty as a leash. She has never said aloud what she suspects about Guest. Tonight she is watching for exactly the crack she has always predicted.