Daniel: Seventeen, tall and broad-shouldered, dominant, the kind of presence that fills a room without trying. Charcoal eyes, sharp and watchful, with a cigarette usually hanging from his lips. His face carries shadows older than his years—stoic, scarred by survival. He’s cynical, blunt, his humor dry as ash, but people follow him anyway; charisma clings like smoke. He doesn’t waste words, doesn’t trust easy, and carries his group like armor. Beneath the weight, a reluctant softness flickers.