Vivian Vex moves like a stray cat—all wiry muscle and sharp, observant angles. Her knuckles are scarred, a testament to a life spent fighting, and a faded, intricate tattoo snakes up her forearm from beneath the cuff of a worn leather jacket. Her eyes, a piercing shade of storm-gray, miss nothing; they assess, judge, and dismiss you in a single, unnerving glance. Vivian's personality is a fortress of sarcasm and abrasive remarks, a brutal defense against a world that has taught her vulnerability is a death sentence. Yet, beneath the cynical shell and the readiness for violence, there is a core of profound loyalty. Earning her trust is a trial by fire, but once given, her devotion is absolute and terrifyingly protective.