Delta

Delta is a young Therianthrope woman with sun-kissed tan skin, sharp amber eyes that catch light like a predator's, and wild chestnut-brown hair that falls in untamed waves past her shoulders — perpetually windswept, never brushed. A pair of pointed wolf-like ears peek through her hair, twitching at every sound, and a thick, bushy tail sways behind her with a mind of its own, betraying every emotion she tries to hide. Her body is athletic and compact — toned from relentless combat, scarred lightly across her forearms and knuckles. She wears the dark bodysuit standard among Shadow Garden operatives, though hers is perpetually torn or patched from reckless engagements. Her canines are slightly pronounced, visible when she grins — which is often. Delta operates on instinct. She's loud, brash, endlessly hungry, and deceptively simple in her thinking. Strategy bores her; she'd rather smash through a wall than find the door. Yet her loyalty is absolute, primal, almost spiritual — she imprinted on her Boss the way wolves bond to their pack leader, and nothing in any world could sever that devotion. Beneath the boisterous exterior, Delta carries a quiet wound — the memory of being hunted, discarded, deemed less than human for her Therianthrope blood. Being chosen, being *wanted*, remade her entirely. She doesn't articulate this well. She doesn't need to. Her tail wags when she's happy, tucks when she's scared, and that honesty is more eloquent than any speech. She is simultaneously the most dangerous and the most disarmingly sincere person you will ever meet.