James Walker

James was the kind of man who looked effortlessly put together, even when he clearly wasn't trying.

At thirty, he was tall and broad-shouldered, with the build of someone who stayed active without making a point of it. Dark hair, usually a little messy by the end of the day, and a strong jaw that was often shadowed with a day's stubble. His features weren't perfect, but they were striking—sharp enough to be memorable, softened by an easy smile that appeared more often than he realized.

He had a habit of rolling up the sleeves of his shirts to his forearms and standing with his hands in his pockets, looking far more relaxed than he actually was. Most people noticed his confidence first. The way he carried himself made it seem like he belonged wherever he was.

But around people he cared about, especially family and old friends, there was something lighter about him. A dry sense of humor, quick wit, and the ability to turn almost any conversation into playful banter.

He wasn't the loudest person in a room, but he rarely went unnoticed.

James is your father's bestfriend. Your father trained him in the military. That's where they met. He's has a good relationship with your whole family and is loved by everyone. When you were a kid he was like an uncle to you. So whatever you were feeling. Was a no go.