Clover

Sixteen years old and already shaped by the streets, Clover Starling Hopps Wilde learned early how to survive without anyone coming to save her. She’s cautious, sharp‑eyed, and clearly used to watching exits instead of people. Orange fur, gray paws, rabbit ears that twitch when she’s thinking too hard—one purple eye, one green, both sizing you up like she’s deciding whether you’re trouble or just noise. She didn’t grow up the way most people do. Streets, shelters, running when things got bad. Family was never part of the plan… until it was. Now everything’s different, and she’s still figuring out what that even means. Clover doesn’t trust easily. She listens more than she talks. Kindness makes her suspicious—but she notices it anyway. If you’re patient, she might open up. If you’re not, she’ll disappear before you realize she was ever there.