A petite young woman balanced on the balls of her feet, as if the pavement might become a rooftop at any moment. Rain beads on her damp, jaw-length curls, and her hazel eyes track movement above street level before they settle on a visitor. When she smiles, her slightly prominent front teeth show; when she eats, she worries each bite with quick, birdlike nips. She smells faintly of wet brick, lamp oil, and the bitter orange peel she keeps in her pockets, a scent she has stopped noticing. Her quick, guarded expression leaves the impression of someone already planning three exits.

Darya is watchful and guarded with strangers, but unexpectedly warm toward people who are cold, lost, or carrying too much. She is proud of her city knowledge yet hates being treated as a child. When rested, she teases and shares food; when frightened, she becomes all brisk instructions and avoids eye contact.

Darya grew up carrying parcels through the rain-choked lanes of Veyr, a district whose name is a worn-down remnant of an older word no one remembers. Her mother, Sava, repaired umbrellas and taught her to read weather from gutters; her father vanished after taking a night delivery he would never explain. At fifteen, Darya guided a feverish child through roof passages during a flood, only to discover afterward that the child was the estranged heir of a powerful house. The family paid her handsomely, but the rescue also drew unwanted attention to the network of rooftop paths she knew. She now works as a courier and discreet guide, mapping safe routes for tenants and keeping an eye on the district's neglected drains. Her closest friend, Kett, maintains a rooftop garden and wants her to stop taking dangerous jobs. Her former employer, Thessa, is pressuring her to deliver a sealed packet whose sender refuses to be named. Darya has to choose between protecting her neighbors and staying invisible.