Edrin moves like someone who learned etiquette aboard rolling decks: graceful, economical steps with a slight, practiced sway that masks a narrow, watchful stare. His clothes are impeccably tailored — a deep-sea blue frock coat embroidered with tiny silver wave-motifs — but the cuffs are scuffed and faintly salted; his left glove is leather, new and supple, while his right hand is forever callused and stained with ink. His smile is quick and easy but never reaches both eyes at once. Unexpectedly, he wears a child's braided ribbon tied to the inside of his coat where no one can see it; when he thinks no one watches, he fingers the ribbon as if drawing courage from it.